by Matt Cowper
“Yes, I know exactly what you mean,” Deathrain said, with more heat than I thought was warranted. I glanced over at her, but she’d quickly composed herself, so I continued.
“Anyway, I went looking around to see if anyone had something a little more powerful than a non-weaponized cybernetic prosthetic. After a few weeks, I found this guy, Archie the Archmage, claimed he was, well, an archmage. Said he could create me a magic arm that could do all sorts of stuff, like shoot lightning or summon dire wolves. This isn’t the kind of guy who has client testimonials posted on some slick website, but I asked around and he seemed legit, in a black market kind of way.”
“The guy’s name was Archie the Archmage,” Deathrain said. “What could go wrong?”
“Yeah, maybe I heard what I wanted to hear,” I said. “I didn’t want to be a charity case my whole life. And Bootheel can be a rough place. If some people sense weakness, they’ll take advantage of you in a heartbeat.”
“Yes, they will.” Again, it seemed like she was thinking of something else, something that had happened to her.
“So I go to this archmage guy,” I continued, “and he starts chanting his spells and fondling some frog guts or whatever, and I can feel something, some sort of energy, attaching itself to my shoulder. Then all of a sudden, there’s a surge of power. It’s like I’ve got hit with a solar flare or gamma radiation or something crazy like that. Knocks me right to the floor. When I got up, I find I do have a magic arm – a God Arm, actually. And there’s a presence in my mind – a god – and he – it – is bellowing about destroying stuff.”
“Of all the humans in all the world,” Dak said, “I had to bond to you.”
“Feeling’s mutual, Dak,” I said. “Anyway, I didn’t trust this new thing on my arm and in my mind, so I got this archmage dude to find out who – what – Dak was. As it turned out, he was the God of Destruction, as you well know, and he’d been about to be erased from existence. You see, a bunch of nerds actually created him. Have you ever read E.L.X. Slade’s thirty-two book epic fantasy series Sword of Gil’rakee?”
“No, I must have missed that literary gem,” Deathrain replied.
“Well, there was a god in there named Dakroth’gannith’formaz, the God of Destruction. He was a real badass. All the orcs and goblins and shit in the story worshiped him, and he imbued them with awesome power. Of course, he’s supposed to be the bad guy, but you know how people are, they love the anti-heroes and the cool villains. I mean, look at Darth Vader. E.L.X. Slade’s fans started worshiping Dak, just like those fictional orcs and goblins, and over time they made him.”
“What do you mean, made him?” Deathrain said, furrowing her brow.
“I mean exactly that. Apparently if enough people worship fervently enough, they can create and sustain a god.”
“Then how did he get grafted to your arm?” Deathrain asked. “You said he was about to be erased.”
“Well, it was a one and a million chance – but I’m getting ahead of myself. You see, Slade’s series was supposed to go to forty books, maybe more, but he fell off a cliff when he was sixty-five. His fans got pissed off at him for dying before finishing the Sword of Gil’Rakee saga, and they trashed or burned all his books – seriously, they had big get-togethers where they made bonfires and tossed their copies in. And they also stopped worshiping Dak.”
“And so Dak started to fade?” Deathrain said.
“Right. Without their faith, Dak couldn’t be sustained. Soon he was about to fall away into the void, or wherever it is that obsolete gods go. But he wasn’t going down without a fight. He used up a large chunk of his power to search for a host – ideally, a willing one. When this wizard guy started creating my arm, the God of Destruction sped right to the source of the magic disturbance and knocked the other magic stuff aside. It was like Dak jumped to the front of the queue or rushed to answer a help wanted ad.”
I looked down at my arm, which was now swirling dark blue; it meant Dak was melancholy, probably because he was thinking about the past, like I was. “And he’s been bonded to me ever since.”
“So you’re like a battery keeping Dak alive?” Deathrain asked.
“Sort of,” I said. “Just like a regular arm is kept up by the body, I sustain my God Arm – and he sustains me too, I guess. It’s a symbiotic relationship.”
