by Chris Lowry
Positive thoughts yield a positive life. It’s quantum.
Negative thoughts must therefore yield a negative life.
It let me return his gaze, and reverse the pity.
He shook his head.
Like speaking to a kid.
A sharp kid, smart and knowledgeable, but in the way only those who read books can tell you about the Sistine Chapel. They know of it, but do not know it.
That’s how he looked at me.
Like he had a secret he couldn’t share because I wasn’t ready for it.
“Are you ready?” he said in a midwestern American accent, still sounding like the Colonel from MASH. “Saddle up.”
He raised a finger and pointed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I called out before he pulled the poof on me.
There it was.
Another sad look.
He blinked and I knew.
Like he put the thought in my head, and as soon as I thought that, I knew he had.
He wanted to tell me but was afraid. Afraid it would break me. Afraid I wasn’t strong enough.
He knew the road ahead of me, knew where it ended, how it ended and even though he wanted to help, he could not.
Or rather, he was helping, but in ways I couldn’t see, didn’t know.
But I was strong enough for it.
The longest lasting Marshal he’d ever trained.
Not the most talented, though he could have left that thought out.
But certainly, the most tenacious, and clever and resourceful.
And lucky. Damn lucky.
He made me think all of those things, let me know that’s how he felt, all in the blink of an eye, an epiphany that filled me with a sense of confidence.
Then poof he was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
Poof.
Or rather I was.
“Damn it,” I said. “You would think that he would poof me where I needed to do the work. Something like Four Corners or the edge of the Navajo reservation. Why would he send me back to New Orleans by the river?”
“Don't scream so loud, he’ll hear you,” said Elvis.
“I don't care if he can hear me. He's supposed to be the most powerful wizard on Earth and we're up against a deadline. But he doesn't send me any closer to the action. It doesn't make sense.”
“Maybe he wants us to take the train.”
“That I could understand,” I screamed at the ghost. “But if that were true why didn't he put us at the train station.”
I heard an insect hum and looked up to see a dot on the horizon.
“If that's a dragon I'm going home.”
It wasn't a dragon, or if it was it was the most erratic flying dragon I've ever heard about. I'd ever never actually seen a dragon, so could only relate what the tales had told. Whatever this was weaved through the sky like a bumblebee
As it got closer I saw two wings and heard what sounded like a lawn mower engine. I wasn't going home. But I think I found how the judge wanted us to get to the Southwest.
The plane lined up on the levy, cut the engine and glided into a shallow stop on the short grass. A little man hopped out of the rear seat and walk straight up to me.
“Marshall?” He had a funny accent I couldn't place and I realized why when he pulled the goggles up off his grease stained face. Another gnome.
“I am,” I told him.
“Sister said you might need a ride,” he gave me an exaggerated wink.
“Sister?”
“Our medium. She said to meet you here and give you a ride wherever you needed to go. I'm all gassed up and ready to fly.”
“Are you sure that thing is safe?” Elvis asked.
“You're a ghost,” I reminded him. “What are you worried about?”
He floated over to inspect the plane, thin fabric over metal struts and a small engine at the front twirling a wooden propeller. It looked more like a toy than an aircraft.
“I wonder why he didn't send a Lear?”
“She knows I don't have one of those,” said the gnome pilot. “I built this one myself with my own hands in my shed.”
I didn't want to tell the poor creature that it looked like it.
“Ready,” he said and invited us to the contraption with a flourish of his hands.
“As we’ll ever be.”
I trudged to the plane and let the pity wash up for a moment. On a commercial flight, I could have taken a nap. I didn’t think my sphincter would relax enough in this plane to let me breathe, let alone sleep.
The gnome hopped in the back, and stepped on the wing to climb in the front bucket.
“Careful,” he called out as he dropped giant bug-eyed goggles over his eyes. “Don’t’ want to hurt the wing. We need that to fly.”
“Wings and prayers,” I settled in and buckled up.
“Those help too!” he called out, spun the end of the plane around and gunned it for the river.
It was probably Elvis screaming during the whole take off.
THE END
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What happens in Vegas does not stay there in WITCHMAS DAY, book 3 in the Marshal of Magic series.
More Magic. More witch hunting. And I don’t know if Vegas has beer, but some of that too if it’s there.
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The US ARMY has a problem. A Pakistani witch has teamed up with the Taliban to turn the tide of battle, and it’s up to the Marshal to find her and stop it.
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Battlefield Z
Battlefield Z – Children’s Brigade
Battlefield Z – Sweet Home Zombie
Battlefield Z – Zombie Blues Highway
Battlefield Z – Mardi Gras Zombie
Battlefield Z – Bluegrass Zombie
Battlefield Z – Outcast (June 2017)
More adventures in the series
FLYOVER ZOMBIE – a Battlefield Z series
HEADSHOTS – a Battlefield Z series
OVERLAND ZOMBIE – a Battlefield Z series
OTHER WORKS by CHRIS LOWRY
Conscripted
Mission One
Shadowboxer
Decreed
Credible Threat
Moon Men
Super Secret Space Mission
Holy War
Nazi Nukes
Time Out
Jack’s Wild