by Al K. Line
"No thanks, need a break. Had a bit of bother recently and need some time off."
"So I heard. Nonetheless, I have a job for you."
This wasn't a request, and saying no wasn't an option. Okay, it was, but Elion was scary, and so was his pet.
"What's the job?" I asked, elbowing Vicky as she kept whispering to George.
"Oh, you'll love it, Arthur, it's right up your street. I need you to steal the Ræth Næg."
I slammed the door in his face and said, "Get back. Now."
As I ran down my cluttered hallway, shunting George and Vicky ahead of me, the front door disintegrated in a shower of splintered wood and my carefully constructed wards collapsed. This was getting ridiculous. I needed to have an urgent chat with Sasha and I needed to up my game.
At the far end of the hall I halted and pushed Vicky and George behind me. I knew he'd probably do something like this but it was the principle. I said no, and it was my door so I could slam it if I wanted to.
But you didn't say no to Fallen, even if you really, and I mean really, wanted to.
Elion and his war dog marched into my home. He loomed over us, smiled, sniffed the air, and said, "Ah, is that coffee I smell?" then took off his hat politely. My beautiful pork pie masterpiece remained firmly on my head—gotta stay looking my best for visitors.
Stopping a few feet away, Elion glanced around and smiled, liking what he saw. Caesar the war dog belched loudly and feathers scattered onto the hall rug.
Knowing there was no choice, and the uncomfortable silence becoming ridiculous, I asked, "You want sugar?"
"Three."
Never trust anyone who has more than two sugars, they're just showing off. They are also the kind of person who goes out of their way to cause trouble, asking for something stupid just so they can have an argument when you question their request.
As if to prove my point, Elion said, "I've often wondered if the stories are true?"
"Stories?" I asked, pushing back against the women until we were just inside the kitchen, knowing something bad, or worse, was about to happen.
Following calmly, Elion whipped his arm out from the folds of his overly dramatic lightweight black overcoat and silver flashed. Yes, I could have done something, no, I didn't. I knew I couldn't beat him, not here, not like this where there would be collateral damage of the daughter and sidekick kind.
I stumbled back, caught in the arms of one or the other of them. Unable to help myself, I frowned in dismay at the spreading bloodstain on a rather nice brown shirt I'd bought only six years ago so was just now getting accustomed to and wearing in. Then I lost all motor function, dragged down whoever was trying to support me, and crashed to the dark flagstones, dead.
See, I told you never to trust anyone who likes too many sugars. They're troublemakers.
Grumpy Death
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Arthur," said Imaginary Figure of Death.
"Tell me about it. This time it was a Fallen."
"You can't trust 'em," he said, shaking his skull, deep in shadow beneath the cowl.
"I know. He barged in, wanted three sugars in his coffee, then the bugger stabbed me. And he brought his dog! My kitchen will be filthy. Especially with the blood."
"Do you want to go back? Sounds rubbish," asked Death, tilting his head to the side then stroking his infinite scythe.
I thought for a moment, then said, "Yes. I've got responsibilities, and I suppose this means I'm not out of lives yet?"
"Guess so. But be warned, Arthur, there—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Just because my faery godmother gave me extra lives doesn't mean they won't run out eventually. Look, can't you just tell me how many I have so I can be more careful? It'd really help." I always asked, but Imaginary Figure of Death liked to keep his secrets.
"Doesn't work like that, dude. You know I'm merely a figment of your imagination. Or am I?" he asked with a menacing cackle. "Anyway, you should be careful. It's unprofessional to keep getting killed."
"Whatever. You gonna make a funny sound and then do that thing so everything goes wibbly wobbly?"
"Shut up, Arthur." The Grim Reaper heaved a chest-rattling sigh and all was emptiness.
I gasped and found myself out flat on my kitchen island, scared and concerned faces peering down at me. I sat up with a groan, scowled at the shirt, then Elion, and said, "You could've just asked. Now I'm down one life. And a classy shirt," I accused.
