“My head is about to explode.” Steve put his head in his hands. “OK, I’ll buy ‘Day of the Dragonking,’ but the first person who mentions swans of any color is risking a horrible death.”
When he brought his head up, Steve looked around the small establishment and–for the first time–noticed that all the patrons had left and back of the bartender could just be seen through the closing back door. Before he could say anything, Send Money began playing Danger Zone at top volume and the plate glass window behind Steve exploded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Again, Steve saw a shimmer in the air as his shield snapped into existence, carving a safe space in the storm of broken glass. Ringwald looked up and said, “Crap. Ogres. I don’t do ogres.” He immediately proceeded to disappear–not by becoming invisible but by turning sideways to all three of the usual dimensions.
Steve thought he might have thrown up if he’d had the time. Ace shouted, “Secure the phone.”
She eeled up from her seat, planted a foot on the table, and did a front flip over Steve’s head, landing in the middle of the aisle. Steve obediently clipped Send Money to his belt and twisted around.
The front windows of the Tune Inn were gone–blasted inward in a cloud of glass shards, wooden splinters, and smoke. “Shit,” he said. “It smells like bananas. What the hell smells like bananas?”
“Dynamite,” Ace said without turning her head. “Didn’t your parents teach you anything?”
There were five creatures coming in through the gaping hole that was once a window. Dressed in little more than loincloths, they had bright red skin, grotesque features, bulging muscles, and each one was carrying a long metal club studded with sharp points. Steve decided that the clubs looked like supersized corn dogs with hellacious armor coating.
“These guys from the Masons?” Steve asked as he squirmed out of the booth and stood behind Ace.
“Nope,” she answered without taking her eyes off the biggest of the group. He had stepped in front of the others and was slamming his club into his hand and grinning. Considering that the metal weapon had to weigh forty or fifty pounds, Steve was impressed with the ease with which he handled it.
“Typically, Masons go for European or Middle Eastern monsters. These are oni, Japanese ogres. You’d have recognized them if you had the slightest interest in manga, anime, or any other aspects of global culture.”
“They don’t look cultured to me,” Steve said.
“No, they do not,” Ace said. “Theoretically, Ogres are what you get when military types take on an Earth aspect. I’d bet these were well-trained mercenaries before the dragonking. A mixed hand of Wands and Pentacles, most likely. The guy in front looks like royalty at least, if not one of the Major Arcana.”
The leader said something but it came out as an indecipherable mumble. Apparently, he was still getting used to the foot-long tusks that emerged from his upper lip. He coughed, concentrated, and spoke very slowly. “You are Ace of Swords?”
“Try me and find out,” Ace responded.
Separating each word, the oni said, “My name is Richard Stengel. Formerly, captain of First Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, now Senior Vice-President of Clay and Dosh Personal Security. My orders are to ‘discard’ the Ace of Swords while my men are eliminating that chump hiding behind you.”
“Yes, he is a bit of a chump,” Ace agreed. “However, he’s my assigned chump and no one is going to eliminate him. I’m guessing that that oversized chopstick you’re holding means you think you’re the Ace of Wands.”
“I’m afraid that’s incorrect, ma’am,” the demon said. “This is a sacred kanabō but only those trained in the top levels of the more esoteric martial arts have even seen a real one. I am currently the Ace of Pentacles.”
“Ah, a mercenary. Well, let’s get it on. I consistently beat you red bastards in Mortal Kombat and I’m looking forward to repeating the experience in real life.”
“I’m afraid you will find real combat just as mortal as a child’s–”
“Hey, can I ask a favor?” Ace was standing casually, hands on her hips.
“What?” Stengel asked.
“I was just wondering if you could send me a text when you’ve finished talking. That way we could go ahead and get some work done or take a nap or something useful and then come back when you’re ready to fight.”
