by J. P. Rice
As I set my drink down again, I looked at the row of fourteen lifelike cats, all different breeds and colors. The realistic looking cats were facing the targets across the yard, about a hundred feet away. The cats yawned in unison, and in a sudden burst, bullets streamed out of their open mouths, jolting the robotic felines backward. This round peppered the targets, quickly wearing out the red bull’s eyes in the centers.
A proud smile formed on Owen’s face as he nodded confidently. “Cheerio,” he said in celebration, pronouncing each syllable slowly. “That should do it.” He typed into his touch screen to lock in the sights and put his pipe back into his mouth.
My friend had been coming up with cat-themed creations ever since I’d met him over seventy years ago. He had originally called these beauties Catlashnikovs, but changed the name to A-Cat 47s, still paying homage to the Russian inventor.
He exhaled a lazy fog of smoke that momentarily hid his face. “Now that is taken care of, we can move onto the Cat Cams.” He spoke with a soft-toned English accent although he wasn’t English. He’d told me in confidence that he’d originally used the accent to sound more intelligent and sexier to women.
Silly me. I’d assumed it was because he was a British Shorthair. After some time, the accent had become ingrained in him and he’d been using it ever since. He didn’t use a specific regional dialect, more of a generic amalgamation, using random words and phrases from all over England.
Owen sat down in the chair across from me and hit his pipe, blowing a few smoke rings toward me. “Who have you seen so far?”
I swirled my drink in my hand and enjoyed the pleasing aroma of the cherry tobacco. “The agency, my father, Jonathan, Octavius and Tyr mainly.”
His eyes widened, and he removed the pipe from his mouth. “Tyr, eh? Was he swinging from Loki’s perfectly sheared testicles, clasping onto the teat by which he sups, by chance?”
I smirked. It appeared Owen was still full of strangely worded put-downs. Trash talking was not his forte. His proper manner of speaking only amplified the hilarity. I had tried to drop Tyr’s name in there toward the end, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
Many years ago, I’d made the mistake of telling Owen about my feelings for Tyr. Owen had become insanely jealous, almost ending our friendship over the matter. He’d called me a filthy barnyard whore chasing after the seed of worthless Gods, and many other oddly constructed insults.
It had taken us years to repair the relationship, but I was glad we had. However, Owen still hated Tyr because of it and always talked shit about the former God of War.
I said, “No. He told me he barely even talks to Loki anymore.”
Owen shook his head and blew a big cloud into the chilly air. “That’s quite a load of donkey feces he’s selling you. Hope you got a good price. I’ve heard the exact opposite and I’ve been around town for the past thirty years. When buying a car, Junipher, the last person you want to listen to...is the person selling you the car. He’s taking you for a ride in a lemon that will eventually break down and cost you. Only telling you because I care.”
I wouldn’t mind Tyr taking me for a ride. Wait, what? I got my mind out of the gutter and brushed it off as nothing more than Owen’s jealousy. He’d heard many things about Tyr over the years that had always turned out to be false. Why did men always want more than just friendship?
I tried to change the subject. “How many you got left now?”
Owen held two tiny fingers in the air and wiggled them, knowing he didn’t need to say anything. I understood. Owen had nine lives to use up before he ultimately died. His signal told me he’d already used seven of them.
“Wow. You must have had some crazy adventures over the past three decades.” He’d had four lives left when I’d last seen him.
He tapped out the pipe into his palm and threw a handful of ash and burnt tobacco into the yard. “That’s why I’m trying to get all these beauties up and running so I can just cheer from the sidelines. My days of sheer recklessness would seem to be over. How about you?”
I grinned and said, “Funny you should say that. Are you sure those days are behind you?”
Owen stuffed his pipe into the inside pocket of his trench coat. “What have you gone and done now?”
I took a gulp of my drink to give me some nerve to ask the direct question. “I received a tip about something and I was wondering if you wanted to come along. It will give us a great chance to catch up on everything.”