"People lie. I wanted to see for myself," said Elion offhandedly as if it was a minor matter. "Now, about this coffee?"
It was only then I realized Vicky and George had neither spoken nor moved since I returned. Frozen in a snippet of time. I hated Elion's kind for many and varied reasons, one of them being that they loved this shit.
"You gonna release them?" I unbuttoned my shirt, examined the puncture wound to my heart, and was pleased to see it heal as we spoke. I winced as I pushed the tender flesh with a finger, but magic surged and the hole clenched like a sphincter, which was utterly gross and totally off-putting for obvious reasons. For a moment dizziness almost dropped me to the tiles as body mass was devoured to replenish lost blood. My heart stuttered and I wondered if maybe this was it and I was out of luck, but then it beat hard and fast and I knew I'd live a while longer.
This was the downside to unknown extra lives. It's one thing being killed and coming back to try and make a better go if it, quite another if it leaves holes in you. But all was well with yours truly, apart from the unwanted visitor, of course.
"Later, we need to talk. Sorry about that, couldn't help myself."
"Yeah, right." I put the coffee on and went to change.
I was back in less than a minute, not trusting Elion to keep his hands off my stuff. Standing slightly too close to the frozen statues of Vicky and George, Elion was shirtless, and I gasped at the sight of his beautiful body. I didn't even swing that way, but they had this way about them, and they knew it. It's the flesh, it kind of sparkled and you wanted to touch it, lick it, and all that good stuff.
"Oi!"
Elion snapped his eyes open guiltily. He brushed his annoyingly lush hair behind his ears and the elongated tips flushed pink. Reluctantly, he put his shirt back on and buttoned it up. My manhood retreated into hibernation, where it had been for more months—okay years—than I cared to think about.
"Sorry, I can't help it. I'm so fascinated by human women. Did you know that between their legs they have this—"
"Enough! That's my daughter, don't you dare touch her." I was ready to snap, and I didn't care how powerful he was. I'd destroy him or die my last death trying.
"Sorry, my bad. I didn't touch her, either of them, was just dreaming."
"I know all about your dreams. Keep your grubby thoughts to yourself. Look, what the hell is this? You turn up after ten years, trash my door, break my wards, and then stab me. Not exactly the best way to convince me to do a job."
"Really?"
He had a point, it was absolutely the best way to get me to do something I knew would end up with me in all kinds of crap.
"Just sit down," I said, "and don't let that thing mess up my kitchen."
Elion patted Caesar on the head—without having to bend down—and they moved to the table, leaving the women playing statues. I got out some cloths, wiped up blood and mud from the tiles and island, then took coffee over.
I gave him one sugar. That'd teach him to mess with Arthur "The Hat" Salzman.
The Fallen
My home was sacred. A place of calm and safety for myself, George, and few others. It was hidden away in a tiny remote Cornish village, far from the chaos and the danger that was much of my life.
Inside, you would find a traditional old farmhouse for the most part, dusty and chaotic with wizardly things and esoteric teenager stuff that looked more dangerous than some of my gear. Strange torture tongs and weird, bendy implements I had been informed were for hair but looked like they could do serious damage in the wrong hands.<
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The kitchen, however, was the opposite. A large extension on the rear, all glass walls and swanky goods, a large island and black porcelain tiles. I kept it immaculate and so did George, the only room she had to be mindful in.
We sat at the scrubbed oak table and I watched as Elion gently placed his stupid hat in front of him and sipped on coffee that steamed into his face, holding it in hands so large it looked like something from a child's make-believe tea party. Caesar sat beside him, vigilant and drooling.
"Very good," he said, placing the espresso down on the saucer with a gentle tinkle.
"Thanks," I replied, angry with myself for feeling pleased he liked my coffee.
"Now, to business," he said.
"You broke my door," I accused. But I have to be honest my heart wasn't in it. Although my home had now been invaded twice by unwelcome guests in a week, I'd had a run of years before that with not a single visitor. Just goes to show, when it rains it pours.
