Hex Appeal

by P. N. Elrod

  I flung more force at him, but Barrowill bobbed to one side, evading the blast. I threw myself away from the vampire and managed to roll with the punch he sent at my head. He caught me an inch or two over one eyebrow, the hardest and most impact-resistant portion of the human skull. That and the fact that I’d managed to rob it of a little of its power meant that he only sent me spinning wildly away, my vision completely obscured by pain and little silver stars. He was furious, his power rolling over me like a sudden deluge of ice water, to the point where crystals of frost formed on my clothing.

  Barrowill followed up, his eyes murderous—and then Bigfoot Irwin bellowed, “Connie!” and slammed into Barrowill at the hip, using his body as a living spear. Barrowill was flung to one side, and Irwin pressed his advantage, still screaming, coming down atop the vampire and pounding him with both fists in elemental violence, his sunken eyes mad with rage. “Connie! Connie!”

  I tried to rise but couldn’t seem to make it past one knee. So all I could do was watch as the furious scion of River Shoulders unleashed everything he had on a ranking noble of the White Court. Barrowill could have been much stronger than a human being if he’d had the gas in the tank—but he’d spent his energy on his psychic assault, and it had drained him. He still thrashed powerfully, but he was no match for the enraged young man. Irwin slammed Barrowill’s nose flat against his face. I saw one of the vampire’s teeth go flying into the night air. Slightly-too-pale blood began to splash against Irwin’s fists.

  Christ. If the kid killed Barrowill, the White Court would consider it an act of war. All kinds of horrible things could unfold. “Irwin!” I shouted. “Irwin, stop!”

  Kid Bigfoot didn’t listen to me.

  I lurched closer to him but only made it about six inches before my head whirled so badly that I fell onto my side. “Irwin, stop!” I looked around and saw Connie staring dazedly at the struggle. “Connie!” I said. “Stop him! Stop him!”

  Meanwhile, Irwin had beaten Barrowill to within an inch of his life—and now he raised his joined hands over his head, preparing for a sledgehammer blow to Barrowill’s skull.

  A small, pretty hand touched his wrist.

  “Irwin,” Connie said gently. “Irwin, no.”

  “He tried,” Irwin panted. “Tried. Hurt you.”

  “This isn’t the way,” Connie said.

  “Bad man,” Irwin growled.

  “But you aren’t,” Connie said, her voice very soft. “Irwin. He’s still my daddy.”

  Connie couldn’t have physically stopped Irwin—but she didn’t need to. The kid blinked several times, then looked at her. He slowly lowered his hands, and Connie leaned down to kiss his forehead gently. “Shhhh,” she said. “Shhhh. I’m still here. It’s over, baby. It’s over.”

  “Connie,” Irwin said, and leaned against her.

  I let out a huge sigh of relief and sank back onto the ground.

  My head hurt.

  * * *

  Officer Dean stared at me for a while. He chewed on a toothpick and squinted at me. “Got some holes.”

  “Yeah?” I asked. “Like what?”

  “Like all those kids saw a Bigfoot and them whatchamacalits. Ghouls. How come they didn’t say anything?”

  “You walked in on them while they were all still trying to put their clothes back on. After flinging themselves into random sex with whoever happened to be close to them. They’re all denying that this ever happened right now.”

  “Hngh,” Dean said. “What about the ghoul corpses?”

  “After Irwin dragged their boss up to the fight, the ghouls quit when they saw him. River Shoulders told them all to get out of his sight and take their dead with them. They did.”

  Dean squinted and consulted a list. “Pounder is gone. So is Connie Barrowill. Not officially missing, or nothing. Not yet. But where are they?”

  I looked at Dean and shrugged.

  * * *

  I’d seen ghouls in all kinds of situations before—but I’d never seen them whipped into submission. Ghouls fought to the grisly, messy end. That was what they did. But River Shoulders had been more than their match. He’d left several of them alive when he could have killed them to the last, and he’d found their breaking point when Irwin had dragged Barrowill in by his hair. Ghouls could take a huge beating, but River Shoulders had given them one like I’d never seen, and when he ordered them to take their master and their dead and never to return, they’d snapped to it.

