The Conch Shell of Doom

by Ryan Hill

  “We’re just asking for a couple of days,” the boy said. “After that, we’ll do whatever you want.”

  Remy stood behind the counter, steaming. “That’s not how this works, and you know it. Either you do this for me now, or we’re through. Period.”

  “Is there any way we can persuade you to give us an extension?” The girl had an unusually sweet voice. “We wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t really important.”

  The more he listened, the more Franklin got a weird vibe. The girl was definitely lovely, but the guy gave off a completely different attitude, like the two were polar opposites.

  “No extensions.” Remy seemed more annoyed than usual. Franklin laughed to himself, happy that he wasn’t the only one being driven crazy by kids tonight.

  The guy threw his hands up. “Fine. When the world ends in the next few days because of your demanding Creole ass, don’t come crying to us.”

  “Please,” Remy huffed. “As if I’ve never heard that before.”

  “Not from me, you haven’t!”

  The pair moved past Franklin, who exchanged a glance with the one in the suit. A weird, sinking feeling collected in his stomach, but as soon as they broke eye contact, it went away. Strange.

  “Oh.” The guy turned to face Remy. “One more thing.”

  “Bartholomew,” Remy said. “You know the rules.”

  “Leave it alone.” The girl wrapped a hand around Bartholomew’s arm. “Please?”

  Ignoring her, Bartholomew flashed a big grin, showing off a mouth full of surgically whitened teeth. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and popped one in his mouth.

  “That’s enough,” Remy said. “You’ll damage the potions.”

  “Like love potions?” Julie whispered.

  “Can’t control love,” Remy said, picking up on her comment. “But we do have a batch of liquid courage.”

  “Or, you could just buy a bottle of booze. It was created to help ugly people get laid.” Bartholomew flicked the lighter on and held the cigarette in the flame, igniting the end. He took a long drag and then exhaled through his nose.

  “Out.” Remy pointed at the door.

  The girl pulled Bartholomew outside, chastising him for always having to cause a scene. The door closed before Franklin could hear Bartholomew respond. Just as well. Those two were weird.

  “Sounds like your night is going as well as ours,” Franklin said.

  “They owe me a favor, and it’s time to pay up.” Remy dismissed the notion of them with his hand.

  “It sounded like whatever they were up to was pretty important.”

  “There’s always someone in here talking about preventing the end of the world, which I’m guessing is why you’re here.”

  “It happens that often?” Julie sounded alarmed.

  “You wouldn’t believe.” Remy winked. “So? Am I right? You want to save the world?”

  Franklin clapped. “Gold star for you.”

  Remy looked unimpressed. “I’ll add it to the collection.”

  Bailey, Alexis, Tim, and Marshall burst through the door, catching Franklin off guard. Even Julie jumped a little.

  “What the hell?” Marshall asked as he barged in. “You said kids weren’t allowed. Imagine my surprise when two preppy kids come waltzing out of the same place you said we couldn’t go into.”

  Bailey moved toward a rack of potions, scanning each of the labels. “Cool.”

  Franklin glanced back at Remy and shrugged. “Sorry.”

  Remy’s eyes narrowed, giving the kids a suspicious look. “Don’t touch anything. You touch it, I erase your memory and make sure you join a traveling circus, cleaning up elephant shit the rest of your life.”

  Alexis stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Whatever you say.”

  “You got it.” Bailey moved back a step. Any other day, none of them would’ve believed the threat. They’d have just called Remy a hairy crackpot and moved on, but it wasn’t any other day.

  Franklin felt uneasy. He’d spent enough time with the kids to know if they were told not to do something, they’d do it in a heartbeat.

  “Especially back here.” Remy gave them a careful eye and then stepped through the beaded curtain into the back, where he kept items for the more serious collector.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The Armory

  The House of the Rising Sun was the coolest place Bailey had ever seen in his life. He didn’t know if all the vials with labels like Duck Mucus: Great for Acne Removal! and Dance Mix 1874 were real, but they looked it. There was even a weird, swamp-like smell to the place. If nothing else, the store felt like a voodoo shop, and they were going into the “VIP section,” as Remy put it.

