by Scott Colby
“From Talvayne,” Mr. Gregson’s voice explained. “My home. Before the bastards kicked me out.”
The pure hatred in Mr. Gregson’s tone sent a shiver down Kevin’s spine. The pixie obviously thought he’d been wronged in a most terrible way. But what if he’d deserved it? What if he’d done something that warranted exile? In that case, Kevin’s best hope for rescuing his loved ones was a hardened criminal likely capable of unspeakable things. He couldn’t decide if that was a positive or a negative.
The telltale cheers and frivolous music of a TV game show trickled into the front hallway from the living room beyond, drawing Kevin forward past a thick set of stairs leading to the second floor. The worn hardwood creaked beneath his feet, scratched and pocked here and there by the wheels of Mr. Gregson’s chair and looking for all the world like it had been attacked by some predator with ferocious claws. Ahead, Kevin could see the television’s antenna above the back of a heavy old couch trimmed in classic 1970s burnt orange. Matching wallpaper speckled with paisleys completed the retro look.
He came upon Mr. Gregson from behind and to the left, circling around the shitty old couch. The pixie had parked his wheelchair on the opposite side.
“Mr. Gregson? Um, hi,” Kevin stammered. Mr. Gregson ignored him, evidently hypnotized by a soap commercial with a cheesy jingle to the point that he couldn’t move a single muscle. Annoyed, confused, and frightened beyond belief by thoughts of what nature was likely doing to his mother’s corpse, Kevin bravely took a step in front of the TV—
—and promptly stumbled back in horror at the sight of the gaping hole in Mr. Gregson’s chest. The man sat in his chair with his shirt wide open, exposing the empty cavity where his heart and respiratory system should’ve been. Upon closer inspection, it appeared his organs had been replaced with some sort of glass ball reminiscent of a fishbowl. Though he didn’t move, Mr. Gregson’s eyes glittered with awareness. Somehow, the pixie’s shell was alive.
“Christ, that never gets old!” a small voice chirped.
A familiar force wrapped around Kevin and lifted him a few inches into the air. Although he couldn’t move most of his body, his head and neck still worked. “G-g-great trick,” he stuttered, his heart in his throat. The moment of truth surely wasn’t far away now.
A tiny green light zipped out from under the couch to hover in front of Kevin’s face. When his eyes adjusted, he found a tiny winged man in black sweatpants and a stained white tank top suspended in the middle of the glow, examining him with disdain as if his recent floor-crapping had somehow become common knowledge. The pixie’s combination of sharp, aquiline features, five o’clock shadow, and thick beer belly would’ve been considered handsome in certain dirty biker bars Kevin had driven past but never thought worth visiting.
“Mr. Gregson—”
“That’s Mr. Gregson,” the pixie replied, nodding toward his empty shell. “I’m Thisolanipusintarex. Rex for short for stupid humans who can’t say it right. What the fuck was the reaper doing in your fucking house?”
“Banging my mother.” Kevin couldn’t help himself, and he hoped his candor would break the ice and put the pixie at ease.
The little man scowled. “Have some respect for your elders, you little shit.”
Kevin blushed, chagrined. “Sorry.”
“And then the reaper stole your mother’s car.”
“You saw all that? Don’t you have anything better to do than spy on me?”
“Where did he go?”
“To the Roberts estate, to take possession of Ren’s soul. And Driff’s. Then, he went out into the Works and put Nella in a bucket. He’s got my mother’s soul, too.”
“And just why in the fuck would he do all that?”
This was it. “Billy knows.”
Rex paused for a moment, the wheels obviously spinning in his tiny mind. Kevin braced himself to be thrown against the ceiling or out the nearest window.
“He’s challenging you to rescue them.”
Kevin nodded.
“And you came here to ask me for help because you’re a pathetic human and Billy’s an unstoppable force of nature.”
“Yes, sir. P-p-please.”
The pixie hesitated again. Behind him, his human shell’s dark eyes glittered with anticipation.
“I’ll help you,” Rex declared.
Kevin’s jaw dropped, his heart leapt, and a crushing weight slipped off his shoulders. He couldn’t believe how easy that had been. Obviously, he’d underestimated his neighbor’s desire to put everything back to normal and keep Tallisker’s prying eyes off Harksburg.
“…on one condition,” the pixie added.
All of Kevin’s hope and joy suddenly fell off a cliff. “What’s that?”
Rex smiled evilly. “I need new skin.”
“New…skin? Like a graft or something?” That wouldn’t be so bad. After all, how much skin could such a tiny creature really need?
“Something like that.” Rex jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the catatonic, wheelchair-bound man observing the scene.
Something like that, indeed. “Is he…still alive?”
“Very much so. I even give the poor bastard a few hours of freedom every now and then. Not that he can get very far on his own.”
“And it’s…permanent?”
The pixie nodded. “I’m the only thing keeping him alive.”
It was Kevin’s turn to stop and think. Rex’s terms were extremely steep: a lifetime of unbreakable servitude in exchange for the safety of his loved ones. And Driff. He should’ve known the pixie’s help wouldn’t come cheap.