  “Thanks, Connie,” I groaned as she settled me onto a section of convenient rubble. I was freezing. The frost on my clothes was rapidly melting away, but the chill had settled inward.

  The girl looked acutely embarrassed, but that wasn’t in short supply in that dorm. That hallway was empty of other students for the moment, though. We had the place to ourselves, though I judged that the authorities would arrive in some form before long.

  Irwin came over with a dust-covered blanket and wrapped it around her. He’d scrounged a ragged towel for himself though it did more to emphasize his physique than to hide it. The kid was ripped.

  “Thank you, Irwin,” she said.

  He grunted. Physically, he’d bounced back from the nearly lethal feeding like a rubber freaking ball. Maybe River Shoulders’s water-smoothing spell had done something to help that. Mentally, he was slowly refocusing. You could see the gleam coming back into his eyes. Until that happened, he’d listened to Connie. A guy could do worse.

  “I…” Connie shook her head. “I remember all of it. But I have no idea what just happened.” She stared at River Shoulders for a moment, her expression more curious than fearful. “You … You stopped something bad from happening, I think.”

  “Yeah, he did,” I confirmed.

  Connie nodded toward him in a grateful little motion. “Thank you. Who are you?”

  “Irwin’s dad,” I said.

  Irwin blinked several times. He stared blankly at River Shoulders.

  “Hello,” River rumbled. How something that large and that powerful could sit there bleeding from dozens of wounds and somehow look sheepish was beyond me. “I am very sorry we had to meet like that. I had hoped for something quieter. Maybe with music. And good food.”

  “You can’t stay,” I said to River. “The authorities are on the way.”

  River made a rumbling sound of agreement. “This is a disaster. What I did…” He shook his head. “This was in such awful taste.”

  “Couldn’t have happened to nicer guys, though,” I said.

  “Wait,” Connie said. “Wait. What the hell just happened here?”

  Irwin put a hand on her shoulder, and said, to me, “She’s … she’s a vampire. Isn’t she?”

  I blinked and nodded at him. “How did…?”

  “Paranet,” he said. “There’s a whole page.”

  “Wait,” Connie said again. “A … what? Am I going to sparkle or something?”

  “God, no,” said Irwin and I, together.

  “Connie,” I said, and she looked at me. “You’re still exactly who you were this morning. And so is Irwin. And that’s what counts. But right now, things are going to get really complicated if the cops walk in and start asking you questions. Better if they just never knew you were here.”

  “This is all so…” She shook her head. Then she stared at River Shoulders. Then at me. “Who are you?”

  I pointed at me, and said, “Wizard.” I pointed at River. “Bigfoot.” I pointed at Irwin. “Son of Bigfoot.” I pointed at her. “Vampire. Seriously.”

  “Oh,” she said faintly.

  “I’ll explain it,” Irwin told her quietly. He was watching River Shoulders.

  River held out his huge hands to either side and shrugged. “Hello, son.”

  Irwin shook his head slowly. “I … never really…” He sucked in a deep breath, squared off against his father, and said, “Why?”

  And there it was. What had to be the Big Question of Irwin’s life.

  “My people,” he sa
id. “Tradition is very important to them. If I acknowledged you … they would have insisted that certain traditions be observed. It would have consumed your life. And I didn’t want that for you. I didn’t want that for your mother. I wanted your world to be wider than mine.”

  Bigfoot Irwin was silent for a long moment. Then he scratched at his head with one hand and shrugged. “Tonight … really explains a lot.” He nodded slowly. “Okay. We aren’t done talking. But okay.”

  “Let’s get you out of here,” River said. “Get you both taken care of. Answer all your questions.”

  “What about Harry?” Irwin said.

