Celebromancy

by Michael R. Underwood

  Ree looked up to the dragon, then bellowed the most famous made-up words of the year.

  “FUS RO DAH!”

  Ree heard a swelling of music as the Dovakiin theme filled her ears and the wave of force shot up toward the dragon. The force knocked the dragon sideways in the air, forcing the creature to turn and buffet its wings to regain its balance.

  But once it did, it turned and focused on Ree.

  Ree dashed behind another trailer, hoping people had already evacuated the giant hotbox. She felt a wave of heat as the blast hit the trailer. The vehicle wobbled, but didn’t roll over. Ree fumbled in her bag for a ranged weapon to go along with the cap. She could theoretically try one of the other shouts, but only “Fus Ro Dah” had hit even the gaming mainstream. Any of the other ones she could use wouldn’t have a sliver of the ambient energy to pull from.

  If only Community had actually shown the Rod of Dragon Control in their D&D episode. The D&D movie had one, but that film was so reviled that its prop might not even work on a hatchling.

  As she ran, Ree counted down the recharge on the shout, hoping she’d get another use before the dragon cornered her. She probably couldn’t get any blasting magic out of the cap, so she’d need another weapon, since even shout-assisted, going into melee against a dragon seemed like a exceptionally dumb idea, especially without armor. She reconsidered the phaser, plucking it out of her bag despite its being not as sexy as some options. Hers was pretty low-grade, just an old plastic toy.

  She raised the phaser and fired at the dragon’s flank, the beam zapping up and connecting just above the haunches.

  Said creature did not budge.

  “Figures,” Ree said, doubling back behind the trailer again as she looked for another option. The phaser wasn’t an original prop, wasn’t even one of the more respected and beloved replicas. A run-of-the-mill plastic toy just didn’t attract that much nostalgia, and no nostalgia, no oomph.

  She did have a trio of batarangs, and her stock of CCG expendables included some ranged attacks. Plus . . . she could improvise.

  Ree eyed a stand-up light and hoped that Yancy would forgive her. She pulled the light down, then took a long breath, focusing on applying her Buffy-strength. She twisted the pole between her hands, then slammed the twisted joint into her knee. The pipe cracked, leaving Ree with a tip-heavy pole with a broken light (complete with sparks of dying electricity) and a six-foot metal spear. She peeked around the corner of the trailer just as something gigantic went crunch above and behind her.

  “Eeep!” Ree shouted as the dragon chomped down at her. She fell backward, throwing the makeshift spear out as a stop-thrust. The dragon aborted its attack, then batted her spear away with its snout before lancing down for another bite. Ree rolled with the spear, dodging the bite.

  “Danny!” she called, desperate for backup. Even Buffy hadn’t gone one-on-one with a dragon. (Angel had, but even if you included the comics, you couldn’t say that he’d beaten a dragon.)

  She got her footing again and danced with the dragon for a while. It would reach out to bite, she’d counter with the spear-pole, and then they would both jockey for position. The trailer crumpled under the creature’s weight, collapsing in rending groaning stages. The mundane security was nowhere to be found, and Danny hadn’t shown up yet, likely sticking close to Jane.

  The dragon unleashed another gout of flame, which Ree was expecting. She dove as far as she could, keeping the spear in hand. She couldn’t risk throwing the spear, since her lightsaber didn’t have half the reach. And if D&D had taught her anything, it was that reach was crucial when fighting Huge or larger creatures.

  Ree judged that enough time had passed for the shout to recharge, and waited for the dragon to start another breath attack. She inhaled and then, as the dragon opened its mouth to breathe flame, she bellowed:

  “FUS RO DAH!”

  The first whips of fire cut at her face and the smell of sulfur hit her nose like a pile driver, but the shout pushed them back into the dragon and knocked it off of its perch. The dragon had to billow its wings and take off once more.

  Now.

  Ree aimed for the neck and tossed the spear with the running-on-fumes remains of her Buffy strength. The golden floodlights glimmered off of the pole as it dug into the creature’s neck, just above the left shoulder.

