The Midwest Wanderer

by Flint Maxwell

  At the counter, a thin old man with wild hair and wearing an apron, had his back to Lois. In each hand, he had a cone. He rotated them clockwise, one vanilla, one chocolate, then crossed his arms to make a picturesque swirl.

  Funny, how the ice cream machine works itself. Funny, how no one seemed to ask any questions about it, either.

  Ohio must have different rules, Lois thought. Nah, not likely.

  The thin old man was humming to himself. Lois cleared her throat softly. No response. Then she cleared it a little more loudly.

  “Just a minute. Got a full house today. Machines are working overtime, not to mention this weather,” the thin old man went on.

  “Hi, Salem,” Lois said.

  The ice cream machines magically shut off. Salem turned around so slow, Lois thought she could hear him creaking.

  “Say it isn’t so!”

  In the back, a witch’s voice drifted out. “What is it, Salem?”

  Salem didn’t answer. He was in too much shock.

  The same mother who’d given Lois a dirty look pushed her way up the counter and said, “We’re waiting.”

  Salem handed her the two cones.

  “Hey, I didn’t order these,” she said.

  “Those were mine!” a kid whined.

  Salem snapped a finger and the machines kicked on. “No worries! Free ice cream for all. All you can eat!” He grabbed a stack of cones and placed them on the counter. “Today is a joyous day! We must celebrate!”

  “Salem! We can’t keep giving out free ice cream. That’s not a good business model!” the witch said from the back.

  Salem waved a hand. The people waiting in line practically crawled over each other to get at the cones. Amazing what free ice cream could do to a person.

  “Agnes?” Lois asked Salem.

  Salem, that big grin still on his face, nodded.

  “Sounds like her.”

  “Come on back, Lois! Come see her. The Muffler twins should be stopping in soon. It’s card night; they never miss card night.”

  “I remember those card nights. Muffler twins still get mad when they lose?”

  “They’ve calmed down with age.” He was out from behind the counter now, navigating through the onslaught of baseball players and coaches and moms and dads. “Really, you must come say hi!”

  “I can’t stay long.” Lois pulled out her badge. “I’ve been promoted.”

  “That’s right. You’re not Silver Griffin. Whew.” Salem mimed wiping away sweat from his forehead. He turned and shouted to Agnes. “Ag, get out here! Lois has come to visit!”

  “Lois!?”

  “I am on Silver Griffin business…unofficially. Things have been hectic lately—”

  “You’re telling me,” Salem interrupted. “Wait, what? Silver Griffin business?” Salem grimaced. “So you must have heard about what happened the other night…”

  Lois pulled out her phone and swiped the screen a few times until a blurry video of Maria, Ignatius, and a hulking Arachnid fought in the street, blue and black light erupting from Maria’s sword, and the Arachnid’s arms filling the screen.

  “I see,” Salem said. “What is that, the internet?”

  “Still haven’t gotten with the times yet?” Lois asked.

  When Salem didn’t laugh, Lois said, “Yes, it’s the internet. It’s all over. Lacey has people working around the clock trying to get it off, but when we take down one, twenty copies replace it.”

  Agnes came out of the back room, dried ice cream on her apron, hair in a ponytail. She gave a few sideways glances to the people fighting over the ice cream machine, mumbling something about how people of Earth will pretty much kill each other over anything, but when she saw Lois, her eyes lit up and a smile replaced her scowl.

  “Lois! I can’t believe it.” The two witches hugged, then parted. “How’s Earl?” She put an arm around Salem. “Why do you look so glum?”

  “Trevilsom Prison,” Salem answered.

  “Trevilsom? What are you talking about?” Sudden realization dawned over Agnes’s face. “Oh, I see. Lois isn’t here on a friendly visit, is she? I thought you left the Silver Griffins.”

  Lois nodded. “I did. In the PDA now, but running a check for Lacey. Been hectic lately.”

  “So we’ve heard,” Agnes answered. “And witnessed firsthand.”

  “That’s what I’m here about,” Lois said. “Oh, cheer up, Salem. I’m not here to take you to Trevilsom. I’m just here to make sure the Silver Griffins don’t need to put this to the top of their list. I mean, an Arachnid? On Earth? That’s almost unheard of. Those creatures hardly leave the Dark Forest, let alone Oriceran.”