“That’s…pretty fucking wild. Is it permanent?”
“We think so. Haven’t found anyone who can reverse it.”
“So now you, a private investigator in Bootheel, have the powers of a god?”
“Welllll…it’s tricky. As I said, Dak used up a lot of power to get to me. He’s more like a minor god now. He already was minor, but after—”
“You are embarrassing me again,” Dak rumbled. “There is nothing minor about me, either in the scope of my power or my craving for absolute annihilation.”
“I have one word for you: fireball.”
The bedroom shook from Dak’s fury. “Do not dare tell that story!”
“What story?” Deathrain asked.
“I’m not going to elaborate,” I said. “I don’t want to get him riled up.”
“From the sound of it, he embarrassed himself somehow,” Deathrain said. “Dak, what happened? C’mon, you can trust me. I know what you are, at your core. Nothing you tell me is going to change how I feel about you.”
Dak’s rumbling subsided. “Your words sooth me, in a destructive way. Very well. You shall be informed – by me. John Wagner will not tell the tale properly.”
“Dak, it’s not the kind of story you can mess up easily,” I said.
“Johnny.” Deathrain squeezed my mouth shut. “Let Dak tell it.”
I tried to say “Fine. Whatever,” but it came out “mmmphhh mmmph.”
Dak did a godly throat-clear, which sounded like a high wind rushing through a cave. “Fourteen days ago, John Wagner and I were idling through the Heel of Boot. Before us, by a place where one purchases flowers, John Wagner saw a cutpurse pilfer a lady’s handbag. Being the weak man he is, he wanted to stop this thief. I have no problem with thievery, but I had not destroyed anything in some time, so I agreed. It was decided that I would shoot a fireball at this man.” Large streaks of blue and gray appeared in my God Arm. “But I could not summon one.”
Deathrain waited, her gaze flicking between my face and my God Arm.
“That’s it?” she said.
“Yes,” Dak said.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why is this bothering you?”
“Because I am the God of Destruction,” Dak rumbled. “I should be able to create fireballs whenever I please. I should not fail in that manner.”
“I see,” Deathrain said. She stroked my God Arm again, this time with both hands. “I know how you feel, Dak. I know you think I’m this relentless engine of chaos or whatever, but even I have my off days. I try to get geared up for destruction, but I just can’t get the adrenaline and the rage pumping.”
She gave me a strange look. “And like we’ve discussed, you’re bonded to Johnny, and it seems you influence each other, so his positive mindset probably weakened you as well.”
“Thanks for putting the blame on me,” I muttered.
“What you say has merit, my lady,” Dak said, “for indeed, I have pondered this possibility myself – though it galls me to admit a mortal like him could ever influence me. But I still want assurance: you are not just saying this to make me feel better?”
“Would I lie to you?” Deathrain said. “Can’t you sense me or something? If you send out your godlike probes, or whatever you want to call them, you’ll know I’m telling the truth.”
I felt a strange sizzling within my God Arm. I didn’t know if Dak was “sensing” her or just mulling over what she’d said, but in a few moments he emitted a happy rumble. “I sense the veracity of your words. I am glad you understand.”
“Good,” Deathrain said, releasing my God Arm and settling back into bed. “If the bon
d between you and Johnny ever breaks, look me up, alright?”
“I will certainly do so,” Dak said.
I clenched my God Fist, feeling jealousy sweep over me. Sensing the shift in mood, Deathrain turned her head and watched me with her gray eyes.
I needed to change the subject, before I acted far too proprietary towards Dak.
“So, about the Neptune murder,” I said. “What do you think?”
“I think a lot of things,” Deathrain said. “But I’m only looking at a few fragments. You know things I don’t.” In the haze of post-coital bliss, her sharp features had softened a little, but now she again looked like she’d been chiseled out of granite. “Tell me what you know – or we’re going to have a major disagreement.”
