by Chris Lowry
The earth under his feet turned to slush but he jumped before he sank, grabbed a branch and kipped a kick at my head again.
I ducked back, thought the branch into manacles and let him hang there like a piñata.
“This is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me,” I warned him and shot a lance of force into his stomach.
Then I had to stand back as he vomited all over the ground at our feet.
“I told you,” I said.
I wiggled the branch and he slipped to the ground, too out of it to jump as I dissolved the ground under him and let him slip in up to his head.
Time to solve this problem like a soccer hooligan.
I took four steps back, lined up on an imaginary goal post and got ready to punt his face.
“Bad idea,” said Elvis.
“Stow it,” I took two steps forward and a monster plowed into me.
I tried to roll and get away from it, but a giant wolf snapped at my face, latched onto my forearm and shook me like a rag doll.
“Cats and Dogs,” I cursed.
The Hund yelped and shrank into a cute little Yorkshire terrier. It still ravaged my arm, but the tiny teeth couldn’t tear loose from the rips in the leather it had made in a much larger version.
I rolled up to my feet and tried to decide if I was going to shotput the pup, or just put it down to nip my ankles.
“Your back,” Elvis said as a second Hund slammed into me.
I rolled with this one too, keeping it from biting and crashed into the trunk of the tree.
At least I had something to lean against as I climbed up again.
“I’m getting pretty damn tired of stuff knocking me down,” I raged and sent a circle of force out around me.
It slammed Eric and the other Viking down, plus the two Hunds. The giant and his terrier were unfazed they were so close to the ground.
“Hold Marshal!” Eric yelled as he backflipped to his feet.
I could see his eyes glowing red, the berserker in him ready to come out and play.
I almost invited him.
A good fight with three Vikings and their Hell Hunds would help ease my soul, and if they happened to do some damage along the way, so much the better.
I could deal with physical pain.
It might even take my mind off my heart for a moment.
Elvis put his hand on my shoulder and sent a cold shiver down my spine.
“You’ve got to cool it down,” he sang.
“A boy band?”
He shrugged and I stood up straight, rage leaking off me as reason fought its way back in.
“We are no boy band,” Eric said, misunderstanding. “But we fight like one this day.”
I turned the earth to muck around the giant and used magic to lift him up. He’d have to bathe himself, but I shot a blast of air across him to clean off most of it.
He looked ready to fight for a second, then threw back his head and howled.
“Did you see what he did to my Hund!”
He bent over and scooped up the terrier to go nose to nose.
“By Odin’s beard man, you turned it into a rat!”
He laughed and was joined by the others, even the two Hunds with their tongues hanging out.
The terrier wasn’t having it.
It barked and yipped and growled, first at me, then at the rest of the group.
“I can fix it,” I let them know as I leaned against the tree.
I tried wiping my arm across my eyes in a discreet way.
The giant didn’t care.
“Why were you crying in the garden Warlock?”
“He’s not a warlock, Rollo,” Eric corrected. “He is the Marshal of Magic and he bested you in battle.”
Rollo grinned.
“My apologies Marshal, I meant no disrespect. My tongue often engages before my brain can catch up.”
“I had something in my eye,” I explained.
“Both eyes,” the giant bent his head down to examine my face and made a tsking noise with his lips.
“Those are tears man.”
“If he doesn’t want to share with us Rollo, that is his prerogative.”
The Hund next to Eric padded over and leaned against my leg.
Her fur was golden brown and warm, and she gazed up at me, I could feel her sympathy, and let my hand drift over her head.
“I’ve never petted a HellHund before.”
“Werewolves,” said Rollo as he held up the terrier for a more thorough examination. “Do you think if he changed back, he would be a tiny man?”
“Let’s not find out,” Eric eyed the Hund against my leg with a strange look in his eye.
I formed the thought in my head and wiggled the spell at the tiny little dog.
It yelped, jumped and transformed back into the giant Hund it had been when it attacked me.
Then it plowed into Rollo and knocked him down.
The giant laughed again.
“Guess he didn’t like being picked up,” he said as he got up and dusted himself off.
“I don’t believe in happenstance,” I told Eric. “I have an address for you tonight.”
He nodded and took down the numbers.
“And I need a favor,” I said.
“A good trade?”
“I need you to find a witch.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
I sent the Normanii on an errand to find Beth and bring her to me. She had information I needed.
It had to be connected and I just needed some quiet time to figure it out. The vampires showing up at the same time as the voo doo witch and the soul monster meant an orchestrated assault.
I'd put it all on the Judge, but he sent me here to stop it. Clean up my own mess as he put it.
Then my own mess showed up.
He had to have known she would be here.
Hell, he probably knew her next move before he did.
The question was why?
Why put the Normanii and me on the same path?
Why put me on the same train as Claude?