  Bailey tapped Remy on the shoulder. “Do you guys have a website?”

  “No. I serve a very niche market. If everybody knew about this place, I’d never have time to have any fun.”

  “Yeah, I hate making money too,” Marshall said.

  “Remy here doesn’t have what you’d call good business acumen,” Franklin said.

  “Like that’ll get you anywhere these days.” Remy laughed. “I get by. That’s all that matters.”

  Bailey smiled. Yep, it was definitely the coolest place in the history of the known universe. He reminded himself to come back and do some serious shopping. After the world was saved, of course. Even Alexis grabbed his arm, a wow look on her face.

  “Do you have something that can un-zombify people?” Bailey asked.

  Remy rested his arm on a mushroom the size of a football. “Possibly. How long have they been zombies?”

  “A day? A few hours? I’m not completely sure.”

  Remy nodded, thinking to himself. “How gooey are they?”

  “Gooey?”

  “You’re seriously asking that? Awesome.” Tim’s lips curled back. Guess the conversation got his attention.

  “Yeah. How gooey are they?” Remy’s face remained straight. “You know, the level of decomposition. Are they charred? Juicy? Something in between?”

  Alexis ughed. “That’s disgusting.”

  Bailey glanced over at her, unsure if she meant the conversation or the green brain in the jar next to her.

  “Not that kind of zombie,” Franklin said. “Mr. Lovell worked his magic on them. They’re more cursed, I’d say. Under his spell.”

  “Ah, so not zombified at all. That changes things.” Remy rubbed his chin. “I’ll think about that one, but I'm not sure I have what you’re looking for. Your best bet is to kill the source of the magic, which in this case is your old friend Mr. Lovell.”

  Remy took a keychain out of his pocket, with a small silver key attached, which unlocked a large, dusty, black cabinet in the far corner. Before opening it, he turned to glance at everyone, counting to himself.

  “There’s six of you,” Remy said. “That many items won’t come cheap.”

  Franklin held up four fingers. “Four items. We’re good with our weapons.”

  “Still. Money doesn’t buy happiness when it comes to what’s in here.”

  “You really hate success, don’t you?” Marshall asked.

  “Mouth off again, and I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life thinking you’re a frog. You’ll live in a swamp, and even try to catch mosquitoes with your tongue.”

  Marshall gulped. “Sorry.”

  “We can’t pay you, but we can trade,” Franklin said.

  Remy’s eyebrows raised. “I’m listening.”

  “The Blade of Hugues de Payens for whatever we need.” Franklin noticed Julie’s confused glance. “What? We won’t need it after, unless you feel like slicing your meat with a mythical weapon.”

  “You really have it?” Remy leaned back against the locker, eyes moving between Franklin and Julie. “Show me.”

  “See, the funniest thing happened.” Franklin chuckled and nudged Julie with his elbow. She joined in the nervous laughter. “I don’t have it on me.”

  “Sh
ould’ve known.” Remy started to move past them.

  “Wait.” Franklin grabbed his arm. “I have it, just not on me. I swear. I’ll even return whatever we take.”

  “Consider it a rental,” Julie said. “You get everything back, plus a priceless weapon.”

  “I can jive with that.” Remy pulled the unlocked door open. “Though most everything in here is priceless until I name a price for them.”

  Bailey imagined what kind of weapons Remy stored in the cabinet. A sword that could cut through a boulder? A poison-tipped whip? Perhaps an axe that granted the holder superhuman strength? Mr. Lovell was so screwed.

  “Be very, very careful with the stuff in here,” Remy said. “Only touch it if you want it.”

  Bailey took a deep breath, holding back the excitement. Remy swung open the cabinet doors, revealing a buffet of weapons. The place kept getting better and better. Julie moved in first.

  “Let the kids go first.” Franklin gently pulled Julie back. “Besides, you have a sawed-off shotgun.”

  Julie smirked. “Yeah, remind me again how that happened?”