I pushed myself to a sitting position, preparing to argue – but what was the point? I’d just had sex with this woman, and narrated a few chapters of the Johnny Wagner life story. It would be hypocritical to act like a saintly private eye while treating her like an untrustworthy witch.
So I told her everything – most of everything. For example, she didn’t need to know Burt Harrison was really on my side, or that I was really the Daring Destroyer. But I told her everything relevant to Captain Neptune’s murder, from my meeting with Homer Bollinger to my battle with Gale Force.
Dak, of course, made every threat we’d made sound like a verbal lance wielded by a mighty death-knight, and every blow or energy beam as powerful as a thousand supernovas. Deathrain listened patiently, rarely interrupting. When I was done, I walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, downing it in one gulp; talking so much had parched me.
“You haven’t been lazing around, have you?” Deathrain said, not bothering to hide her esteem.
I lay back down, soaking in her praise. “So what do you think now?”
“Conflicting stories. Dozens of motives. Bad superheroes and supervillains trying to turn good.” She lay back on the bed, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t know what to fucking think. Let’s sleep on it, look at it tomorrow with fresh eyes. Then maybe—”
A rapping sound interrupted her – someone was knocking on my door.
“Who knocks on your door at three-thirty in the morning?” Deathrain asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Could be trouble.” She rolled off the bed, and in a nanosecond she was back in her assassin’s gear, a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. I rolled off like a whale that was trying to unbeach itself, groaning all the while. I stumbled to my armoire – which was plywood shelving I’d hammered together myself – and pulled on some sweatpants and a t-shirt.
“I’ve got you covered,” Deathrain whispered. “If they make one hostile move, we’ll eviscerate them.”
I nodded and crept to the door. Deathrain took a position by the refrigerator, pistol and knife at the ready.
I leaned forward and looked through the keyhole, then let out a sigh so deep it stirred the dust piles on my tile floor. It was Felicia.
I unlocked the door and threw it open. Felicia was tapping the doorframe and chewing her lip. She was dressed in a black skirt and a peach blouse, with blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. Her image alterator was on, which meant she looked like a normal human: no fur, cat-eyes, or claws.
“Yes?” I demanded.
“I’m sorry it’s late, but I had some, um, important crime-fighting to do,” she said. “I saw on the news you’d beaten Gale Force. Are you OK?”
“Listen, I have company right now.”
“Is that so?” Felicia said, doubt hanging from her words like stalactites. “Who is it?”
“No one you know.”
“Uh-uh.”
“What, you don’t think I know people you don’t know?” I asked.
“No, I think you’re lying to make me go away.”
“I’m not lying,” I said. “Here, why don’t you meet her. That should be interesting….”
I turned around, but Deathrain was no longer standing by the refrigerator. I peered into the bedroom, but all of her gear was gone, and one of the windows was open, letting in a chilly breeze and the sound of a passing truck. She’d jumped out into the night – exactly like the woman standing at my door had jumped last night.
“Well, looks like you drove her away,” I said. “Thanks for that.”
Felicia wrinkled her nose. “Your apartment…it smells like sex….”
“Yes, because I’ve been having sex.”
“Oh. So you did have company.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Well – that’s nice.”
“Accursed woman!” Dak roared, his thunder causing one of my pots to fall out of the drying rack and back into the sink. “Why must you ruin everything you touch with your dainty cat fingers? I have finally found a woman worthy of my attentions, and you show up here and cause her to flee!”
“I’m sorry, Dak!” Felicia said, curling her fingers. I knew her claws were out, but the image alterator hid them. “I saw Johnny had taken out one of the most powerful supervillains in Z City, and I wanted to—”
“I do not care what you wanted!” The doorknob rattled in my hand, and one of my coffee cups fell from a shelf and shattered. “You have crossed me for the last time, Feline! Tonight you perish!”
My God Arm had turned into the purest red imaginable; I couldn’t look directly at it, the color was so bright. Dak’s rage was about to erupt, and if Felicia just stood there, she’d be reduced to dust.
“Felicia, you need to—” I said.
“Die!” Dak roared.