  “How long does that video go on for?” Salem asked. He looked a bit relaxed now that Trevilsom was off the table.

  “Not much longer,” Lois answered. She took her glasses off, breathed on the lenses, and then wiped them off with her shirt. “Far as we know, only one person recorded it. More could’ve been witnesses, but so far nothing has popped up on the web.”

  “Can’t we claim it was a hoax? Special effects, that sort of thing?” Agnes asked.

  “Believe me, they are. Lacey has people posting videos in reply that point out the use of CGI. A Debunk Team, of sorts. Like I said, no need to worry about the cleanup. Lacey is a tough witch; she’ll handle it. We’re just worried for the people of Earth’s safety.”

  “No need,” Agnes answered. “Salem asked how long the video went on because Maria Apple there was the last Oriceran standing.”

  Lois’s eyes got big behind the lenses of her glasses. “A young witch took out an Arachnid?”

  “A reanimated Arachnid,” Salem said quietly.

  The crowd near the ice cream machines had thinned out. Most had gone outside to enjoy the last bit of sunlight left in the day. Others, too weary of the heat, stayed inside and sat at the various tables.

  “Oh, no,” Lois said. “Reanimated? That’s the worst kind of dark magic.”

  Salem and Agnes nodded.

  “But the Arachnid has been disposed of…again?”

  Salem clapped his hands together loudly and said, “Poof!”

  “And the threat is subdued?”

  “For that, you will have to ask Ignatius.”

  “Can you give me his address? Ignatius seems to have flown under our radar for most of his time here on Earth. How long’s it been? Twenty years?”

  “Just about,” Agnes said. “I believe going on twenty, yes.”

  “I can give you his address,” Salem said, his head tilted, waiting for Lois’s explosive reaction, “but he isn’t home.”

  “Well, I’ll just go wait for him. Where’s he at, grocery store? Golf? I heard he’s gotten into golf lately. No fun when you can use magic.”

  “About that…”

  “He’s on Oriceran, isn’t he?”

  Agnes smiled and gave a quick glance to the middle of the dining area, where the portal had opened to their homeworld not too long ago.

  “Yes,” Salem answered, “he is. No telling when he’ll be getting back.”

  “Subduing the threat?”

  Salem nodded again.

  Lois sighed and mumbled to herself, “I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. I’ll have to tell Earl I won’t be back in time for dinner. Lacey’s really going to have to owe me one.” She reached into her pocket and brought out two photos. “One last thing. Have you seen these agents?”

  She held up a picture of Felah Fyre and Tone Doyon, the two missing members of the Order.

  Almost instantly, Agnes and Salem lost the color in their faces.

  “So you know of them?”

  “I was pretty close with Felah. The other, I didn’t know too well. Felah was always complaining about him,” Salem said.

  “Where are they?”

  “Felah is…gone, I think. The Arachnid got her. As for the other, I’m not sure. I presume, being Felah’s partner, the Arachnid got him, too.”

  Lois frowned. “Did
n’t think to report it?”

  “I-I-,” Salem stammered.

  “We were scared. Besides, it only just happened. And we aren’t one hundred percent certain either of them is dead. The Arachnid used a transformation spell to look like Felah Fyre.”

  Lois nodded. It made sense. She figured Trevilsom was in the back of all magical folks’ minds. One mess-up, and you could be sentenced there for a long time, only to come out half-insane and fully changed.

  “I’m sorry, Lois,” Salem said. “I am. A lot has happened. More than I’d ever expected in this small corner of the world. I moved from Oriceran to get away from bloodshed.”

  “And somehow it found us,” Agnes finished.

  Lois offered a weak smile and put her hand on Salem’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Salem. You could rob a bank, and I wouldn’t turn you in. Ignatius on the other hand… I’ll have to have a long chat with him.” She couldn’t help it; her old ways were showing. They became a habit after so long in the Order.

  “Thank you, Lois,” Agnes said. “We were just trying to survive. We weren’t trying to cause a mess for the Order.”

