Smells Like Finn Spirit

by Randy Henderson

  “Finn, I need to concentrate,” Sammy said. “Go play some games or something. Keys are in the blue toolbox over there.” She waved vaguely in the direction of the arched doorway between Swayze’s space face, and an image of the flying Winnebago from Spaceballs.

  I sighed. “Good luck.” I looked at Dawn. “Play some doubles?”

  Dawn moved to the microwave. “You go on, love. I’m hungry, too.”

  Sammy motioned with her gloved left hand and simultaneously typed something with her right as I began a quick tour around the room.

  Smash TV, Street Fighter II Turbo, Ms. Pac-Man, R-Type, Super Off Road, a Nintendo cabinet that displayed Gauntlet; a cocktail table–style JAMMA arcade game with Donkey Kong, Donkey Kong Jr., Frogger, Galaga, and Galaxian; and a NeoGeo cabinet that had several more games on it.

  There was also a row of pinball machines that looked in great shape, including Baby Pac-Man, Indiana Jones, and Twilight Zone.

  Their bright, pixelated displays and soft beeps, dings, and zaps were comforting. But I just couldn’t bring myself to play them. I had too much weighing on my mind, and my heart.

  I worried about my family and friends, and about the dull ache for spiritual energy that flushed over my skin whenever I got close to another person. I worried about how darkside Sammy might go if anything happened to Fatima.

  “I found something,” Sammy said, and lifted her visor.

  I shivered, then said, “What?”

  “I confirmed Fatima wasn’t taken because of us. She was taken because of her father.”

  I frowned, and crossed back to Sammy and her pile of tech. “Because he’s an ARC magus?”

  “Yeah. And a real a-hole. But I’ve done some cross-checking, and it looks like there was a ton of arrests this past week, and most of the people arrested were somehow connected to someone in power at the ARC.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “If the Arcanites are targeting their opponents in the ARC, why frame relatives, why not just frame their opponents directly?”

  “Blackmail?” Dawn asked.

  “No,” Sammy said. “If it was blackmail, the Arcanites would have framed them quietly, and held just the threat of arrest and exile over their heads.”

  My grandfather had sent me into exile originally so that he could draw raw magic out of the Other Realm through our spiritual bond, in order to fuel his immortality. But if the Arcanites were trying something similar on a large scale, they would be sending their own relatives into exile, not the relatives of their enemies.

  “Are you sure Fatima’s father isn’t an Arcanite?” I asked.

  “He’s a big enough jerk, but as much as I dislike him for the way he treated Fatima, I’d have to say no. You weren’t around for it, but for a while there the ARC’s Department of Education went off the rails worse than Texas and Kansas combined. Only instead of pretending science and safe sex were dangerous myths, they tried to whitewash arcana history and push an official view of the Fey as non-sentient.”

  “That probably made the Arcanites happy,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, Fatima’s father was one of those who fought back against it. He made this big speech that made him popular for a while, about how only by pushing out into the uncomfortable unknown would we continue to grow, yadda yadda. Real Captain Kirk shit.”

  “And that worked?” I asked.

  Sammy snorted. “That, and he pointed out that while we were raising ignorant arcana, the Fey and feybloods wouldn’t be flinching from the truth, and that would give them an advantage in developing future magics more powerful than ours.”

  *Indeed,* Alynon said. *Many Demesnes considered secretly lending what support we could to such self-imposed ignorance on your part. But ignorant enemies are … unpredictable. And the Silver Court threatened to treat such education as a violation of the PAX Arcana, since declaring us non-sentient would make any treaty with us meaningless.”

  Ah. Now, that I can see making an impact on the ARC, I thought back. The ARC would want to avoid anything that threatened their trade for raw magical energy with the Other Realm.

  “So, Fatima’s father’s not an Arcanite then,” I agreed. “But why would the Arcanites send the relatives of their enemies into exile?”

  Dawn licked her fork, and said, “They’re certainly not doing it to teach the Other Realm to sing, and buy the Fey a Coke.” She set a finished Mac next to Sammy, and began prepping a new one for herself.

  “The video,” Sammy said. “From Reggie.”