If possible, Stengel’s brilliant crimson complexion got even redder and he roared something that might have been a curse but was completely garbled by the tusks. Ace pulled her backup pistol, but before she could fire, Stengel made the same flicking motion that the Illuminati had used and the weapon flew off to the right.
Steve was surprised to see the pistol slow, stop, and rocket back to Ace’s hand. She snapped off a couple of blue lightning bolts and clipped one of the small horns off her opponent’s head before the muzzle completed its mystic distortion and closed completely. She looked at it wistfully, gave it a kiss, and then undid the elastic band that held it to her wrist, and threw it away.
“I hate magic. That pistol was a family heirloom. My grandmother got it when she worked with the French Resistance, gave it to Mom when she made Top Sergeant, and Mom passed it on to me when I got into BUDS. Steve, I might be tied up for a couple of seconds here, so you might want to work out something for the other goons.”
Ace turned back to the big ogre, cracked the bones in her neck to loosen up, and said, “OK, tall, red, and ugly, let’s dance.”
The four other oni were smaller–well, at least they weren’t as enormous as Stengel–but they were still considerably bigger than a normal human and they had what appeared to be the standard oni quota of extra-large teeth, large metal clubs, and exceptionally irritated expressions. At the moment, all four were spreading out and moving toward him through the rubble that was once the Tune Inn.
Steve knew that he should be concentrating on the Fool card, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Ace. She’d said she was going to “dance” and that was the only word Steve could think of to describe it. She was moving continuously with quick and sure steps. At the same time, an amazing assortment of knives, grenades, extendable batons, and what looked like steel ballpoint pens were appearing and disappearing in her hands, dropping into one pocket, reappearing from another, and even sailing in precise arcs over her head.
Stengel stopped and stared. “Do you still have magical powers, Master Chief? My clients’ briefing said that you had lost them in the Change.”
“Magic?” Ace smiled. “You don’t believe in magic, do you?”
“Are these illusions, then?”
One of the smaller throwing knives flicked off her left hand and seemed to leap toward the monster of its own accord–sinking deep into his thigh. “I don’t know,” Ace said. “Did that feel like an illusion?”
Steve decided that Ace was going to be just fine on her own and started to bring the Fool’s card to the forefront of his mind. To his surprise he didn’t see what he expected: the slight and carefree youth carrying a flower. Instead, what came to his mind’s eye was an ancient card, creased and torn around the edges. The Fool was an older, rougher man, half shaven and dressed in rags and tatters. Now the bindle over his shoulder was definitely that of a thief and he carried a stout cudgel, not a flower, in his other hand.
What caught Steve’s attention was the dog at the Fool’s feet. On the earlier card, it had been a tiny white thing, a lapdog frisking around the youth’s feet. On this card, it was clearly an older, meaner red dog and Steve had the definite feeling that it would take a chunk out of the Fool’s ass if it got half a chance.
“All in all,” Steve thought, “this looks like a far more useful animal.”
Once again, he Studied the dog,
Listened for his bark,
Felt the sharpness of his teeth, and
Recognized the iron determination deep inside the animal.
An ear-splitting howl echoed through the remains of the Tune Inn,
and a yellowish-golden hound, about as big as a pony with a set of fangs like a saber-tooth tiger, smashed into the oni on the far right. If it was magical, it certainly wasn’t ephemeral. It knocked the red-skinned demon over backwards then, locking its jaws deep into the monster’s throat, spun in a complete circle.
Steve felt his stomach lurch as he watched the dog spit out a mouthful of crimson flesh and leap for the next attacker. The oni on the floor had dropped his club and was grasping his throat in a desperate attempt to stop the flow of blood. The blood ran blue, Steve noted as gouts of it escaped the fighter’s fingers and sprayed on the walls and windows.
The second fighter was prepared, warned by the passing of his comrade. The iron club swung up and caught the dog in the chest. Steve could definitely hear the crack of ribs as the animal was thrown up and over the fighter’s head, and worried that his paranormal pet was out of action. He immediately realized his mistake as the animal twisted in midair and was scrabbling for purchase on the loose rubble on the floor as soon as it hit the ground–flinging itself back into battle.