But could he do it? Could Kevin trade that much of himself to save his mother, his lover, and his best friend since childhood? And Driff? He quickly came to the conclusion that he couldn’t. He wasn’t that sort of selfless hero. The only thing Kevin Felton had in common with Captain America or Superman was that he sometimes wore blue. Self-sacrifice wasn’t that high on his to-do list.
He was, however, kind of an asshole. Risking Billy’s wrath by befriending him had come as naturally as speaking or walking. Although Kevin had meant no harm and had to come to like the reaper, he’d had no qualms about stringing him along. It had been his only option at the time, and he’d embraced it. Working a similar game with Thisolanipusintarex—playing along while searching for a way to flip the board and change his own fate—stood out as Kevin’s best and only chance. He needed the pixie’s assistance that badly.
And besides, after all the history between his neighbor and his family, after all the hell Rex had put him through the last few days, what was so bad about fucking the slimy little bastard over?
“After we rescue my friends,” Kevin said.
Rex quickly shook his head. “Before. The last thing that son of a bitch will expect is a pixie popping out of your chest.”
Kevin couldn’t deny that logic, but such a progression would severely inhibit his chances of escaping the deal. “No way. Once you’re…in charge, how do I know you’ll help me?”
“Felton, when have I ever lied to you? You’ll have to trust me.”
Over the pixie’s shoulder, Kevin thought he saw the man in the wheelchair shake his head ever so slightly.
“No deal. I’m leaving.”
Rex sighed in mock disappointment. “Well then, just go!”
But the pixie’s magic grip held Kevin in place. He struggled to move his arms and legs to no avail.
“Oh, that’s right!” Rex chirped, snapping his fingers like he’d been struck by a fantastic idea. “You fucking can’t! I’m in charge here, and if I say you’re my new skin, there’s absolutely fucking nothing you can do about it! Silly me! How could I have forgotten that? It’s kind of important.”
Though he fought with all his might, Kevin couldn’t free himself from his captor’s telekinesis. That overwhelming sense of helplessness he’d felt while in the reaper’s clutches—a feeling he’d hoped never to experience again—came roaring back with a
vengeance. “Let me go!” he screamed for what felt like the billionth time that day. “I will find a way to make you fucking regret th—”
And then his jaw stopped working, frozen by the same paralyzing magic that rendered the rest of his body useless.
“No, you won’t,” Rex replied. “In fact, I suspect I’m going to enjoy this. After we kill the reaper, we’re going to disown your bitch of a mother, beat the ever-loving shit out of the Roberts twit, and fuck the daylights out of your saucy blue girlfriend. It’s going to be a riot!”
Never before had Kevin wanted a flyswatter so badly. If he could’ve moved, he would’ve done unspeakable things to Thisolanipusintarex: torn off his pansy-ass wings, tossed him against the wall, ground the pixie’s fragile little body under his heel until he begged for mercy. All Kevin could do was rage silently, partly angry at himself for being stupid enough and desperate enough to seek help from someone he knew absolutely hated his guts.
His captor magically dragged him into the adjoining kitchen, a tight space trimmed with cheap white cabinets and an island listing dangerously to the left. They paused long enough for the thin basement door to swing open and then they floated down the rickety wooden stairs. A rancid smell assaulted Kevin’s nose as they angled down into the stone and mortar dungeon below. It reminded him of how bad he’d smelled upon regaining control of his body on the kitchen floor after he’d crapped and pissed all over himself, except ten times worse.
“Back for more, huh?” a smooth voice echoed from below. “What’s it gonna be this time? I’ve had my thumb up my ass all day, so you’re in for a real fuckin’ treat if you want to chew on my hand again!”
In spite of his own predicament, Kevin couldn’t help swearing to himself and wondering what the fuck he was being dragged into now. Because seriously, why the hell was there someone fingering his own asshole in Rex’s basement?
They reached the floor and turned left, looping back around the base of the staircase. A trio of chicken wire cages jutted out from the far wall, speckled with rust but eerily intimidating despite the corrosion. In the left-most cage, a lone prisoner leaned arrogantly against the hard stone wall, glaring slow, painful death at the approaching pair. Because of his striking features, muscular build, and long blond hair, Kevin at first mistook the man for some sort of male model. Closer inspection revealed a pair of pointy ears barely sticking out from his golden mane. His white dress shirt and skinny black jeans were streaked with blood and grime and who knows what else. A cutlass dangled in a sheath at his hip, the guard trimmed with sparkling rubies. A single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling by a thin wire illuminated the room.
An elf? What the hell? Kevin would’ve asked if he’d had the ability.
“Afternoon, Rotreego!” Mr. Gregson greeted cheerily. “How’s the day treating you?”
“Fucking great! Just woke up from a nap on your cold stone floor and took a shit down the hole in the corner! I didn’t miss this time, either!”
“Congrats! I know how you hate having to push it in with your foot!”
Kevin decided that he liked Rex a lot better as a gruff curmudgeon who rarely put more than three words together. He wondered what accounted for the change; perhaps he didn’t like using his skin’s voice for some reason. Whatever it was, he really wished the pixie would shut the hell up.