  Smeg. “They are going to poison the Other Realm somehow through the connection between the people they’ve arrested and their relatives.” That had to be it.

  The leather VR glove creaked as Sammy’s hand clenched into a tight fist. “That bastard is not going to use Fatima for anything.”

  I frowned, thinking. “In the video, Grandfather used changelings for his spell. Which means the Arcanites probably have to spiritually exile all of the prisoners first, make them all changelings to create a connection to the Other Realm for the spell to work.”

  *We have set up barriers against such attacks,* Alynon said. *After Verona’s spirit bomb.*

  Katherine Verona had sent her daughter into the Other Realm, and used the connection between them to close the breaches between worlds and stop a Fey invasion. Unfortunately, it had caused her daughter’s spirit to overload with raw magic and explode like a nuclear bomb.

  “They must believe this is different,” I said, then remembering the others couldn’t hear Alynon, added, “different from Verona’s spell, that it will get through any barriers somehow.”

  Sammy gave a grunt of agreement. “We need to find where they’re keeping Fatima, and stop them from sending her, and the others, into the Other Realm if it isn’t too late. That’s the first thing we can do.” She slid the visor back over her eyes, and waved in the direction of the shelves. “Turn on the radio, will you? Helps me concentrate.” Then she went back to navigating whatever virtual obstacles she saw.

  Dawn turned on the radio, and tuned it to KEXP, the public music station, then pulled me away from Sammy. “Hey,” she said quietly. “What’s wrong?”

  “What, you mean besides being hunted by a group bent on world domination, and realizing that same group plans to use people I love to commit genocide? Nothing at all.”

  Dawn touched my cheek gently, a comforting touch.

  Then she slapped me gently. “You have worse things to worry about right now.”

  “Like what?” I asked startled, wondering what terrible thing I had forgotten now.

  “Like how I’m going to crush you at pinball.” She walked over to the Indiana Jones game.

  “I’m actually not feeling in a game mood now.”

  “Since when? You’re always in a game mood.”

  I shrugged. “This just doesn’t seem like the best time.”

  “What else are you going to do? Stare anxiously at Sammy?”

  Sammy grunted. “Please don’t. That’d be creepy.”

  “Fine,” I said. I grabbed the arcade keys from the toolbox, and figured out how to add several credits to the pinball machine, then stepped back, waving at it. “Ladies first.”

  Dawn waved in return. “Age before beauty, booty, and brains, babe.”

  I smiled despite myself, and stepped up to the game. As soon as the silver ball began bouncing between the bumpers and rolling down toward the flippers, I was deeply engaged. The ball finally snuck between the flippers and disappeared. “Damn it!” I slapped the cabinet and stepped back with a groan of disappointment.

  Dawn gave me a light hip check to push me aside, and said, “Let me show you how it’s done.”

  As Dawn played, I watched her more than the game. Each and every day her beauty was like a revelation. The light freckles across her nose and between her breasts like a sprinkling of stars across a tourmaline sky. Her hazel eyes that seemed to have their own internal glow. That damned mischievous smile she flashed at me as she
passed my score and kept going. I smiled back. And that was exactly what she’d intended, to make me smile, to distract me.

  My love for her filled me like awareness after sleep, like the morning sun pouring into a mossy hollow and banishing the fog.

  I gave her shoulder a kiss.

  She waggled her eyebrows, but didn’t look up from her game. “Hey, Dr. Jones, no time for love. I’m about to get a free ball.”

  At that moment the DJ said something that turned both of our heads to the radio.

  “And here’s a little something off the new EP coming out from Volvur Records, a local artist named Dawn Taylor. The song is, ‘Godzilla Buys Swimsuits Too.’”

  Dawn and I looked at each other, the game forgotten.

  “Oh my god!” Dawn said. As her song began playing, her eyes widened and started to tear up.

  I grinned at her. “Holy frak! I’m so proud of you. This is awesome!”

  Dawn pulled out her phone. “I have to tell every—” she stopped, and her smile faded as she looked at the dark screen.

  “Shit,” I said as my own smile faded and realization struck. “Frak. I’m so sorry, Dawn. I—shite.”