Owen rolled his eyes and looked away. “Considering I was the last person you came to see when you returned, are you sure you want to take me with?”
Owen was still a drama queen it seemed. “Stop with that. I already told you what happened. I had to track you down, unlike the others. I’m just glad you still live here.”
“What’s the job, my lovely Junipher?” he asked as he stood up and walked over to one of the A-Cat 47s.
I grabbed my drink, got up and followed him out onto his lawn. “I need to go to Seattle. My father told me that Arawn and Maeve have set up shop out there and they have Lugh’s Spear. Not only that, but they are cloning armies of cross-breeds from the worlds of Fae. Unchecked and with the spear in their possession, they present a formidable force.”
“And this is all hearsay that you need to check out for yourself?” he asked as he inspected the face of a Savannah cat, assessing any structural damage from the shoot.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Exactly. I figured taking someone along couldn’t hurt. But I’d understand if you wanted to sit this one out too.”
“Let me have a think while we check out the Cat Cams.” He pointed, and said, “I think you’ll like this one.”
Owen led me over to a shed near his patio and opened the double doors. Shelves of lifelike felines filled the shed and Owen grabbed a snowy Persian cat. He opened a small panel on the body and pressed a red button. He closed it back up and set it down on the ground. He picked up a remote control from the shelf where the cat had been sitting and closed the shed.
“Our Cat Cams are controlled remotely and can be placed anywhere we like,” he announced proudly.
Owen pointed toward the back patio and we walked over. The Persian cat followed us, and its movements were natural. The spry machine jumped up the steps to his patio and sashayed over to a sliding glass door. I peered inside at Owen’s business partner seated at his kitchen table.
Oddly enough, his partner in the cat accessory business was a pit bull shifter. Roald Von Claus was in human form talking on his cellphone.
The Persian cat got close to the sliding door and Roald’s voice came through the remote.
“He’s a good guy though. So who cares if he smells like mothballs?”
Owen laughed and shut off the remote control. “Oh, heavens. I wonder who he’s speaking of.”
Oh, you poor thing. He didn’t know Roald was talking about him. I’d always assumed Owen had forgotten to take the mothballs out of his jacket when he took it out of the closet.
He picked up the Persian and held it up facing me. “These babies are selling like hotcakes right now. The fact that they can record sound through glass has them flying off the shelves.”
“How much does one of those things run?” I asked and finished my drink.
“Due to some advanced features, I charge ten thousand apiece,” he said and looked away smiling.
I nodded. “Not too shabby.”
Owen turned back to me and shrugged his shoulders. “Not at all. Our last order was for fifty of them and just shipped a few days ago.”
I did some quick math in my head. “Half a mil?”
“That’s right. I could provide us a comfortable living, you know.” He winked and took my empty glass.
I knew it was a joke, but I had my own money. “I’m good on that, thanks. So what do you say about the trip to Seattle?”
I didn’t have a backup plan in mind if he said no. Owen and Tyr were probably my only true friends in Pittsburgh. Of cou
rse, my only two friends hated each other. I wouldn’t drag Tyr into something he didn’t want to be a part of. I commended the former God’s ability to walk away from the hunt. I wished I had his fortitude.
Instead, I was planning a trip that could change my life forever. I waited with bated breath for Owen’s answer.
Chapter 12
As I strolled down the street, I stopped in my tracks when someone who looked exactly like Thor walked past. I turned around and sized him up as I followed him. He was the right height and build with cascading golden hair trailing down to the small of his back.
The wild orange Viking beard hanging to his belly was the dead giveaway though. Although it was longer than he’d normally worn it, I’d never seen another man with that unique combination.
Dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a plain white T-shirt covered in stains, he was drinking from a 40 Ounce of Olde English, partially obscured by a wrinkled brown paper bag. The frosty chill in the air didn’t seem to affect him one bit.
I tried an old trick, and called out, “Thor.”