Dozens of red lines shot out of my arm, heading directly towards Felicia. It looked like I was shooting string at her, but these lines weren’t something as harmless as that; if they made contact, they’d slice right through her.
Felicia, though, was far from helpless. She somersaulted out of the way of the first barrage, and the tiny beams sizzled into the wall. Another barrage flew her way, and she kicked off the wall, spinning through the air, the beams coming so close I was certain her fur was getting singed.
“I can do this all night, Dak,” Felicia said, as if she was just strolling down the street. “Just calm down, before you—”
“I will not becalm myself!” Dak roared. “Your agility is formidable, that is true, but you will blunder eventually, and then I will incinerate your very soul!”
“Enough of this!” I yelled.
I closed my eyes and concentrated as hard as I could on my God Arm, trying to get it under control. Dak fought me as only a God of Destruction could fight, pounding my consciousness with rage. As tired as I was, it felt like hundred-foot waves were slamming against my mind, but I didn’t quit.
After a few seconds, the onslaught ceased, and I heaved out a long breath. I opened my eyes and looked down – my God Arm was now swirling orange and brown, like normal.
“You have reined me in for now, John Wagner,” Dak rumbled, “but I just need a moment’s respite, and then I will—”
“By then, Felicia will be gone,” I said, looking at my ex-girlfriend. “Won’t you?”
“I’m not afraid of Dak,” she said – though she was crouched and tense in case Dak discharged more beams.
“You should be,” I said. “Stopping one of Dak’s outbursts drains me when I’m fully rested, but now, with me dead on my feet? That right there was all I had. Once he gets that respite he mentioned, I won’t be able to control him.”
“I don’t care.”
“Dammit, do you want him to level the entire building?” I said. “He’s pissed off at you, but you’re so fucking stubborn you won’t walk away!”
That stopped her pig-headedness. Felicia wouldn’t put innocents in danger if she could help it. She straightened up, frowning, and smoothed out her clothes.
“Fine,” she said. “But we need to talk. Can I stop by your office tomorrow?”
“Again with the talking,” I muttered. “No, you can’t stop by my office. I probably won’t be ther
e, anyway. Busy day tomorrow – just like the last few days.”
“Johnny—” Felicia began.
A door opened down the hall and a wrinkled, hairless head poked out. It was Mr. Lowe, my octogenarian neighbor.
“What in Sam Hill are you two youngsters doing?” he wheezed. “Here I thought I was gonna get a decent night’s sleep for once, and all I hear is ripping and roaring and yelling and bellyaching!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lowe,” I said. “Felicia here was just leaving, and I’m going straight to bed myself.”
Felicia glared at my God Arm, then walked briskly away. I could hear her stomping down the stairwell, her pent-up anger probably about to boil over; there would likely be a few criminals receiving extra-painful beatings tonight.
“Sorry again for the disturbance,” I said.
“Alright, Johnny,” Mr. Lowe said. “You’re one of the good guys – usually – so I’ll cut you some slack this time.”
He closed his door, and I did the same to mine. I began walking to the bed, but it seemed like a ball and chain was attached to each limb. After a lot of shuffling, grunting, and cursing, I finally flopped face-down onto my mattress.
The sheets still smelled vaguely of Deathrain. She had an earthy scent; no perfume or aromatic bath salts for her.
“John Wagner, I—” Dak began.
“Shut up, Dak,” I muttered. “I’m going to sleep, and if you wake me, you won’t destroy anything larger than a cockroach for a month.”
Dak began to protest, but I was already slipping into the land of dreams.
Chapter Twenty
“I’m Amber Wachowski, and I’m here today in the home of Julia Anderson. Mrs. Anderson is the widow of Captain Neptune, the beloved hero who was recently slain in a tragic fight with his nemesis, Gray Squirrel.”
She turned to Julia, who was seated on the couch beside her. Julia was composed and professional in black slacks and purple blouse, and her expression was lively yet serious. A few days ago, she would’ve stumbled through this interview; now she looked like she did them every week.