  “What’s wrong?” Sammy asked, not pausing in her work.

  I put a hand on Dawn’s arm and gave a squeeze, not sure she would want a hug from me just then. “Dawn’s song is playing on the air, and she can’t announce it or call anyone because—” I trailed off.

  “Shite,” Sammy said. “Give me just a couple of minutes. I think I’ve almost found the heart of this stupid web. Once I get what I need to free Fatima, I can help you post the news without being traced or—”

  Sammy froze and seemed to go more alert at the same time, like a meerkat spotting a predator.

  “Hey, you okay?” I asked.

  Sammy replied in a grim voice, “The bastards laid a trap. A damn good one. I didn’t even notice until now, but I think they traced me! Damn it. Stupid, sloppy, I was in such a rush—”

  The room shimmered. Dawn and Sammy disappeared. The tables, moped parts and equipment became digitized, the objects becoming 8-bit glowing representations. The counter where the beer kegs, microwave, and fridge had been stationed became a conveyer belt carrying pies and silver barrels.

  Several arcade screens flared, and with TV sci-fi sound effects, three figures projected and expanded out of them until they stood fanned out in an arc before me as living, glowing neon creatures.

  Donkey Kong hopped from foot to foot and beat his chest. Inky the light blue ghost from Ms. Pac-Man hovered back and forth as though confused for a second before his squared eyes fixed on me. And Sagat, the seven-foot scarfaced Muay-Thai fighter from Street Fighter, crossed his arms and laughed at me.

  “Shazbyte.”

  11

  WICKED GAME

  I whipped the steel baton out of my pocket, extending it in the same motion. But instead of the blue glowing baton, a digitized lightsaber extended.

  Alynon, are you seeing this? I asked.

  *Countdown, humanoid,* he replied in a robotic voice. *Countdown, intruder!*

  Great. Even my perception of Alynon was affected.

  In a combined roar, the video game creatures charged.

  I turned and fled.

  The garage’s two large rooms were connected by two halls, like a fat-ended Roman numeral II, forming a kind of mini-maze. If these creatures were as predictable as actual two-dimensional game characters, hopefully they would chase me in a straight line down the first hallway. It might at least choke them up and slow them down. If lucky, I could lead them in circles until I figured out what the hell was going on.

  It appeared to work, at least to start. Inky floated down the hall after me, and then Sagat, and then I was into the front garage area. It too had been transformed into a smooth-walled digital room with stomach-height blocks and walls like a 3-D Pac-Man maze, and a smiley-face clock on the far wall. The door to the street was nowhere to be seen. Not that I would abandon Dawn or Sammy anyway.

  As Inky emerged from the hall, I swung at him with the baton-lightsaber. Maybe I could take them out one at a time at this choke point.

  The baton passed right through Inky as though he were, well, a ghost.

  As my hand followed through and contacted Inky’s body, an electrical shock burned my skin, and made my fingers spasm. The lightsaber fell to the floor, and I backed quickly away, retreating into the room’s maze.

  This all had to be another illusion. Wizards could shape magic into any potential, but could not alter reality. Thaumaturges could give a semblance of life to inanimate objects but could not create 8-bit beings of energy. Despite Inky being a ghost in theory, I sensed no spiritual energy from him, so these were not spirits summoned by a necromancer. An alchemist could probably make me hallucinate with some gaseous potion, but I felt clearheaded. Sorcerers, on the other hand, could make reality appear to change, make Sammy and Dawn appear to vanish, and create the illusion of video game creatures come to life.

  Which didn’t help me much. My best bet would be to sit down and try to force the sorcerer out my mind in a battle of wills. But I had neither the space nor time to do so, since even illusions might cause actual damage—as Inky had just demonstrated. The mind’s power over the body and all that, damn it. Not to mention that any one of those illusions could be hiding a real person or creature.

  *Lead on, adventurer …* Alynon said in the voice from Gauntlet. *Your quest awaits!*

  I’m moving as fast as I can.

  “Helen!” I shouted. “Is this your doing?”

  I wove my way through the room’s maze, trying to buy time to think of a plan.