  Lois waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re all safe. As for the missing members, may the heart of Oriceran be with them.”

  “You can wait here until Ignatius and Maria get back. They shouldn’t be too long. I think they’re tracking down a Gnome,” Salem said.

  Lois shook her head. “Secretive things,” she replied, then she pulled out a chair from a nearby table and sat down. “I think I will wait. Mind getting me a chocolate cone?”

  “Of course not,” Salem replied, smiling.

  Suddenly a kid, obviously in the middle of a monumental sugar rush, his face smeared with chocolate, rushed past Lois’s table, screaming at the top of his lungs.

  “That is, if that fellow left any for the rest us…” Lois said.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ves Ielan was a seedy place carved at the bottom of the southeastern side of a mountain, not far from the Land of Terran.

  The old wizard looked on it from a couple hundred feet away.

  That old wizard was Ignatius Mangood, known as Ignatius Apple on Earth, and he had never been inside of Ves Ielan—but he had heard stories of its wretchedness. Creatures practicing dark magic could be found there, performing all types of unimaginable feats. They would even perform, if you paid the right price, resurrection spells on the long dead— or so the stories said. Frankly, Ignatius had not believed it until he’d come face to face with Malakai in the streets of Akron, Ohio outside of Salem’s Ice Cream Shop; Malakai, whom he’d watched die in the battle for Dominion all those years ago.

  The thought of Salem came to him now.

  Salem, keep Maria safe, old buddy; you and Agnes and the Muffler twins watch over her for me, at least until I get back… If I get back.

  No, bad thoughts, Ignatius.

  “I should’ve kept Sherlock with me. May not be able to talk to him, but at least he’d bark if things were going south. A nose like that can smell bad blood. Yes, it can.”

  Ignatius sighed.

  A couple of hooded figures had just walked into the large building, the door opening and spilling out the raucous sounds of music, talk, and laughter—wicked laughter.

  “Time to suck it up, old man,” he said to himself and took a deep breath. He put the hood of his own cloak up, making sure his wand and various other weapons were well-hidden. In a place like this, it was no secret that the patrons kept their weapons on them. Everyone was armed. They had to be.

  As he got closer, the smells of strong liquor hit his nostrils. Drinks he had not smelled in many moons—the type of stuff that would make Earth’s toughest alcoholic wet his pants and pass out after one sip.

  Ignatius did not like that smell.

  Had he been walking to Ves Ielan all those years ago when he was a little less gray and a little more strong, the fear would not be as complete. Alas, the worlds spin and the days pass, and time goes on as it always had.

  Was it just a matter of confidence? He thought so. Being on Oriceran, he should’ve been able to draw upon its magical energy, but he just could not get his mind to focus on it.

  He walked on.

  He pushed the doors open, his steps heavy on the stone floor. As soon as the doors banged shut behind him, all the sound inside of the tavern silenced. At least a hundred pairs of eyes were on him. Ignatius allowed himself to linger and surveyed the crowd. Dark witches, dark wizards, large Orc half-breeds with swords just as big as themselves slung across their backs, Trolls running along the bar top, their green hair the only colorful object in all the grayness. He did not see a Gnome, though there were a lot of creatures scattered throughout the wide expanse of the tavern.

  They looked at him until he turned away and slapped coins on the bar top. A nearby Troll somersaulted over his hands, talking gibberish. “Firejuice,” Ignatius said. The closest creatures to him gasped; two Goblins and a Dark Elf—an odd pairing.

  “Did he just—” one of the Goblins said.

  “He did,” the other one answered.

  The barmaid was a pretty young woman, and her shirt was unbuttoned low so her hearty cleavage was exposed to the patrons. Judging by her overstuffed pockets, which jingled with coins from all over the land, no doubt her appearance was definitely playing to her favor.

  “Firejuice, sire?” she asked in an unbelieving tone.

  “Aye,” Ignatius answered.

  The eyes were on him again as a hush settled over the crowd. Good. This was what he wanted. Earn their respect, make them think he was one of them, and they’re lips wouldn’t be so sealed.

  So he dug into his robes again and slapped another coin onto the bar counter. The sound it made traveled the vast tavern, echoing off of its walls.

  “Better make it a double,” he said.