Thisolanipusintarex dropped Kevin into the right-most cell, leaving an empty unit between his two captives. The door slid shut behind him and locked with a sharp metallic squeal. The sensation of being released from Rex’s magic grip was almost like breathing again after breaching the surface of a pool or a pond.
“You boys play nice, now,” the pixie said. “I’ve got some supplies to pick up before we get to business.”
“Hurry up,” Kevin snapped angrily. “My mother’s decomposing.”
“Be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!” Rex chirped as he zipped back up the stairs.
Alone, the pair of prisoners regarded each other coolly. The elf’s face and arms, Kevin could now see, were pocked with what appeared to be tiny bites. Kevin hoped the basement wasn’t full of bugs.
“He’s been eating me,” Rotreego explained. “Treats me like a giant granola bar. Pretty sure that kind of thing is what got him booted from Talvayne. Apparently, elf is good for eatin’ but not for wearin’.”
Defeated, Kevin slumped into an uncomfortable sitting position against the back wall. “What are you in for?” he asked.
“Stupidity.”
“Same here.”
“A victimless crime,” Rotreego mused. “Unless you count yourself, that is.”
“In my case, I ruined everything for three other people. And Driff.”
Rotreego’s eyes narrowed. “That jackass? He probably deserves it.”
Kevin snorted. “His soul is being held captive in a Chicago Blackhawks travel mug.”
“Deserves it.” Rotreego stepped away from the wall and closer to Kevin, suddenly looking unsure of himself. He drew the cutlass from its sheath at his side. “Say…is my sword on fire?”
“Um…what?”
“My sword. Is it on fire? See any blue flames dancing merrily up the blade, ready to smite my enemies?”
Kevin squinted and looked closer. “I don’t see shit.”
“Damn,” the elf replied, dejected. “I thought maybe it was just me, ya know?”
“Is it supposed to be on fire?”
Rotreego examined him for a moment, seemingly unsure what to make of the question. “Of course it is. I’m the Pintiri. The hero of Evitankari. The wielder of the Ether, the most powerful magic in the known world. I’m a leader! A statesman! An icon! Idol and role model to millions!” He sighed sadly. “Or at least, I was.”
“Okay,” Kevin was beginning to doubt his companion’s sanity. Maybe he’d caught something from Rex’s saliva. “I’m no expert on the subject, but…magic fire doesn’t just go away, does it?”
The elf collapsed on the floor and tossed his weapon aside, hanging his head between his knees. “Only one thing can separate the Ether from the Pintiri: the Pintiri’s death. That fucking pixie drove a railway spike through my heart a couple days ago. Killed me. Except…I didn’t die. Well, I did, but I healed up in moments and came right back. At the time, I thought maybe he’d tricked me with a spell of some sort. I haven’t been able to summon the Ether since.”
Now that, Kevin thought angrily, sounds too damn ridiculous to be a coincidence. But then again, if someone wanted to separate the magic from Rotreego’s sword, why not do it where it would be permanent? Maybe he was over-thinking things; life with all these magic assholes had certainly made him paranoid. “The local reaper’s been…busy,” he explained.
“Ah. Well, I guess everyone deserves a vacation every now and then.”
Nearby, an old engine roared to life and backed out of a driveway. Thisolanipusintarex was on the move.
“I just wanted to make sweet love to what I thought was a hot-to-trot little blonde number with the tits of an angel, but it turned out to be that little winged bastard instead!” Rotreego wailed. “That’s what I get for trusting an online dating profile!”
Cringing, Kevin frowned and examined his fellow prisoner, the supposed hero of Evitankari. If this guy was the best the elves had to offer, their race was in deep shit. He suspected there was more to it than that, though. Driff, for all his cold, heartless faults, seemed relatively competent. So how had this Rotreego asshole wound up in the position he’d reached?
He dismissed that line of thinking. He didn’t have time for idle speculation regarding elven society. Kevin’s priority at that very moment was finding a way out of there before Mr. Gregson returned and implanted a magic fishbowl in his chest cavity. Poking the chicken wire experimentally produced a shower of blue sparks and a burned fingertip, which explained why Rotreego had yet to hack his way free with his cutlass. The concrete floor and stone rear wall were both too dense to try digging through without appropri
ate tools. He eyed the exposed joists and plywood that supported the level above them, but there was no good way to reach them through the chicken wire cage.
“We’re stuck here, man!” Rotreego moaned. “I checked all that shit. Fucker’s a real pro. I’m going to spend the rest of my miserable life crapping in a hole and getting chewed on like a piece of beef fucking jerky.”
“Beef? You sound more like a chicken to me,” Kevin mumbled under his breath. He didn’t quite trust the unstable elf’s assessment and so he continued to search the room. Though he still felt like a moron for expecting help from Thisolanipusintarex, wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to do him any favors. Rotreego was living proof of that, and at the very least the elf’s presence confirmed that Kevin Felton was, at worst, only the second biggest idiot in the world.