And why hide the death of my colleague from me in the middle of a task?
"How many Marshals have I seen die?" I asked my ever-present ghost.
"Seen?"
Too many, I confirmed. I knew it, just wanted to double check. Our job was to go up against some baddies and there were a lot of those on the seven continents.
I'm not sure how the Judge picked us.
With an average life span of eighteen months, it wasn't a lottery anyone wanted to win.
None of that great powered, great responsibility crap. A Marshal trained to fight black magic with even worse magic.
We went after whoever the Judge said to go get, and I was confident that I was one of the few who brought most back alive.
I'd done enough damage in the war that killing was my back up option.
And the disappearance of my wife had made me revere that spark of life a little too much.
What was I going to do now?
She was dead.
Her body possessed by a Sidhe.
And the man I worked for knew but didn't tell me.
I drew circles on the concrete table top with the tip of my finger, and only noticed the heat etched concrete when a wisp of smoke hit my nose.
There were arcane symbols dredged up from my subconscious, circles and swirls and a letter.
"Do you know this?" I asked the ghost.
Elvis floated over and studied the symbol for a moment.
"That is no bueno," he said. "Where did you see it?"
"I didn't know I had," I confessed. "What does it mean?"
His eyes drifted off, vacant as he tried to remember.
"Not now," I muttered. "I need you to remember."
"I'm caught in a trap," he looked at me and sobbed. "I can't walk out."
It's almost broke my heart. My poor friend.
"We know where to look," I told him.
I patted my bomber pocket for a pen and a scrap
of paper to scribble the symbol down.
Eric and his Hunds were back in an hour.
It would almost be worth turning a bunch of people into werewolves just so they could hunt down missing persons. And attach them to Viking warriors to mete out Justice when they found those who took them.
Beth did not look happy.
“I’m not happy about this,” she seethed.
Most witches need time to set up rituals before they can perform their magic, and recharge their energy.
That’s why it takes so much training to control magic, and what most users don’t know is there is an eternal battery source in faith in the quantum aspect of magic.
The Judge teaches it, but I had to be careful, because once I learned he transformed from human to wizard with a giant blood sacrifice, it might affect my belief ability.
Better to not think of it, and focus on Beth.
She was still pretty, and being angry just made her more attractive. Pert lips pursed in anger, brown eyes drawn in consternation.
“I thought if the Marshal had business with me, he wouldn’t send his lackey’s to find me.”
“I’m in a hurry,” I said and shifted my arm.
“It looks like you’re sitting in a park,” she snapped and froze.
“What is that?”
She pointed at the symbol.
“Do you know it?”
“No,” she lied.
“Jenny I’ve got your number, I need to change your mind,” Elvis crooned.
She shivered.
“Are you doing spirit magic?” she growled.
Eric and the Hunds shifted as they searched for spirits.
“No one here but us chickens,” Elvis said.
“What does the symbol mean? I’ve seen it before, but I can’t place it.”
“Ask your Watcher,” she seethed.
“Lady,” I shook my head. “I’m tired. I’m hungry. I got a crap ton of bad news today and I just want a beer.”
“I don’t care about your problems,” she said. “I’ve got problems of my own.”
“I know. A fight with a witch named Phyllis.”
“How did you know that?”
“The alliance ritual you were doing with Digby. Your coven is weak. You’re weak.”
“I am not,” she said in a soft voice, cowed.
“Alright,” I gave her some wiggle room. “You’re not weak. You’re just tired, and you’re building a coven in one of the most highly magicked cities in the world. There’s a lot of history here, and I don’t have time for a lesson. I’m here to stop a demon, and I think Phyllis has teamed up with it.”
Beth chewed on her lip for a few moments.
“I don’t have much power, Marshal,” she said after a moment. Her eyes flared. “But what I do have, I offer to assist you.”
I nodded.
“So, what does the symbol mean?”
“I don’t know it’s meaning, but I have seen it. It was carved into the skull of my familiar when I brought it back to life.”
“Which was yours? The Giant cats or the really giant saber tooth?”
“Saber tooth!” Elvis shrieked. “You said razor!”
His outburst sent a shiver through all of us and set the Hunds to howling.
I waved him down.
“Saber, razor, it’s the same thing.”
Talking to the air got me some crazy looks.
Looks that said I might be on the crazy side too.
I didn’t worry about it. Added to the myth.
“Saber.”
I stored that away for a moment. It didn’t help me for right now.
“Alright, I said. “Here’s the plan.”
I outlined what I wanted to happen with the witch and her coven, and she agreed.
“Bring the cats too,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Are you sure?”
“Cats and dogs in the same place,” I shrugged. “What could possibly go wrong.”
“You’re nothing like the other Marshal,” she said after studying me for a moment.
“So I’m told.”
“He did not have the same…humor as you.”