  I couldn’t get any more involved with the evident abduction of a scion of the White Court. River’s mercy had probably kept the situation from going completely to hell, but I wasn’t going to drag the White Council’s baggage into the situation. “You guys go on,” I told them. “I do this kind of thing all the time. I’ll be fine.”

  “Wow, seriously?” Irwin asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’ve been in messier situations than this. And … it’s probably better if Connie’s dad has time to cool off before you guys talk again. River Shoulders can make sure you have that time.”

  Outside, a cart with flashing bulbs on it had pulled up.

  “River,” I said. “Time’s up.”

  River Shoulders rose and nodded deeply to me. “I’m sorry that I interfered. It seemed necessary.”

  “I’m willing to overlook it,” I said. “All things considered.”

  His face twisted into a very human-looking smile, and he extended his hand to Irwin. “Son.”

  Irwin took his father’s hand, one arm still around Connie, and the three of them didn’t vanish so much as … just become less and less relevant to the situation. It happened over the course of two or three seconds, as that same nebulous, somehow transparent power that River had used earlier enfolded them. And then they were all gone.

  Boots crunched down the hall, and a uniformed officer with a name tag reading DEAN burst in, one hand on his gun.

  * * *

  Dean eyed me, then said, “That’s all you know, huh?”

  “That’s the truth,” I said. “I told you that you wouldn’t believe it. You gonna let me go now?”

  “Oh, hell no,” Dean said. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re stoned out of your mind or insane. Either way, I’m going to put you in the drunk tank until you have a chance to sleep it off.”

  “You got any aspirin?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he said, and got up to get it.

  My head ached horribly, and I was pretty sure I hadn’t heard the end of this, but I was clear for now. “Next time, Dresden,” I muttered to myself, “just take the gold.”

  Then Officer Dean put me in a nice quiet cell with a nice quiet cot, and there I stayed until Wild Bill Meyers showed up the next morning and bailed me out.

  * * *

  Author’s Bio:

  Jim Butcher enjoys fencing, martial arts, singing, bad science-fiction movies, and live-action gaming. He lives in Missouri with his wife, son, and a vicious guard dog. You may learn more at www.jim-butcher.com.

  HOLLY’S BALM

  by RACHEL CAINE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE: Andy and Holly also appear in a short story entitled “Death Warmed Over” in the anthology Strange Brew (2010).

  * * *

  You have to have a strong stomach if you’re a witch—especially one who deals in potions, because potions in general are not made out of, say, sweet herbs and baby’s breath. But still, as I opened my front door and stepped in, and dropped my bag on the chair, the smell hit me like an iron skillet to the face.

  I gagged, covered my mouth and nose, and fought down an overpowering impulse to turn around and leave.

  But that wouldn’t do because it was my house, and besides, there was no way I was going to let on how bad that stench actually had hit me. I was a professional, dammit.

  Although it was, in fact, really bad. I blinked, wiped tears away from my eyes, locked the door behind me, and took several self-abusing deep breaths before my gag reflex subsided and my body adjusted to the new, foully odorous reality. It was all the worse because I had a great house. It should have smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, maybe, not like rotting corpses and cancer, with a high note of ancient, sweaty armpits.

  “Honey?” I tried to sound concerned, but positive, which was somewhat spoiled by my holding my nose. “Um … what died?” I followed the smell into the big open kitchen, where Andrew Toland, dressed in my best apron, the one with red lace trim, was stirring a gigantic pot on top of the stove. Andy has a wicked sharp smile that was balanced by warm, disarming brown eyes; it’s a face that’s young in years but has lines of character that speak of the hard times and experiences. Shaggy brown hair that I couldn’t convince him to trim into a more modern style.

  “That had better not be our dinner,” I said. “Or you are a dead man.”

  He smiled even wider. “That seem at all redundant to you, Holly Anne?”