I looked away but kept watch out of my peripheral to see if he stopped. The man didn’t deviate from his staggering walk and hooked a right into an alley. He stopped near a dumpster and chugged the rest of his malt liquor. The vicious crosswinds of the dumpster funk and a rotten stench coming from the sewer made for a formidable combination.
I leaned down and pretended I was getting a rock out of my shoe. The man who looked like the God of Thunder belched loudly and tossed the bottle and bag into the receptacle, shattering the glass.
As I rose, I said, “Thor is that you?”
He whirled and eyeballed me with his telltale razor blue irises. It had to be him. He growled, “What the hell are you talking about, lady? You must be mistaken.”
I wasn’t. I could see the scar above his right eye from when Loki had cut him with a serrated steak knife during a dinner argument. “Thor, I can see it’s you. I only want to help. It’s me, June.”
“Get away from me,” he screamed and chased after me with his muscly arms extended, trying to scare me away. I stared at his chest but couldn’t see his most obvious identifying characteristic through his white shirt.
I took a few steps back, our eyes met, and he stopped. He cocked his head to the side, and blinked rapidly as if he’d started to remember me. The back door of a restaurant flew open and smacked into the brick building wall, causing both of us to pivot toward the sound.
A short man in an apron pointed to his wrist and yelled, “There yinz are. The fuck you doin’, Todd? Break’s over. Dishes are piling up like crazy in here. Get your ass back in here if you want to keep your job.”
Thor lowered his head. “Sorry, sir. Someone distracted me.” He hustled in through the back door and his boss slammed it shut. The Thor I knew would have squashed that man like a grape and turned him into blood wine.
What the hell was Thor doing washing dishes? At least I knew where he worked now and could find him when I wanted. I had to be careful whom I told about this. If I mentioned it to Tyr, he could just relay the message to Loki. That would put Thor’s life in danger because Loki was constantly trying to off him to remain first in line for the throne.
I’d already caused enough trouble with the vampires and wolves. I didn’t need to out Thor and possibly get him killed. Plus, I liked Thor a helluva lot more than Loki, and I understood that sometimes one needed to lie low. The old Thor. Not that shell of his former self I’d just encountered.
I turned around to go home and get ready for my trip to Seattle. Six people were standing in my way. The Bounty Huntress and five of her friends inched toward me. The Huntress had been hot on my high heels for a while.
However, she’d never come after me in Pittsburgh. This was just another reason I didn’t want to return. Word got around quickly.
The stupid bitch was wearing tan elk skin pants with a weapon belt around her waist. She had a few knives, but the huge futuristic pistol on her hip grabbed my attention. A few flakes of snow fell from the sky and hit her lavender afro that resembled spun cotton candy sitting atop her head. Her matching elk skin jacket had been branded over the left breast with the symbol for the Supreme Magic Council.
The Huntress waggled her eyebrows, causing the dark skin on her forehead to wrinkle. Her aubergine lips parted, and she said, “Prepare to be fucked by the long dick of the law.”
I didn’t respond and eyeballed the rest of her crew members. Garbed in tight black spandex, they were all men. Tall. Muscular. And about to be dead. And I’d promised myself I wouldn’t kill anyone today. There was always tomorrow. Or the next day.
In her self-righteous manner, she held her chin high, and in a proper English accent, she announced, “Junipher. You have been credibly accused of crimes against magic and because you are in the jurisdiction of the great state of New York, you must face trial against your accusations.” Her thin lips curled upward, the corners almost touching her nose. “Gotcha, bitch.”
I pointed at the surroundings. “You need a map or a compass? I’m not on your hunting grounds, sweet tits.”
People kept walking by on the sidewalk, not even peeking in our direction. That meant the Huntress had set an illusion spell at the entrance of the alley. With her magical prowess, a cop could walk by and not suspect a thing. I was on my own. Unless Thor needed another 40.