Good word choice. Very careful.
“I’ve been at it a little longer than him,” I said. “Not so much to prove to witches that get out of hand.”
She nodded, warning heard.
“We will strive to stay in hand, Marshal.”
“Viking,” I called to Eric.
“Normanii,” he corrected.
“Northman,” I said. “Take the witch home, then meet me at that address at ten o’clock. We have to be done in an hour, because I have an appointment at midnight.”
Then I took the ghost to the place we could find answers.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
I knocked on Hannah's door and waited for her to answer. She opened it after a few moments and handed me a bottle of beer.
"Good guess," I said and took a sip as I stepped in.
She held a twin bottle up to clink against mine.
"What do they say about great minds?" She grinned. "They're dirty as hell."
We toasted and I settled on the couch as she curled up in the chair.
"Any word?" We both asked at the same time.
I was hoping the Judge would send back up, but no such luck.
She shook her head and sipped her beer.
"Here's what we have," I told her and pulled out the paper from my jacket pocket.
"Dog into this and see if you can find something on this."
"Did you draw this?"
"Not originally, no. It looks Celtics or Norse, so start there."
"I mean is this your handwriting?"
"Yeah, I copied it. Why?"
"It looks like a child did it."
"I was drawing on concrete," I told her. "And I was in a hurry."
"You want me to find kid glyphs?"
"We think it's important."
"Who is we?"
"Me I mean."
She stared at me with crunched up eyebrows.
"Please don't tell me I'm going to get that weird when I get old," she teased. "Talking to myself, making up ancient symbols."
"Comes with the territory," I told her. "And what do you know about ghost lore?"
"I need more than that."
I sat back and took a drink then looked at the label on the bottle.
Another beer from Abita, this one Amber. Darker and stronger. I sighed and relaxed into the question.
"Ghost history, ghost physiology? Anything we can find on ghosts and the process by which they lose memories. Seen anything like that?"
She put the tip of the bottle against her lips and played with it long enough to have me second guessing my decision from the night before.
Then she shook her head.
"I know where to start," she said. "But that might take awhile. Which is priority?"
She held up my chicken scratch drawing, which really I should have done a better job on capturing since it might be the key we needed.
I glanced over my shoulder and sighed.
"Picture," I said.
"That's being generous," she shifted out of the chair and rummaged through a pile of books to start her search.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
I was never large on leadership in my Army days. I had a strict doctrine of follow orders and only assume command in the absence of competent leadership until such a time as I'm relieved of duty.
It happened once.
I assumed command and they wanted me to keep it with a battlefield promotion.
The Judge had other ideas.
Turns out, he'd been keeping tabs on me since I was a kid and liked my moxie.
He didn't call it that. I'm not sure what they called it when he was a kid, if he ever was one. He might have sprung full grown from the mind of Odin or whatever Celtic god passed for the Far Walker back in his day.
My moxie as he called it was a stra
ight forward direct assault.
With a little samurai wisdom thrown in.
One of the priests at the orphanage I was raised in had spent time in Japan when it was still closed off to Westerners. He'd been ship bound to China when a storm washed them up on the volcanic shores of North Japan and the edge of an epidemic.
He wouldn't talk about it much, but he had experience with magical things, as it turned out, most of the priests in the place did.
And he had taught me some tenets that stuck with me through the years.
One was, if a man is worth threatening, he is worth killing straight away.
Samurai considered threats a waste of breath.
Which is what made me a shoot first kind of guy when the situation called for it.
I balanced that yin with a yang for diplomacy.
I'm not sure how much childhood affects our adult life, habits and way of thinking, since I couldn't remember my parents who were killed when I was very young. But they died in violence, I have been told, and so my penchant to do violence first was a back burner item, a last result of sorts.
I'd rather try to talk it out first.
When that didn't work, it was time for the fireworks, and shoot to kill.
I wanted to find Phyllis and give her a chance to talk.
I could have used the zombie attack as an excuse to blast her to nothing, but I'd rather turn her over to the Judge and let him do the whole thing he was named for doing.
Plus, a black magic woman like her might know something about a soul monster roaming the city, word of which had yet to reach my ears.
I'd found a gang war, a zombie uprising, a vampire convention, but nothing of what I'd been sent to stop.
And the gnome wasn't helping.
What good was a psychic medium if they didn't tell you the path you needed to tread?
There are reasons most folks don't know about magic. Sure they believe it, like children on the edge of ten still sort of believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, but also know that only babies still believe that stuff.
We grow out of belief.
Most of us.
I didn't have that luxury. I was born to magic parents into a magic time just before world war two. My parents were attacked by the Catholic Church and disappeared, which happens a lot more than you think to folks with the ability. I was put in the care of a priest who led the attack on my parents who raised me in an orphanage under his tutelage.