Monsters, Magic, & Mayhem: Bubba the Monster Hunter Season 4

by John G. Hartness

  I pushed past the stunned Joe and stepped up to the first guard. I reached down, grabbed the front of his tabard with my left hand, and pulled him up. Three quick punches to the face and his eyes rolled back in his head. I repeated the process with the second guard, and a few seconds later, the fight was over.

  Amy caught up with us just as Skeeter got to his feet. “What the hell happened? That ruckus must have woken all the dead in the Winter Kingdom.”

  “I kinda threw Skeeter at the bad guys,” I said. “But he knew it was coming.”

  “It was something we practiced back in high school. You see, there was this still Bubba wanted to steal liquor from, but there was a fence around it.”

  “An electric fence,” I said. “I learned that the hard way.”

  “He peed on it,” Skeeter said.

  “Turned my pecker blue for a week,” I agreed.

  “So we figured out how to use Bubba as a ramp to get me over the fence. When he said that, and I saw him kneeling there, I figured that’s kinda what we were gonna do.”

  “Glad you didn’t land on a knife,” Amy said.

  Skeeter turned ashen with the thought. “I…never thought of that.”

  “Shit,” I said. “Me neither. Might not want to try that against armed opponents.”

  “You think?” Amy said, smacking me upside the back of the head. “Where are these stairs?”

  “I assume they’re near this section of wall,” Joe said, walking about ten feet down the hallway and pointing. “That’s where the guards were standing.”

  “So Mab went to all the trouble of creating an invisible door; then she posted guards outside it so everyone could see where it is?” Joe asked.

  “Did I mention my granny’s a little nuts?” I walked over to the section of wall he was staring at. It didn’t look any different from the rock around it, but when I put my hand out, it went straight through. “Huh. That’s different.”

  I stepped through the wall, which was just an illusion, and started up the narrow staircase behind it. The others followed after a few seconds, and we wound our way up the spiral stone steps for several minutes before we reached a small landing with a door.

  I knocked and pushed open the door into a lavish apartment. The room was decked out like you’d expect royal chambers to be, with a lush sitting room, complete with sofa and several armchairs in front of a roaring fireplace. There were doors on either side of the room, so I assumed at least one of them led off into my mother’s bedchamber.

  My mother stood in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames, a glass of wine in her hand. She spun around as we stepped into the room, smiling broadly. She might have been the best-dressed prisoner I’d ever seen. She was clean, dressed in a glorious deep blue gown, with her hair cascading down her shoulders in curls adorned with diamond hair clips.

  “Robbie, my love!” she exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “So glad you could make it. Are you here to escort me to the ball?”

  4

  I looked at my mother, decked out in an amazing gown of what looked like blue velvet, with white fur trim and diamonds all over the place. She had a neckline that plunged waaaaaay farther than I ever wanted to see on my mom, estranged or not, and a sparkling necklace of sapphires, diamonds, and rubies that looked like it was worth more than my house. Or maybe even Skeeter’s computer. She didn’t look much like a prisoner, and her quarters were definitely a step or two above the cramped dungeon cell we just escaped from.

  “Mama?” I didn’t know where to start. There were so many questions and so few words.

  “We have to get out of here,” Amy said. She stepped forward and grabbed my mother’s wrist. “Mrs. Brabham, do you have traveling clothes?”

  “And maybe a snack?” Skeeter added, hunger making him sound kinda like a gay Oliver Twist. When we were kids, the level of food at our houses was something almost legendary. Some days, I wondered if our mamas were competing with each other to see who could make the best supper and get us to want to eat at her house. We finally came up with a rotating schedule. My house Mondays and Wednesdays, Skeeter’s house Tuesdays and Thursdays. Friday night supper was always in town before the football game, and Sunday dinner was at your own house, unless there was a meal at church. Saturdays we were pretty casual since our mamas were already working on Sunday dinner, so we just grabbed a sandwich or something.

  “Oh, Skeeter, you always were the hungriest thing!” She walked—no, glided—over to Skeeter and pinched his cheeks. It was like watching a weird episode of Donna Reed at the Ren Faire.

  Skeeter blushed and ducked his head like some demented Eddie Haskell while Mama led him over to an overstuffed chair and sat him down, clucking over him the whole time. Amy, Joe, and I exchanged confused looks.

  “Ummm…Mrs. Brabham? We really need to get out of here,” Amy reiterated.

  Mama spun around on her heel, a scowl across her face. “Young lady, I am not letting this child leave my home hungry. Now you can come over here and get a snack yourself, or you can sit there and be quiet, but we are not leaving this house until everybody has had a proper meal. Do you understand me?” I stood up a little straighter at the whip-crack of her voice. I remembered that Mama, too. That was the one who told me in no uncertain terms what would happen to my rear end if she ever caught me trying to teach my little brother to pee on the electric fence again, or throwing rocks at wasps’ nests, or throwing wasps’ nests at my sixth-grade teacher’s house, or any of a hundred harmless pranks I pulled when I was a kid.

  Amy’s jaw snapped shut so fast I could hear the click from ten feet away. She shut up but still walked over to where Mama was setting up a damn gourmet spread in front of Skeeter.

  “Oh, are the rest of y’all hungry, too? Well, Robbie, don’t be rude, bring some chairs over here. No wait, Skeeter, sit down on the floor. Yes, honey, right there on the rug. We’re going to have a picnic!” Mama clapped her hands and grinned her demented Suzy Homemaker grin, and that was all I could take.