The smartphone on his belt gave an earsplitting squeal and Steve managed to strengthen his shield just in time to deflect a downward blow from the first oni approaching on the left side. Without conscious thought, Steve had the golden spear gripped in one hand and a rose-colored buckler attached to the back of the other. When the massive club slid off the magical shield, it drove deep into the wooden floor where the metal spikes caught on the six-inch beams of the subfloor. While the red giant fought to free its club, Steve dropped the magic sphere, and jabbed hard at the warrior’s torso. A second club came sweeping over the ogre's shoulder and struck his spear aside as the last oni defended his companion.
The sheer power of the parry was immense. Steve’s wrist felt as if it had been ripped right off his arm. He thought that pretty much sucked but he did learn something from the experience: magic spears stuck to your palm no matter how hard they were hit. On the other hand, yea, he still had the spear, but his elbow—like his wrist—now felt as if it had just been twisted a full 180 degrees.
A quick shake confirmed that his arm was still functional and he brought his spear back into line and risked a glance over at Ace. If she was moving fast before, now she was redefining the word.
Stengel was clearly both immensely strong and thoroughly trained in the use of the kanabō. The cudgel was in constant motion as he snapped it in strikes and parries as easily as Steve might have used an umbrella.
Ace was simply never there when the kanabō struck. She was moving so fast in a semicircle in front of the immense figure that she actually blurred. Her weapons were still flickering in and out of sight, and with every second that passed, more were sunk deep into strategic points on the red monster’s body. Deep slashes at hinge points like elbows and knees showed where she’d gone for a disabling blow to tendons, and one of Stengal’s feet was flat on the floor—where she’d managed to hamstring an ankle.
“PAY ATTENTION, YOU IDIOT!” Barnaby screamed through the cell phone’s speaker, and Steve dropped to his knees to avoid a sweeping horizontal cut from the oni in front of him. Now his left hand and arm felt mangled but the buckler was enough to bounce the club over his head and he lunged forward in a frantic thrust that left him on the floor.
It was a relief to find that terror and desperation worked since he’d clearly slept through Spearfighting 101. The golden spear slid completely through the ogre’s gut, and with a thought, Steve made it flatter and sharp-edged, and then yanked it down and sideways. Ropy blue intestines began to slip through the gash and the red monster dropped his club in order to use both hands in a vain effort to keep his insides from becoming outsides. He spun and almost knocked his companion over as he made a headlong dash to the sidewalk.
For a second, Steve lay on the floor and wondered where a seven-foot bright-red monster went for medical treatment. Grief couldn’t possibly handle all the carnage that had to be going on with the city’s burgeoning monster population. Steve assumed that Emergency Room surgeons were just going to have to improvise.
Then he tried to remember exactly what he’d done with the golden spear/sword and how he’d done it. He was still working on that when he heard an eerie shrieking noise and realized that it was the sound of wind whistling past spikes as the last oni’s club headed straight at his head.
He rolled and the first blow missed, but the massive kanabō was instantly coming up and around as it if weighed no more than a twig. He got his buckler up and managed to block an insanely powerful blow but the sheer impact left his arm limp at his side. He couldn’t tell if any bones were broken–he leaned toward the theory that his entire shoulder had been pulverized into powder–but the left side sure as hell wasn’t working.
He made a mad scramble to his feet and began to back into the narrow corridor between the bar and the remaining booths. The oni followed, club slashing. Steve wasn’t trying to parry any more, just staying out of range. Booth after booth exploded into wooden splinters and fragments of Naugahyde. After the fourth, he didn’t have to look behind to know that there was only a step or two more before he hit the back wall.
He desperately raced through everything he’d been told about the Fool. It was very clear to him that his nonexistent weapon skills weren’t going to keep him from looking like a tenderized steak, but there just might be some aspect of low cunning he hadn’t tried yet.