  “W00t!” Ree jumped, pumping one fist in the air.

  The dragon wavered in midflight, pecking at the spear like a bird cleaning its breast. It grabbed the spear in its maw, pulled it out, and tossed it in her direction.

  Fucker has good aim, Ree thought as she hit the deck. The spear punched through a nearby tent and pierced a craft services table.

  Ree looked up to see the dragon climb several stories. It started circling the campus, like it was looking for something.

  She cupped her hands and yelled, “Hey, Puff! Where you going? Running away back to Honah Lee?” The dragon did not respond.

  Ree dashed by Jane’s trailer, trying not to focus on it, in case the dragon somehow didn’t know which was which. She shouted to the area. “Status report!”

  “Status is we’re being buzzed by a fucking dragon!” said one of the guards, his voice cracking.

  “Anyone hurt?” she asked, keeping in motion, one eye still on the dragon overhead.

  Any response was lost in the sound of another gout of flame. She felt a splash of pain across her back, then smelled smoke. Ree stopped, dropped, and rolled, tearing the cap off of her head and flailing with a distinct lack of grace. She rolled up to her knees and saw the dragon swooping down to finish her off.

  To: Julio Reyes

  jreyes62@hotmail.com

  From: Ree Reyes

  rreyes@gmail.com

  Sent: 9:57 PM, May 25, 2012

  Subject: We Regret to Inform You

  Dear Dad,

  I know you’re going to be distraught and all, since I’m dead now, but at least I died FIGHTING A FUCKING DRAGON! How amazing is that?

  Love from beyond the grave,

  Your doting deceased daughter

  Ree heard a boom, and the dragon’s snout snapped to the side rather than biting down on her head. Ree turned and saw Danny with a shotgun, advancing on the creature, pumping and firing with military calm.

  Badass! Ree thought as she scrambled back and to her feet, drawing the lightsaber to give herself a fighting chance.

  The dragon’s tail hit her like a foot-wide whip, sending her reeling and rolling. She thudded against the side of a trailer, watching Danny continue to advance until the shotgun was empty. Then he pulled out a pistol and reversed direction, firing slow, deliberate shots as the dragon closed on him.

  If he’s out here, that sure as hell better mean Jane is fine inside . . . Ree thought, wondering just how much the dragon’s fire was turning the trailers into microwaves.

  But as it went after Danny, stomping tables into kindling and rending through fencing, it didn’t come after her to finish the kill. Ree shook the stun off, thumbed the lightsaber on, and rocked herself to standing again.

  She wobbled on her feet and stuttered back a step.

  Did anyone get the number on that tail? Ree blinked until the three dragons tearing at Jane’s triple-trailer merged into one, and she knew where to aim. Ree drew a batarang from her bag, then wound up to throw.

  “This is me Tanking! Tank-a-licious! I’m much tastier than them! Spicy Latina right here! Caliente!” Ree threw out whatever came to mind, her mind still fuzzy.

  The dragon turned and belched fire at her with that look of disdain only a reptile could manage.

  Ree dove to the side, and the world kept spinning when it should have settled into focus once more. Less than a year in the hero game, and she already had a growing collection of concussions and/or concussion-like injuries. Dr. Wells promised that the tenth one came with
free permanent brain damage.

  Ree found her balance again, then strafed forward and to the right, copying a page from Skyrim and attacking at the dragon’s flank. When playing the game, she’d found it best to keep far enough forward to avoid the tail and far enough back to avoid the bite. It was the Scylla and Charybdis of dragon-slaying, and far easier said than done.

  Ree slashed into the dragon with the lightsaber, leaving glowing gashes in its scaly flank. The dragon lashed out in pain, slamming her with its wings. Ree hit the deck, then jammed the lightsaber into the dragon’s belly.

  As it moaned a death knell, the dragon collapsed on top of her, its neck falling across her chest like a tree.

  The air went out of her lungs like a bellows. Her arms were pinned, the lightsaber pressed to the pavement. But the dragon wasn’t moving, so it seemed like the only danger was having her lungs cave in.

  Small victories?