"Yes," said Elion.
I knew better than to say anything else, there was no point. Beings like Elion worked on a different level to us, to me, and property damage was not something he was likely to feel remorse over. In fact, he felt no remorse about anything, and he had a lot he should feel damn bad about.
Elion and I met when I was in my twenties and I hadn't seen him for about ten years give or take, and I hadn't missed him one bit. When I got involved with him I was younger and wilder, pretty stupid in fact, and even then I knew I'd done a bad thing. He wasn't a man, not really, he was a Fallen. A disgraced being from another realm.
A fucking elf.
Understand one thing about the world I lived in at this time. You didn't get supernatural creatures wandering about. You had human magic users and you had the occasional fae that would pop up, but magic was mainly down to humans. We used it, we sure as hell abused it, but there weren't sentient creatures from the endless realms within the Nolands that packed up and came to live amongst us.
Apart from Fallen.
Disgraced beings from strange places just that little bit removed from the human world. They were the unwanted, the banished, the should-be-dead, and some of them found their way here, or were put here as punishment. Sent to suffer. And suffer they did. And so did anyone they came into contact with.
Elion had been banished for life—and elves live a long time—for crimes unknown, and instead of hating it and slowly going mad then taking his own life rather than walk amongst us lowly humans, he'd taken to it like a fish to water. This person had done something his own kind would not stand for, so rather than letting him carry on with his wayward actions he was sent here to be punished. Kind of like their own prison without having to bother about costs.
When I met him he was already well-versed in the ways of humanity, having been around for a few centuries. He also had the dog. I say dog, this was as much like a dog as Vicky was like the hardcore gangster she wished she was. Caesar was a war dog, and an elven one at that. Most elves of any real age have their familiars, and when Elion, my less than welcome guest, was banished so was his pet.
Caesar didn't seem to mind; there was plenty to keep her occupied. Yeah, I know, odd name for a she—try telling that to Elion. Elves may be vicious, nasty buggers, and love a fight, but humans are on another level of violence altogether. At any one time there were hundreds of insanely violent wars being waged with atrocities committed you couldn't even begin to imagine. My guest had witnessed most, been part of many, and I suspected had instigated quite a few.
The fact he was drinking my coffee and staring at me with those freaky, slightly stretched eyes, meant my nerves were jangling worse than my cup and saucer.
"I have a job. For you," said Elion.
"You said." I leaned back in my chair, trying to ignore the sight of Vicky and George frozen over the island, looking like they'd topple at any moment.
"And?" Elion took another sip and laced his fingers together lazily, waiting for me to say what he wanted.
"And fuck off," I said, knowing it was pointless but it made me feel better.
"Haha, I see The Hat is still a funny human."
"Elion, you can't just come barging in here telling me what to do. We aren't exactly buddies any more, not after last time. Actually," I said, thinking back to our relationship, "we were never buddies, not even before you did the dirty on me and stole that book."
Anger flared briefly across his timeless brow, the smooth skin wrinkled and ugly before it passed like the briefest of tempestuous storms, replaced with the unflappable exterior he presented to our kind. "It was mine. You got paid."
"I wasn't selling. Anyway, long time ago. But things are chaotic here. The vampires are losing the plot, the underworld is being majorly disrupted, I've got a new sidekick, and my daughter keeps practicing with her new wand and blowing stuff up. So, like I said, I'm busy."
Elion continued to sit there not saying a word. He just stared at me, waiting.
"Fine," I said eventually, wondering if this would screw with my appointment. I had to go meet Ivan, once known as Brains. This would be our first meeting since the day I accidentally turned everything to shit along with a large dollop of help from bloody Cerberus and their face of evil, Nathan, a.k.a. Hopalong.
"That's the spirit." Elion drained his coffee and stood. He was like a preying mantis and kept on unfolding until he towered over me.
