“Is that some kind of riddle?”
“No, it’s merely the facts. You might as well put away your sword and go back to your room. I’ll get to you soon enough.”
“But I thought you were here to guide us.”
“No, I’m here to eat you.”
“Why?”
“That’s a silly question. I’m hungry. I was polite enough to feed you. It’s only fair that you return the favor. Your friend here seems like she’ll be the finest meal I’ve had in ages.”
“I didn’t eat any of your food!” shouted Helen.
“You didn’t? That’s a fly in the ointment.” Babs smacked her lips. “I suppose I’ll eat you just the same. It’s technically against the rules, but I don’t mind if you don’t.”
“I mind!” Helen yelled.
“Can’t say that I blame you, dear, but if I listened to every dinner’s complaints, I’d never get anything to eat.”
“Is this some kind of test?” asked Troy.
“No, it’s a late-night snack,” said Babs. “I don’t know how I can be any clearer about this.”
She opened the oven and started shoving Helen inside.
“Ow!” said Helen.
“You are a big one,” said Babs.
“Hey!”
“No offense, young lady. I knew I should’ve torn you in half.”
Troy raised his sword.
Babs kept shoving, not bothering to turn around. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. If you go to your room I’ll bring you a nice ham sandwich and a Pepsi. Doesn’t that sound more pleasant than having your heart ripped from your chest?”
He sprang, bringing the blade down where her neck and shoulder met. The sword clanged as if striking stone. It didn’t so much as nick Babs’s housecoat.
Her hand was wrapped around his throat. He hadn’t seen her move. It was just there, strangling the life from him. She grinned with her perfect white dentures as she dropped him in one of the chairs.
“Courage makes a fine broth, but the aftertaste of stupidity can ruin a dish.” Babs picked up his sword and handed it to him, hilt first. “Now be a good boy and wait your turn.”
She turned her back on him as she wrestled Helen into the oven. He resisted the urge to attack her. It was possible she had a weak point, but he couldn’t risk it. If he was going to stop Babs, he had to be smart about it.
He noticed a rusty old helmet among the cookie jars and cutlery on the countertops. The helmet was marked by the same design as the one on the back of his hand. They’d found the next relic, just sitting there, but he was too concerned with saving Helen to think much about it.
He moved slowly toward the exit. She made no move to stop him.
“There’s no escape now,” she said, “but you’re free to amuse yourself trying.”
He returned to the ghastly den. She might have been lying, but he doubted it. Even if he could escape and find help, he’d never get back in time to save Helen.
He ran through the magical items they’d collected on their quest so far. The sword hadn’t worked on her. The shield might have protected him, but it was stuck in a wall. That left only the amulet in his pocket and its ability to animate the lifeless.
The mummies seemed an obvious target, but it only worked on one object at a time, and a single zombie probably wouldn’t bother Babs.
He sat on the arm of the sofa, away from the corpses, and scanned the room for a suitable minion. The only remotely threatening object was a drooping houseplant. There was that old suit of armor in the foyer, but again, he doubted it would accomplish much. Brute force wasn’t going to work. He had to be smart about this.
A plan came to him. Not so much a plan as an outline, but time was not on his side.
Troy tapped his sword in the dirt. The brown-and-red soil climbed its way out of the pot with the houseplant still growing out of its head. It stretched its small form.
“Didn’t give me much to work with, did you?”
“Circumstances beyond my control,” said Troy.
“What is your command, master?”
“How are you at distracting evil witches?”
The elemental rolled its shoulders, causing the houseplant leaves to shake. “I’ll do what I can, but don’t expect much.”
Troy pushed open the kitchen door. Helen was nearly all in the oven.
“I’m giving you one last chance,” he said. “Let her go.”
Babs’s head twisted all the way around to smirk at him. “It’s a generous offer, but I’ve already put far too much work into getting your friend in here.”
He clutched the amulet in his pocket. He’d only get one shot at this.
“Get her.”
The diminutive elemental hurled itself across the room to strike her in the face. He exploded in a choking cloud of dust. Babs clawed at the dirt wrapped around her head. She charged blindly at Troy. He anticipated her attack, moving to one side. As she bolted past him, he thrust his magic sword between her ankles. She tripped, scrambling across the linoleum like a wild cat with a bag over its head. Her shrieks were muffled by mouthfuls of dirt.
Troy pointed the amulet at the oven. “Spit her out.”
The amulet warmed in his hand as the oven came to life. With a harsh, gurgling retch it vomited the burlap sack onto the floor. He knelt beside it, only to have Helen’s flailing knee, elbow, or other body part smack him in the throat from the sack.
“Hel,” he croaked. “It’s me.”
“Troy?”
“Don’t move. I’m going to cut you out.”
He sliced open the sack with the sword. She pulled herself free, sitting up.
“I’m going to kill that crazy bitch.”
Babs stood. She’d pulled off enough dirt to expose the left side of her face. “You’re more stubborn than I thought, children, but your tricks only forestall the inevitable.”
She slunk forward with a liquid grace, as if she were nothing more than flesh wrapped around slithering oil.
“You caught me off guard last time,” said Helen. “You won’t be so lucky this time.”