She gestured for her friends to get into position, and said, “Oh, you’re not on my turf right now, but soon you will be in our possession. And then we will drag you there. You’ve been running from us for over a hundred years.”
She continued directing her crew around with hand gestures, and they followed her orders, surrounding me. “I thought you were dead, but I prayed you weren’t. I want that bounty. It will be the biggest one I’ve ever collected even after I pay my crew.”
“You must be blind. You are going to commit a crime against magic to take me in,” I wasn’t even sure what I had said. I was talking out of my ass because I needed to buy time. A formidable force had me surrounded, and I needed to determine what magic I should use. I didn’t smell magic on them, which was unusual. I detected body odor, which told me they were nervous if they were sweating on this frosty day.
The Huntress tapped the various weapons on her beltline as if she were determining which one to use and ultimately stopped on the gun. “Once the J.J.E. sees you, he won’t care if I’ve broken every law in the book. And many beings are more than willing to testify against you. Let me guess, those aren’t blood ritual scars on your arms either? Lying thief.”
Even wearing long sleeves and a jacket, I felt naked. All my secrets exposed to the world. “My battle scars are none of your damn business, thank you very much.”
The Huntress waved her bony finger in front of her ugly face. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Actually, your scars have everything to do with my business. I’ve been tasked with keeping monsters like you from destroying all that’s precious. You don’t even know it because you’re lying to yourself, but you can’t control all the dark blood drowning you from the inside out. You’re basically an animal. A slave to all those you stole from. You just don’t know it yet.”
I tried to brew up a Ginger Storm, but it wasn’t as easy as whipping up a batch of sweet tea. It had to happen organically. I couldn’t force it. “Well, you’re going to get a little taste of that barbarism if you keep pressing.”
“You can make it difficult, but we will kill you. It’ll mean a little less on the bounty, but it will still make us rich for eternity,” she said, and her henchmen smiled as they closed in on me, arms extended.
I prepared to conjure a sword and perform a few messy vasectomies when one attacker dropped to his knees, clutched the left side of his chest and fell on his face. The rest of the men stopped and looked at their comrade with concern. Five seconds later, another man dropped in the exact same manner, eventually crashing face first into the pavement. I spun around in circles, and like dominoes, the other
three hunters fell like their brethren and remained motionless on the ground.
The Bounty Huntress stared at me, horror building in her purple eyes as she wondered what the hell was going on. That made two of us. I hadn’t cast a spell or set any magical act in motion for that matter. Perhaps she had pissed off the dark blood inside me and it had reacted without my knowledge. The prospect of having no control over my magic scared the living shit out of me.
The lava bath had not only caused me to age, it seemed like it had screwed up my magical acumen too. It was as if my dark blood had come to a boil and taken on a mind of its own. I’d always had trouble controlling my magic, but the Bounty Huntress had no authority over me in Pittsburgh.
A figure appeared behind the Bounty Huntress. A looming mass of darkness. My eyes widened, and the corners of my mouth lifted. The Morrigan. My sister from another mister. Now the random deaths made sense.
The Bounty Huntress sensed something behind her and spun around to face the Morrigan. She rotated slightly, and her head swiveled continuously from the Morrigan to me. Finally, I could kill this bitch and end her chasing after me once and for all. Cancel the vasectomies. This called for a sloppy lobotomy.
The Huntress pulled the space-age gun from the holster on her hip, the silver barrel attracting the gleam of the sun. I peeped at the Morrigan and she didn’t appear the least bit concerned, so I followed suit and crossed my arms over my chest in defiance. The Morrigan always boosted my confidence.
The Bounty Huntress smiled and put the long barrel of the gun up to the side of her head. She pulled the trigger, but instead of a normal gunshot blast, it resulted in more of a splat. Blue dye ran down the side of her face.
Her body blurred. Then her right leg vanished, followed by her left one. Like a wave, the supernatural illusion ran up the rest of her body, causing it to disappear completely and taking the gun with it.