I got up just so I didn't feel so little, but I got the same feeling I always did in his company. Like an ant looking up at an oversized boot. It's all very well being a world-class criminal wizard with a reputation for getting the job done no matter what, but I was still just a human who used magic, not an elf who had more magic in his little finger than I had in my wand. I tapped my pocket and felt the hard wood resting against my thigh—I told you about this, no lame jokes, please—boosting my confidence a little.
"Well?" I asked.
"Well what?"
"What's the pay?"
"It's all in there," said Elion as he lifted his hat and placed it carefully on his head. On the table was a piece of folded parchment, yes I mean real parchment. He was old school and wasn't up on email, and besides, I never gave him any way to contact me like that, not that I'd told him where I lived either.
"What if I don't agree to the terms?" I craned my neck up, wondering if I'd get a reaction. He breathed deep, lungs expanding beneath his blue silk shirt, then exhaled sharply.
The air came alive with minute chattering creatures that danced in front of my face with nightmarish visages. The horror consumed me instantly. Terrible visions of my own madness and despicable things happening to George flashed across my mind like deeply entrenched memories bubbling up from my subconscious. Then it was gone, the beasties with it.
Elion smiled and said, "You will. In fact," he said, opening his arms wide in a gesture of magnanimous friendship, "I've been quite generous. Very generous."
"Whatever," I said, having started using the word way too often since spending the last few years living with the thing from another planet otherwise known as a teenage girl.
Elion held out his pianist's hand and I took it, shaking quickly then releasing as the damn tingle came over me. He whistled gently and Caesar stood and followed him. At the entrance to the hallway, he lifted his right arm above his head, clicked his fingers, then said, "See you soon, Arthur," and was gone.
There was a thud from behind me and I turned to see George and Vicky in a heap on the floor.
It was gonna be another bad week.
George
As two of my favorite women—although they obviously drove me nuts—moaned and untangled themselves, I rushed over shouting, "Are you okay? Did you bang your head?" and helped George up.
"Get off me!" she shouted, making me jump back in shock.
Vicky sprang agilely to her feet and her smile at the excitement of being frozen—she was like that, loved all this stuff—turned to concern as George backed away from us around the other si
de of the island.
"Calm down, love. He didn't touch you, did he?" I was sure he hadn't, but if he had then that thing about fighting to the death would be on.
"No, but he made me feel all... Ugh, he was behind me and it was just like when I was young and..."
The bottom fell out of my world. When she was young? What had happened? She'd never said anything about anyone doing, well, anything. Her past was a mystery for the most part, and I hated but accepted all the blank years I could never fill in with love no matter how hard I tried. And I did try, but I screwed up, but that's the same for all parents isn't it? I knew there would come a time when she'd talk to me, but I knew better than to push it. Wrong? Maybe. I was new to being a father and thought you were meant to let young adults talk when they felt the time was right.
Vicky and I exchanged worried glances, and I saw the tears well in her eyes. She understood, maybe better than me, and she stepped guardedly around to George to console her.
"Get away from me. Both of you." George searched the kitchen nervously, maybe expecting Elion to return, but he was long gone.
"I'm just trying to help," said Vicky, smiling her winning mom smile and brushing at her eyes.
"You're as bad as him. I hate you both." She didn't scream, she whispered it, and that was worse.
It cut deeper than any knife ever had or ever could.
"George, please? We can help. I'm sorry, okay. You need to talk to us." I spoke quietly to her, like when she'd first turned up, but I could see she was too worked up and this was far from over.
"You don't get to tell me what to do," she screamed, her pale skin flushed scarlet, her beauty lost behind incandescent rage that actually scared me. Not fear she would do something to me, I could handle myself, even against angry teenage girls, but that she would leave.
I was, I'm not afraid to admit, out of my depth.
What do you do when the girl, woman I guess, you love more than life itself, who you would gladly give up your magic, your home, your untold chances at extra lives, acts like she hates you? Would it pass? Was it my fault? Probably.