  Ree wheezed, trying to speak. But since her lungs were desperately trying to exist in the same space as a burned corpse, nothing came out. She kicked her legs, trying to work herself free. And if someone noticed the flailing and came to help, that wouldn’t hurt, either. But if they were sane, most everyone should be blocks away already.

  Her already-foggy head got foggier as she failed to get new air into her lungs. She flailed harder, trying to get the lightsaber to cut through dragon, concrete, or something to help her get free.

  She saw a shadow pass through her vision, then heard metal hitting concrete. There was a grunt, and then the weight lifted from her chest. It took several more wheezes for her to get her lungs to remember how to accept oxygen, but they did fill. Ree sat up, her vision covered with scattered white lighting.

  Danny stood above her, backlit by the few remaining flood-lights. He set down the spear, which he’d just used to lever the dragon’s neck off of her. The bodyguard held a hand down to her, which she took.

  Back on her feet, Ree evaluated the desolation. The trailer campus looked like it had been hit by a fire-nado.

  She smelled burned metal, roasted concrete, accented by charred kindling. People emerged from their hiding places, some faces ash-white with fear, others soot-stained by the fires.

  As she took a step toward the crowd, she heard a deep popping sound and felt a wave of ichor wash over her legs, sending chills up her whole body. Eeeugh.

  The dragon’s remains covered the concrete, spreading out all the way to the street.

  And now my pants are ruined, too.

  Yancy emerged from one of the trailers and took charge. “The fire department is on the way! Everyone stay calm, and we’ll be fine. If you inhaled smoke, go to the props tent. If you were burned, head for the street if you can move on your own. If you can’t move on your own, wave for help.”

  Ree joined the triage efforts, helping cast and crew cluster into the appropriate groups for care once the firefighters and EMTs arrived. Ree didn’t relish the idea of trying to explain a dragon attack in normal-people terms, but arson would probably have to suffice. That was, of course, assuming the Doubt could cover up something this big.

  And the ichor would be dissolved by the time the emergency responders arrived. Hopefully. Except for the stuff that had gotten on her. That tended to stick around until she air-blasted it off. The universe seemed to have a vindictive streak that way.

  When the responders arrived, Ree let them take charge and found her way to Jane’s trailer. If she let the EMTs look at her, she’d spend the whole night in the hospital, and she had better things to do. Plus, this might have just been the first wave, as terrifying as it was to consider.

  Danny had taken the post outside the trailer, his armpit holster showing. The shotgun, however, had apparantly gone back inside. The trailer had several rents along the side and a yard-wide dent in the living room corner.

  “You okay?” Ree asked.

  Danny nodded, his eyes wide. “Hell of a thing. When I heard that dragons were real, I never imagined I’d actually see one, let alone fight it.”

  Ree smiled. “And lived to tell the tale. How cool is that?” Danny returned the grin for a moment, being polite, then resumed his post, scanning the charred filming campus. Shooting would be indefinitely postponed, if not canceled entirely. The insurance claim would get held up for years, if it even went through.

  Ree climbed the steps and opened the door. The inside of the trailer looked like it had been through an earthquake, dishes shattered on the floor, table upturned, papers and Blu-Ray cases strewn across the floor.

  “Jane?” she called out as she leaned into the hallway to see down the hallway to a closed door. Ree went to the door and knocked. “It’s me. Are you okay?”

  The moment of stillness sideswiped Ree, her equilibrium skipping like a laggy video game. She leaned against one wall and focused on her breathing. Her after-action sleep tally had to be up to about thirty hours by now. But if the production was scrubbed . . .

  Ree was saved from thinking through those consequences by the door opening to show a visibly shaken Jane, clutching a baseball bat like a three-year-old hanging on to her binkie.

  At the sight of Ree, Jane’s whole body relaxed. The bat drooped to hanging by her leg, and the star wrapped Ree up with her fee arm. “Me? Are you all right? It looks like you’ve just been to war.”

  “I killed a dragon. A for-realz dragon. How cool is that?”