She unleashed a haymaker that would’ve crushed mortal bones but only put a stagger in Babs’s step. The old lady backhanded Helen. She flew across the kitchen and into the wall.
“I am as ancient as the earth, but even my patience has its limits.” Babs clawed the last bits of soil from her face, pulling off bits of skin, revealing the slimy green muscles beneath. She was on Troy in a moment. Her hot hand burned around his throat. She twisted the oven’s dial. Orange-and-red flames crackled to life like a portal to a hellish underworld.
“Eat her,” gasped Troy.
Babs cackled. “I intend to.”
“I wasn’t talking”—he struggled for his last breath, squeezing the amulet in his hand—“to you.”
The oven sprang. It snapped Babs up in its jaws and devoured her. She got stuck halfway, fighting and shrieking. Her hand squeezed tighter around his throat, and everything blurred. He smelled burning flesh. Swords and clubs might not hurt the ancient hag, but judging by her terrible screeching, fire seemed to do the trick. The oven struggled to slurp her down, threatening to drag him in with her. On the verge of unconsciousness, he saw only the red haze of the hungry flames.
Helen yanked him free. Babs’s hand refused to release him, and the smoldering limb broke off. The oven snapped shut and slid back into its proper place. Smoke billowed from its edges as its occupant pounded and roared.
Helen pulled the severed forearm from his throat. The still-living limb flailed. Deciding not to take any chances, she pinned it between her leg and the linoleum. It continued to squirm.
She put her hand on his chest to feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. Achilles licked his face, and he groaned.
“Dumb magic dog.”
“Thank the gods.” She threw her arms around him. The tight hug dredged up some phlegm, sending him into a coughing fit.
“The gods got us into thi
s mess in the first place.” He smiled with that boyish charm. Even half-conscious and with the bruises left by Babs’s fingers, he was just short of adorable. All his coughing and retching did cause her to worry he’d throw up on her.
Babs’s screams died down. The pounding faded. The stench of roasting witch remained just as strong. The disembodied hand drummed its fingers.
“Are you OK?” Helen asked.
“Are you?”
She helped him to his feet. The hand scurried away, taking shelter in a cupboard.
“We should probably get out of here,” said Troy. “Who knows if that really killed her? She said she couldn’t die.”
Helen thought of the hand. Maybe it’d grow into another witch given enough time. Or maybe it would just go on living forever. Either way, she considered it harmless for the moment.
They hurried to their rooms. Helen plucked the shield from the wall without much effort. They expected to be attacked, but nothing popped out at them as they gathered their luggage and made their way to the exit. At the threshold Troy stopped.
“Hold on. I almost forgot something.”
He ran all the way back to Babs’s hidden kitchen and grabbed the helmet. Metal screamed as the old witch punched her way free of the oven. The house trembled and shuddered.
Troy bolted toward the front door without looking back. He imagined Babs scrambling right behind him, but he didn’t dare look.
Achilles barked.
“Troy, we gotta go!” shouted Helen from the porch.
With each step the rattling grew stronger. He vaulted over a tipped end table and narrowly missed being hit by a falling portrait of a foxhunt. They stepped off the porch just as the house rose into the air. The Mystery Cottage ascended, borne aloft by a pair of giant chicken legs. The monstrous structure took a step toward them. It knocked over several trees while shaking the earth with its stride.
The helmet flew out of Troy’s hands and hovered above them. Its rust fell away, revealing a gleaming silver finish. Two pinpoints of yellow light appeared in its empty eyes, and thunder cracked in the clear night sky.
Somewhere the Lost God chuckled. The helmet fell at Troy’s feet. The parking lot pavement cracked, and a dozen tall, proud trees withered and died in seconds.
Then there was only the quiet whistling of the wind through the forest, sounding very much like the far-off screams of damned, demented souls.
The familiar cackle of Babs frightened the dead into silence.
She smiled down at Troy and Helen from her front porch. The hunched hag rubbed her hands together. “I’m afraid I can’t step foot outside this old home, children. Oh, I suppose I could have my house step on you, but I’m not malicious. And since one of you didn’t eat my food, I’m not so certain I’m allowed. Silly of me to think I could break the rules. Can’t win them all. You’ve earned your lives. And your prize.” She bowed, complete with a sweeping gesture of her long, gnarled arms. “Let’s hope your world isn’t made worse for it.”
Her cabin mansion turned and stomped its way into the forest. Even after its footfalls ceased to shake the earth, the deathless witch’s laughter echoed through the chilly night.
26
Helen and Troy drove until they found a truck stop with a restaurant where they found a booth, ordered some food they didn’t want, and sat there, not talking, studying the silver helmet they’d won for not getting eaten.
Neither said much of anything. Both were too busy listening to the din of thoughts in their own heads.
“Hey, Troy,” said Helen. “Thanks for not leaving me there. In the oven.”
He pushed his cold eggs around with his fork. “Did you think I even considered it?”
“No, but it doesn’t mean I can’t say thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
They shared a smile.
“Hel…” He started but trailed off.
“Yes?”
“I just wanted to say that I like you.”