  Bailey kept his emotions in check. Remy was right. The weapons weren’t toys, but damned if it didn’t feel like he was in a toy store. One of the weapons looked like a bear trap you could throw at someone and chop their head right off. Another, looked like something that tenderized meat. Human meat. There was even… huh?

  “A boomerang?” Bailey wondered who on Earth would want a boomerang instead of, say, a flying bear trap.

  “Not just any boomerang,” Remy said. “The Aborigines charmed it back in 1826. Only the person throwing it can catch it without injury. Anyone else tries is losing everything above it.”

  “This is my jam.” Tim picked up a sword with a curved blade, eyes so wide they could’ve fallen out. “A true ninja weapon. I would like all of you to know that I’m officially going into business as a ninja for hire; my prices are firm, but fair.”

  “Hey poser,” Alexis said. “Did you not hear Franklin say we have to give this stuff back?”

  “I forgot to mention this will be a temporary position, so take advantage of my services while you still can,” Tim said with a bow.

  Bailey had a difficult time deciding what to pick. He glanced over to see what Alexis chose. She scanned the weapons, holding a finger to her lips. Marshall reached between Bailey and Alexis, grabbing a pair of gloves with blades on them, like Wolverine, but with only one large blade on each hand. Marshall slipped them on, rubbing the blades together. They made a soft, metallic, grating sound.

  “Badass,” Marshall said in a gravelly voice. “Just like me, bub.”

  “What are you going to pick?” Bailey whispered to Alexis.

  “I don’t know. I don’t want anything too bulky.”

  “That’s what she said,” Marshall joked.

  Alexis smacked him. “Shut up.”

  Bailey pointed at something that looked out of place with all of the epic weapons. “A stick?”

  “Would you call Jambalaya a bowl of meat and vegetables?” Remy picked up the stick, holding it carefully with both his hands.

  “I don’t know.” Bailey shook his head. He had no clue what went into Jambalaya, only that it sounded spicy.

  Remy hmmed. “Are you a Harry Potter fan?”

  Alexis gasped. “Is that a wand?”

  Remy handed the wand to her. “Merlin created it, if you can believe it. Not many of his are still around, but this is one of them. Say what you want it to do and flick it. Nine times out of ten, it’ll happen.”

  “Even though I’m a Muggle?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Bailey didn’t think Alexis had ever smiled so wide before. She squealed and hopped in place. He was thankful it was her geeking out and not him. Marshall and Tim didn’t need more ammunition.

  “Magic is in the eye of the beholder,” Remy said. “How else could a simple fisherman curse himself with immortality to stop his cursed brother throughout history? Right, Franklin?”

  Franklin looked down at the floor and cleared his throat. Bailey stared at Franklin, putting the pieces together.

  “That’s you? You’re immortal?”

  “They don’t need to know my life story.” Franklin tapped his foot on the floor. “What we need is to go. We’re starting to run behind.”

  Bailey still wasn’t sure what to pick, and with everyone else holding a weapon, pickings were slim. He took a brown vest.

  Marshall laughed. “A vest? You that scared you’ll get hurt?”

  “Who needs a weapon when you’ve got Babe Ruth and Mickey Mantle,” Bailey said, referring to his fists.

  “Christ almighty.” Marshall turned away, disgusted.

  “It’s a good choice. It was the armor used by Ares, the god of war. Nothing can penetrate it.” Remy ran his fingers along the remaining weapons until they stopped on something hidden behind the larger weapons. “It also comes with this.”

  Bailey’s mind raced. Did it come with Medusa’s head? Maybe something that shot thunderbolts? Poseidon’s trident? The possibilities were endless, so long as that possibility remained within the confines of Greek mythology.

  Remy placed a whistle in Bailey’s hand, crushing his excitement. He held it up, thoroughly unimpressed. It felt like someone told him he’d won a new car, only to find out it was a Matchbox car.

  Marshall and Tim burst into a giggle fit. Bailey closed his hand around the whistle, face flush with shame. Couldn’t he be the cool one for a change, or at least not the butt of the joke?

  Marshall struggled to speak in between laughs. “That’s really going to impress the ladies.”