  The two of them walked over to the bed. Ree flopped onto the lush sheets and was out before she could say comfy.

  Chapter Twenty

  Schrödinger’s Disappointment

  WTF RT @PearsonPatriot Large explosion reported at Douglas and 2nd. Emergency responders are on site.

  —@Fugu__Ken, Twitter, May 26, 1:17 AM

  @Fugu__Ken I heard it was arson. Something to do with J-Rad’s crappy new show.

  —@MaddowsWife, Twitter, May 26, 1:21 AM

  @Fugu__Ken @MaddowsWife Three people were DOA at Pearson Heart. Not time 4 snippiness.

  —@BaliAli, Twitter, May 26, 2:13 AM

  When she woke, Ree was sore in her everywhere. She popped and groaned as she stretched, and felt a warm presence beside her. There was light from somewhere, and she cracked open her eyelids like ancient vaults.

  “How are you feeling?” Jane asked from beside Ree.

  “Like death left out overnight during a blizzard.”

  A hand ran through Ree’s hair. “You’ve been running pretty much nonstop since what, last week?”

  Having found a comfortable position and not ready to face the world again, Ree dug in where she was. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “We’ve got everything except the mirror, and that should arrive by courier today. We’re going to shoot for tonight for the ritual.”

  Ree grumbled at the talk of real things, flipping over from facing Jane to facing the wall. “So I can keep sleeping, right?”

  “Yancy wants a word about the production.” She waited a beat. “I’m pretty sure he’s going to call it. We can’t recover from this kind of damage, not right now. If the insurance claim comes through, we might be able to recoup costs, but we’ll miss this pitch season.”

  “Fuuuuck,” Ree said, feeling her professional ambitions go up in smoke. She pulled herself upright, seeing that she’d been undressed and cleaned. Holding a sheet up to her chest, she asked. “Clothes?”

  Jane nodded across the room to a folded pile on a chair. “I had them cleaned. They still smelled horrible. So I picked these out for you.” Jane handed her another stack of clothes, including a pair of dark-wash jeans, a vintage-design Galaga shirt, and a baby-blue sweater. “I wanted to have those burned, but I figure that’s your call, not mine.”

  Ree creaked and stretched her way to standing, then dressed, already starting to mourn her poor close-but-no-cigar-it’s-already-burned-because-dragon TV show.

  “Can we get coffee before
we hear about how screwed we are?” Ree asked.

  Jane smiled a weak smile of sympathy. “Of course, hon. And for you, I won’t add Bailey’s to mine.”

  “Friends don’t let friends drink and thaumaturge,” Ree said, picking herself up.

  Since the craft services tent had been melted and then impaled during the fight, Danny accompanied them to a nearby café to get a triple cappuccino (for Ree) and a skinny half-calf latte (for Jane). Danny had water.

  Ree walked slowly on the way back, savoring the drink. Her senses unfolded with the caffeine, the mothballs-in-the-mouth flavor and the fuzz around her vision receeding as she made the proper obeisance to her Caffeine Overlord.

  Until she went to talk to Yancy, she still had a pilot in production, in the same way that Schrödinger’s cat was alive until you looked. There would be other scripts to sell, and maybe she could even find a way to resell this one once the rights reverted or whatever. But what was supposed to have been her big chance would become, as soon as reality hit, a hellaciously inauspicious start for her writing career.

  Eventually, Ree gave in and they got to the tent Yancy had taken up as his new office, given that his trailer was in two pieces and upside down at the moment. The mood on the shooting campus felt like what Ree imagined it would in a battlefield, the kind where a day later the losers dragged away the bodies of the dead while trying to deny the fact that they’d just lost the campaign.

  Yancy was unshaven, with a tie loose around a soot-stained shirt and pants. He managed a weak smile as Ree and Jane approached.

  Ree’s hands shook, and her voice caught in her throat as she tried to get directly to the point. The words died in her throat.

  “Good morning,” Yancy said. He lifted a pair of foldout metal chairs and handed them to Jane and Ree. “Will you sit?”

  They sat, and Ree found her voice again. “Are we screwed?”