  He was right, it was redundant, because Andy Toland was, fact, already dead. He’d died back in the Old West days, fighting the world’s worst zombie war; he’d rested in peace for a long time after that, before a resurrection witch—me, in fact—brought him back to help find a ruthless killer, one with the same powers of life and death that I had. I was moderately powerful, I supposed, but Andy was, and always had been, in a class by himself.

  Which was why he was standing here in my kitchen, brewing up some foul concoction, instead of resting in peace in his grave. He was powerful, and he was determined, and he was in love. With me. God help me, I was crazy in love with him, too. Somehow, that was a stronger magic than any potion I’d ever brewed because it kept him alive in defiance of all the laws of resurrection magic. The supernatural rules said that someone brought back would get weaker exponentially the longer they stayed—that they’d be overtaken by pain and dragged back into the dark no matter how much a resurrection witch struggled to keep them alive. I’d never been able to sustain anyone I’d resurrected for longer than a couple of days.

  Andy had been alive now for almost three months, and although he regularly brewed himself up a maintenance potion, he wasn’t declining. Not at all. He’d never shown a moment of pain, weakness, or distraction.

  It was a nine days’ wonder in the magical world. I was surprised we weren’t besieged by researchers, but Andy’s reaction to the first few who’s buttonholed us had been swift and decisive enough to drive them off—or, more accurately, to send them circling like vultures. They could afford to wait. He wasn’t going anywhere. That was kind of the whole point.

  “Hi, pretty lady,” he said, and kissed me lightly on the nose I was still holding closed. “How was your day?”

  “Miserable, but what else is new? It’s the same office job as yesterday, only fifty percent more boring now that everyone avoids me.” I’d always tried to keep my day job separate from what I did in my off-hours—translation, witchcraft—but now that the word was out, I was treated like a pariah. Not that it was much of a change, actually.

  “That’d be their loss, Holly Anne. Never met anybody less worth avoiding than you.”

  I couldn’t help it. I let go of my nose and kissed him back, on the lips. “You know I have to ask,” I said. “What the hell is that stench?” When I looked down into the stockpot, I saw a thick red potion threaded with veins of silver. He was stirring with a long-handled silver spoon, so it had a ritual component as well as the basic magical chemistry. Close-up, the smell was so thick, it was like dense London fog. Even though I held my breath, I could taste it heavy in my mouth.

  “Damn, I was hoping it’d be done before you got here,” he said, and checked his watch—not a wristwatch, an old-fashioned pocket watch, on a chain, although he’d finally stopped wearing a vest around the house and stuck the timepiece in his jeans pocket instead. “Sorry. I promise, it gets better.”

  “
It couldn’t get any worse,” I said miserably. It came out muffled and indistinct because I had both hands clapped over my nose and mouth. My eyes were watering. I honestly couldn’t understand how he could stand so close to that awful stench and not collapse. Maybe it was a sturdiness one acquired after death, but my knees were getting weak already. “I’ll never get the smell out of here! Andy, sweetheart, this is where I cook food!”

  “I know. Trust me?” He gave me the look I could never resist—puppy dog eyes and an endearingly vulnerable smile. “Here, how about we let this cook a while? I want to welcome you home proper.”

  “Can you leave it?”

  “Well—for a bit, anyway.”

  I didn’t wait for a second invitation to run away, and escaped out into the relatively clear air of the living room, where I gulped down breaths and wiped tears from my cheeks. Andy followed me at a more dignified pace. He overlooked my quiet gagging and let me get my bearings before he hugged me, then kissed me, and oh, that was nice. It almost made up for what he’d done to the house.

  That might have gone to sweetly intimate places, in fact, except that, just then, my cell phone rang.

  We both froze because my number was strictly private—only a few people had it, and one of them was my call screener, who qualified jobs for me. Her name was Melaine, and she was a brisk, funny, no-nonsense woman who seemed to regard taking messages for doctors and for witches as being pretty much the same thing. That was a rarity in Texas–even in Austin, which prided itself on diversity and tolerance for the most part. Witches were never going to be welcome in most Bible Belt towns, what with the scriptural death sentence and all.