  Bailey gave Remy a pleading look. “A whistle?”

  “The whistle calls Ares’s Birds of War.” Remy gave him a reassuring smile. “Trust me. Just only use it as a last resort.”

  “Yeah.” Bailey stuffed the whistle into his pocket, next to his little mirror. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  “Have any shotgun shells in there?” Julie asked.

  “Or a .45?” Franklin added.

  Remy tossed them each a box of ammunition from the top shelf. This cabinet literally has everything, Bailey thought. Even a lame whistle he could’ve gotten with ten tickets at Seaside Adventureland.

  Franklin inspected the box of ammo. “These are normal bullets.”

  “And?” Remy asked.

  “I thought maybe you’d have something a little more extra and a lot less ordinary.”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Let me ask you,” Franklin said. “This is something I’ve been trying to figure out. Why doesn’t anyone ever make enchant—”

  There was a loud crack outside. Everyone stopped what they were doing. Franklin stuffed the box of bullets in his jacket pocket and then took Tim’s sword.

  “Hey!”

  Franklin held the sword out for Tim to take. “I’m sure you’ve heard that sound before, so you know who it is. Here. Take it. Go fight Mr. Lovell on your own. Be my guest.”

  Tim sighed. “Just give it back.”

  Franklin started for the front of the store and then stopped. “Remy, hook everyone up with some armor, will you? Doesn’t have to be anything fancy.”

  “Now, hang on a minute,” Remy shouted, knowing what was about to happen. “I don’t want any ruckus in the store, or I will personally shove a live crawdad where the sun don’t shine in each and every one of you. Understood?”

  “It’s not us you need to worry about,” Franklin said.

  Franklin was the first out of the House of the Rising Sun. The others lagged behind a little. If it weren’t for the streetlamp illuminating the parking lot, he wouldn’t have been able to see Mr. Lovell in his all black wardrobe next to Julie’s car.

  “It’s that freaky dude,” Tim said.

  “Yeah, Mr. Dingleberry.” Bailey checked the vest, making sure it was strapped on tight.

  Franklin motioned for them to get back into the store. “I’ve got thi
s.”

  “You sure?” Julie asked.

  Franklin nodded. “Keep an eye on them.” Julie herded everyone back inside, despite their pleading.

  “I had a feeling you’d come running here for help.” Mr. Lovell cleared his throat. “Tell me, is it frustrating to know I’m always this far ahead of you?” He held his thumb and index finger as far apart as possible.

  Franklin ground his teeth, trying to mask his anger. In truth, it frustrated him to no end, but he wasn’t about to give Mr. Lovell the satisfaction. “I just want you to think you’re a step ahead.”

  “Then bravo, sir.” Mr. Lovell let out a raspy laugh that turned into a phlegmy cough. “By that rationale, I can only assume you wanted me to get the Conch Shell of Doom and start the Awakening. If so, then what can I say? I’ve fallen right into your hands.”

  “Sucks for you.” Franklin tried not to flinch and show his hand too early, though he did wish he’d thought the conversation through a little more. His hand slowly moved to his back and then took hold of the Blade of Hugues de Payens. Mr. Lovell got lucky at the Copper Canyon. With the element of surprise on Franklin’s side, luck wasn’t going to factor into the equation.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Mr. Lovell said.

  So much for not tipping my hand.

  “Rats.” Franklin couldn’t keep himself from grinning. He’d been behind schedule so long, yet fate saw fit to grant him another chance to drive the blade into Mr. Lovell’s stomach, putting an end to everything and ahead of schedule. He pulled out the blade. “You really do know my plan.”

  Mr. Lovell staggered back, holding up his hands. “No! The blade! Not the blade! Mercy! Please! I beg you!”

  Franklin smiled so hard, his cheeks hurt. Checkmate. Mr. Lovell didn’t make jokes. Nobody in the history of the world ever referred to the man as “jovial in nature.” The humor was a blatant attempt at deflection. Franklin’s grip on the handle tightened. The gold blade shimmered under the streetlamp. It was time.

  Mr. Lovell laughed again. “Do you think that toothpick scares me?”