  “Sire—” the barmaid continued, but was cut off by a large, barrel-chested man with more hair in his beard than was on his head.

  “Listen, my friend, if you want to die, you can go outside of my place. We’ve had enough death here to last a thousand lifetimes,” the man said.

  Ignatius lifted his head up so his eyes bored into the man’s. “What’s one more death?”

  “Let him drink, Rogerius! He’s got the gold, doesn’t he?”

  The owner’s upper lip peeled back to reveal tobacco-stained teeth as he snarled.

  Suddenly a chant of “LET HIM DRINK! LET HIM DRINK!” swept over the crowd. Pints of ale banged the tabletops, feet stomped, Trolls were launched into the air by the vibrations, playful smiles on their faces.

  “Yes, Rogerius, let me drink,” Ignatius said; now it was his turn to smile.

  Rogerius shook his head and waved the barmaid on. She looked as if she was tasked with beheading Ignatius instead of simply serving him. In a strange way, she kind of was.

  Beneath the bar the maiden went, and from a locked cabinet she pulled free a dusty glass bottle and set it in front of Ignatius. The fire trapped within the liquid swirled and pulsed, as vibrant and deadly as flying too close to the sun.

  On the outside, Ignatius remained calm, even as the crowd got up from their seats—some of them good seats that they had probably fought over—and pressed up against him. Somewhere among the sea of patrons, bets were being taken. Not bets on whether Ignatius would live or die, but rather how long until he eventually did die from the Firejuice.

  The barmaid turned her head as she twisted the cap off the bottle. The fumes alone were known to singe the nostril hairs and eyebrows of anyone who got too close. From just below the counter, above the shelf the Firejuice came from, she grabbed a glass and set it next to the bottle.

  Her skin had gone pale. “Sire, you’ll forgive me if I do not pour this for you.”

  Ignatius raised a hand and nodded.

  Some of the color rose back into the barmaid’s cheeks.

  “Thirty on thirty seconds!” someone yelled to his left.r />
  Ignatius took the bottle, the heat emanating through the glass hot enough to irritate his skin, and just as he was about to pour, a particularly drunk ranger-type slapped him on the shoulder, startling him. The man reeked of stale ale and his own urine. “I’s known the one who slain the dragon this here Firejuice is made from! I’s known him well. Bardol, his name was. Great, great warrior.” The ranger wobbled, and soon he was swallowed by many arms of the crowd as they swept him back, out of Ignatius’s face.

  It’s amazing the things people will do for you when they want to see you die, he thought bitterly. Dragons. Not even I have seen a dragon.

  “DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!”

  “LAST CALL FOR BETS! LAST CALL!”

  “FIFTY ON A MINUTE!” someone growled.

  “ANYONE ELSE?”

  “I’m going to disappoint a lot of people if I don’t die,” Ignatius whispered. No one could hear him over the roar of the crowd. That was okay. Respect went further than money in Oriceran. That was true. He’d known that since his days serving the King of Dominion, Maria’s father—an honorable man who’d treated his daughter Zimmy well, and who had died a horrid death.

  “King Ancel, this is for you,” Ignatius muttered. He raised the glass. It was full nearly to the brim with that poisonous, liquid fire. “And for the dragon this drink has come from. May you both rest well.”

  The crowd broke their previous decibel level, their cheers so loud, they rattled the windowpanes.

  Ignatius brought the drink to his lips. He could already feel the layers of skin singe there. He closed his eyes and tilted his head backward.

  Now the crowd went silent. Someone dropped a coin on the floor; it had sounded loud enough in that silent room to carry across the worlds.

  The Firejuice tore down Ignatius’s throat like magma tearing down a mountainside. He gulped and gulped, eyes spouting tears, nose running, vision blurring. Already, the fumes had gone to his head, and the poison began to overtake his bloodstream. It had been many years since he’d drank Firejuice, and if he had a tolerance then (and one can never build up much of a tolerance to Firejuice), it was surely gone now. The world rotated beneath his feet. Visions of the past swept by him in blazing pictures. The Queen, the King, the music box, Maria as a baby, his own father bestowing the sword to him, his magical training, his first slain Arachnid.