She leaned back in the booth, took a bite of dry toast. Not because she was hungry, but it was something to do. “I like you too, Troy.”
He said, “No, I mean, I really like you. Like, a lot.”
Helen narrowed her eyes in a way that struck him as suspicious.
“I’m just trying to—” He waited for her to smile or nod. Or scowl. Or lean over and kiss him. Or throw the table in the air and storm out. Something. Anything. She only sat there.
“What I’m trying to say is that maybe we should, I don’t know, like go see a movie or something sometime. After all of this is over.”
“Wow.” Her expression and body language remained unreadable. “You are really bad at this.”
“Yeah. I guess I am. See, I’ve never actually asked anyone out before.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve seen you with women.”
“Oh, I’ve dated plenty,” he said. “I’ve just never had to ask them out. Either they ask me, or we end up dating over time, like a natural progression. Never had to do the official ‘Want to grab dinner sometime?’ thing.”
She smiled. Very slightly.
“So how about it?” he asked.
“No.”
“What?”
“I said no.”
Troy lost all interest in pretending to eat his eggs. “Don’t you like me?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Oh, OK.”
He slouched in his chair. It was the first time she’d seen him slouch.
She picked up the helmet. “What do you think this does?”
“What did I do wrong?” he asked.
Helen set the helmet back down. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
His hangdog expression confirmed he wasn’t going to drop the subject.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Troy.”
“Don’t you like hanging out with me?”
She nodded.
“Don’t you find me attractive?” he asked.
“That’s a stupid question. Who doesn’t find you attractive?”
“Then what’s the problem? I’m not saying this has to be serious, but can it hurt anything to see what happens?”
It could hurt a lot of things, she thought.
“OK. You want to talk about this. Let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about the minotaur in the room. Let’s talk about the horns and the tail and the fur. What about those things?”
“I don’t think they matter to me,” he said.
“You don’t think they matter?”
Troy set down his fork and pushed away his plate, having lost even his fake appetite. “I won’t lie to you. They could matter. But I don’t think they will. I won’t know, though, until we try.”
She matched his slumped posture. “No, Troy, they won’t matter. Not to you. Because you’re so damn wonderful all the damn time. Everyone else sees Helen Nicolaides, cursed girl with horns. But not you. You see more than that.”
“And how is that a bad thing?”
“It’s bad because, for better or worse, this isn’t about you and me. If we started dating, you have no idea what you’d be in store for. People would wonder why you were with me. People like us, we don’t date. The world doesn’t want us to. Because I’m what I am, and you’re Wyatt Wingfoot.”
“You lost me.”
“She-Hulk can’t date Wyatt Wingfoot.”
She hoped the sentence would discourage him but wasn’t surprised when it didn’t.
“Wyatt Wingfoot is this amazing guy,” she said. “Like you. He’s good-looking and smart. He kicks ass. Hangs out with the Fantastic Four. Fights robots and saves the Earth. He’s all kinds of awesome. And he sometimes dates She-Hulk, who is the Hulk’s smarter cousin. But, despite the fact that Wyatt is amazing, he never gets serious with her because nobody wants to write that story.”
“You’re saying you don’t want to go out with me because of a comic book character?”
“No, I’m saying we can’t
go out because of what that character represents. We don’t live in a culture where regular guys, even amazing ones, have seven-foot monster girlfriends.”
“You’re not a monster.”
“I look like one standing next to you. It’d be different with the genders reversed. Everybody gets beauty and the beast. But this thing between us, it’d be weird to most people.”
“So you admit there’s something here.”
“Maybe. It could just be the excitement of the quest, though, a romantic fling brought up by all the dragon fighting. And as long as we’re doing that, it might work, but what happens after the quest? Assuming we survive and don’t destroy the world.”
She leaned forward, almost put her hand on his, but folded them under her chin instead.
“You don’t know what it will be like, Troy.”
“I’m just talking about a date.”
“Then what? What happens if it’s more than that? What happens when you want to introduce me to your parents? What happens when your friends start making cow jokes or the tenth time some hot babe hits on you right in front of me because she assumes it’d be easy to steal you away? Or you start losing friends because they’re not sure how to deal with your girlfriend? Do you think you’re ready for that? Are you ready for people to start disliking you, being uncomfortable around you, just because your girlfriend has fur?
“You don’t know what you’d be getting into. I’m not saying my life is bad. It isn’t. But I’m reminded of what I am every day, and if we dated, you’d be reminded too. And you have the option of walking away from it. And I couldn’t blame you if you did because there are days, lots of them, when I wish I could.”
He wanted to tell her he wouldn’t feel that way, but it would have been an empty promise. His own ethnic heritage came with baggage. People assumed things about him based on nothing more than a glance. He got around most of those by being personable and popular, but they were still there, popping up to annoy him on occasion.
He couldn’t imagine what Helen dealt with. At school he’d heard the whispered jokes, the cruel jabs some of the other students could make. He didn’t hear many because he was the cool popular kid, and he set the rules for his crowd. But he couldn’t pretend that they weren’t said or that many of his friends didn’t say them when he wasn’t around to disapprove.
Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest Page 21