Wait! What had Ace said at the beginning? The Fool was all suits and none. Pentacles were coins and discs. Discs!
Without taking the time for a second thought, he flattened the golden spear to the size of an Ultimate Frisbee and, curling to his left to avoid another overhead swing, uncurled and flung the disc with all the power of his right arm. Somehow, he made the curved edges turn flat and sharp so that it looked like a cymbal as it flew towards the monster. At the last second, Steve had a flash of Dave Grohl and fine-tuned it into a Zildjian 20-inch A Custom EFX.
He was certain he’d missed. Even in college, he’d never been any good at the damn game. Sure enough, the flashing disc hit the sidewall with a crash, and the crimson demon turned to see where it had struck.
Except only his torso and shoulders turned. His face, a surprised expression growing in the startling blue eyes and the tusked mouth beginning to form an O, continued to face Steve. The massive body swayed once or twice and then fell forward. The head bounced off and landed in the middle of the last unbroken table like some obscene centerpiece. The eyes slid down to the table and then up at Steve.
“Sorry,” Steve said automatically. The oni’s eyes rolled up– probably in some final spasm–but it certainly looked as if even the monster thought saying “sorry” was pretty lame.
He felt a warm and slightly wet touch on his hand and looked down to see the massive dog–now about half gold and half soaked in blue blood–licking his hand. As soon as it knew he was watching, it stepped back, turned sideways, and executed a doggy shake that sprayed the blood all over Steve. It was absolutely not accidental–the jaws opened and the tongue lolled out in an unmistakable canine smile before it vanished in a sparkle of rose light.
Steve leaned on the table that held the head of his opponent and tried to catch his breath. The first oni that the dog had hit was dead, lying in the center of a blue pool. The second could just be seen limping out the hole where the windows had been, still walking despite extensive claw marks, deep bite wounds, and several places on his back where red flesh was hanging on only by shreds of skin. The dog had certainly done its job. Steve was almost willing to forgive it the shower.
In the center of the room, Stengel was gasping for breath and swaying. He held his club in his left hand because his right hand and arm were missing–cleanly cut at the shoulder joint. Ace was a mess–her shirt and cargo pants were slashed where the massive club had grazed her, and red streaks were mixing with the blue bloodstains that covered her clothes. She was, however, the picture of health compared to her immense oppone
nt.
The end of the battle came quickly. Ace took a couple of running steps and launched herself through the air, landing both boots directly on Stengal’s solar plexus and driving him onto his back with such force that his feet came up off the ground like a tight end being cut down by a linebacker.
She ended up seated on his chest with one boot firmly on his left wrist. He made one twisting effort to throw her off and settled back in defeat. Ace began to carefully remove her weapons from where they were stuck in his crimson hide, wipe each of them on a clean cloth napkin she found under a tabletop, and put them back where they belonged. At least, Steve assumed she put them back. As far as he could see, they just glittered and disappeared.
“So,” she said. “I’d say there’s an opening for a new Ace of Pentacles.”
Stengel coughed up blue blood. “Yeah, I guess so. Nice match, though.” His voice was much clearer now that both tusks had been broken off during the fight.
“It was,” Ace said gravely. “You were damn good.”
“Tell me the truth, did you use magic?” he asked.
“Nope. I really did lose all my mojo.” Ace concentrated on cleaning the last blood stains from the serrations on the back of a Marine tactical blade. “Prestidigitation. Stage magic. Now you see it”–she made the big blade spin and vanish–“and now you don’t. I kept getting you to look left when I was going right and vice versa. Had to have something to even up against that badass voodoo you had going.” She began picking throwing stars out of his forehead.
“Well, it was a hell of a fight,” Stengel said. “I regret we can’t have a rematch.”
“Hell, no.” Ace smiled. “I barely took you out this time. I’m not at all sure I could do it again. Why do you think I made sure you were going to die? “
The Last American Wizard Page 20