  A doorway flashed into existence on the wall to my right. Out of it stepped a young man, somewhat heavyset for his short height, with long, lanky blond hair. I recognized him—her—by her dress.

  “Helen?” Whatever illusion I was in must be canceling out the illusions Helen normally used on herself.

  “Don’t try and bend the spoon,” Helen said. “Instead, try to realize the truth.”

  “What?” I exclaimed as Sagat joined Inky in chasing me around the table-sized block at the center of the room.

  “All that is visible must grow beyond itself,” Helen said, “and extend into the realm of the invisible. You must—oh my!”

  Sagat leaped at Helen and threw an elbow strike. Helen pulled back inside the maintenance room, slamming the door closed just as Sagat struck it.

  So this wasn’t Helen’s doing.

  I ran down the second hallway back into the arcade room.

  Donkey Kong was trying to squeeze into the first hallway, blocking it now. I couldn’t keep running in circles. I was trapped.

  Donkey Kong turned to face me, beat his chest and gave an electronic roar.

  Frak.

  I reached out with my necromancer gift, felt for spiritual energy. Maybe I could sense the sorcerer. Or at least find Dawn and Sammy and make sure they were okay.

  Faint vibrations whispered to me seductively, but I couldn’t lock onto them, couldn’t distinguish them. Whoever was in my head—besides Alynon—had managed to confuse my magical perception as well.

  Donkey Kong grabbed a silver barrel from the conveyer belt and threw it at me. I dropped into a low squat that killed my knees and made my thighs burn, barely dodging the barrel. If I had not been working out the past couple months, I probably would have had a face full of keg, or be collapsed on the floor. As it was, I wished for the thousandth time since returning to my body that being forty didn’t mean trading aches and strains for better muscles and brains.

  Inky appeared from the second hall, his cyan-colored sheet of a ghost body floating above the floor.

  Crap. I had to do something to fight back. But what? If I couldn’t find the sorcerer and stop them physically, I had to break through their illusions somehow.

  I sprinted in the direction of the nearest arcade game. Maybe it was as simple as unplugging—

  “OW!”
Pain exploded in my groin as I ran into what I assumed was an invisible table corner. I almost fell down from the waves of nausea and sudden discomfort.

  For those who have never experienced a blow to the testicles, it basically feels like when you eat a plate full of jalapeño poppers, washed down with a large creamy milkshake followed by several shots of hard alcohol—or rather that tight, nauseating, sweat-inducing pain that follows in your lower guts an hour or so later.

  Except, you know, in your groin.

  “Frak me!”

  Inky rounded some invisible object and floated toward me, his large eyes shifting in my direction, as Sagat emerged into the room.

  Donkey Kong lifted a pie, and flung it at me.

  I lurched to the side. The pie smacked into Inky coming up behind me, knocking him back.

  I continued as quickly as caution and my huddled limp allowed to the arcade game, and looked behind it, but it did not appear to be plugged into anything.

  Sagat slammed his knee into the machine, and I barely moved my head in time to avoid getting it crushed between the arcade cabinet and the wall.

  Smeg!

  *Bad move, Space Cadet!* Alynon offered, helpful as always.

  I made a desperate backhand swing at Sagat as I stumbled away from the arcade cabinet, just to hold him off for a second. He threw out a cloth-wrapped arm to block, and my fist was knocked aside by solid flesh hidden beneath the pixelated skin.

  The sorcerer! He must be hidden inside Sagat! If I could find a way—

  Sagat’s kick sent me flying back to crash into a half-assembled light cycle.

  I moaned, and rolled across the floor away from him. I pushed to my feet and continued to back up in a defensive side stance as I struggled to simultaneously remember my limited Wing Chung training and what I’d been taught in Arcana School about dealing with illusions.

  Sorcerers weren’t allowed to meddle in your mind without permission, and if the ARC did want to get in your mind they didn’t want to teach you how to block their tampering, so my training in blocking sorcery was pretty limited. All I really remembered was that my own mind held the true source of these illusions, so I also held the key to defeating them. Real Yoda stuff. Very helpful.