  “No, Mama. We’re not hungry. Well, we are, but we’re going to take our picnic to go. We are getting the hell out of here, right damn now, and you are coming with us. I don’t know what Granny Frostbite has done to your brain, but this ain’t you talking. Now get changed into something you can run and ride in because we’re leaving.” I’d never talked to my mother like that. She came back to Faerie before we had too many of the normal teenage blowups, so I think my tone took her by surprise. That was fine by me, as long as she wasn’t stunned into immobility.

  Her eyes went cold, and I could have sworn the temperature in the room dropped. When I was a kid, I used to think that getting chills for my mother looking at me hard was just me being silly, but now that I knew who and what she was, I thought it might be a real thing. “Robert Edward Brabham, you do not speak to me in that tone. I am your mother, and you will respect me. I know that we’ve had our difficulties, but—”

  “Mab’s glamoured you, Mrs. B.,” Skeeter said from the chair. “As much as it hurts me to say it, Bubba’s right. We’ve got to go, and you’ve got to get changed. Your mama’s done cast a spell on you to make you think you want to be here, but you don’t. You only came back to find your daughter. Remember Nitalia? Your little girl? Mab kidnapped her, and we came here to get her loose.”

  Mama’s eyes got a faraway look in them, like she was trying to listen to Skeeter through a fog, then she shook her head. “Mother would never harm my baby girl. She loves me and loves my babies. Isn’t that right, Robbie?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. The first time I met Granny, she threw me in the dungeon.”

  “Where you will be returning if you continue to annoy me, grandson.” I thought the room got a little chilly when Mama got mad. When Mab spoke, there was no damn question. A thin layer of frost ran across the floor and crept up the walls.

  I watched my breath appear in front of me as I whispered, “Shit.” I turned around, and there stood my grandmother. Not some portly w
hite-haired woman in an apron with a tray of cookies in one hand and a pitcher of lemonade in the other. Nope, my dear, sweet granny was Queen Mab, insane ruler of the Winter Court of Faerie, and she was sporting her full ceremonial garb.

  Mab stood ramrod-straight, white hair cascading down her shoulders, shot through with streaks of blue that seemed to shimmer through her locks like light shining through the frozen surface of a lake. Her skin was flawless, pale as milk, with high cheekbones sharp as razors and eyes so blue that they could only be created with magic or Photoshop. She wore a long gown in a pale blue trimmed in white, the pastel blue of wave tops or a cloudless sky. Mama’s gown was the blue of midnight, making the white trim stand out and contrast her dark hair, while Mab’s trim of silver almost bled into the color of her gown, which almost faded into the white of her skin, making you have to stare to see where the dress stopped and her flesh began.

  And stare we did, because in addition to being beautiful, she looked dangerous, like a museum-quality dagger carved of diamonds. She stood in the room, letting us soak in her presence for a moment before speaking again. When she opened her mouth, she gave a chilly smile that didn’t even reach the same zip code as her eyes.

  “Robert, my dear, I am sorry that you were kept in such rough accommodations for the initial portion of your visit. I do hope that you and your friends can find it in your hearts to forgive me. I have taken the liberty of expanding your mother’s apartments here in the tower to accommodate you all.” She waved a hand, and a door appeared in the wall by the fireplace. “Down that hallway you will find fresh clothing and a bathing room for each of you. Please avail yourselves of it before the ball this evening. I hate to be so gauche as to point it out, but you stink, dear.”

  “Sorry, Gran,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “I ain’t figured out how to shit in a bucket without getting a little funky.”

  “Besides, all the cutting and beatings your pals downstairs handed out made us a little sweaty and bloody,” Joe said with a growl.

  “Again, my apologies to you all, and I do hope that I can make amends by inviting you to the ball this evening. I am certain that you will enjoy the entertainment.”

  “What kind of entertainment?” Amy asked. “Are you going to have us drawn and quartered for the amusement of your court?”

  Mab blinked rapidly, as if surprised by something. “I hadn’t considered that. My goodness, I wish I had met you earlier, my dear. I would have been able to rearrange the schedule and accommodate you. But no, you will be able to witness the tournament.”

  “Oooh! A tournament! I love tournaments!” Mama actually clapped her hands like a schoolgirl. I looked over at her, and she had a vacant grin on her face like she was some idiot teenager, not a woman with a thirty-five-year-old son.

  “What kind of tournament?” I asked.

  “Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about that, Robert,” Mab said, gliding over to pat me on the shoulder. Seriously, do any of the women in Fairyland ever walk? Maybe it’s just something with the long gowns. “Now, all of you go get cleaned up, and your escorts will take you to the Great Hall in two hours. Don’t dawdle. It will take some time to get the bloodstains out of your cuticles. I know from experience.”

  Her voice went hard, and when she spoke again, it wasn’t the airy, faux-gracious tone she’d been using with us. This wasn’t dear sweet Granny telling me to go wash my hands before she gave me a cookie. This was Queen Friggin’ Mab, the ultimate ruler of the Winter Court and everything in it. Which included us. “Appropriate clothing will be provided for you. Leave the purloined weapons here. You will neither need them nor be allowed to carry them in my presence. Test me at your peril.”

  Then, quicker than a blink, the dancing fairy-granny was back. I got a good look in her eyes, and she was as batshit crazy as Skeeter’s mama that time we threw mud pies at the sheets she had hanging out to dry on the clothesline. Except Skeeter’s mama just beat our asses so bad we ate standing up for a week. Mab looked like she would happily use our intestines for Christmas tinsel if we did anything to piss her off.

  I did what I always do when faced with an absolutely insane woman at close range. I agreed with her. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll go get cleaned up and be ready to go to the ball in a couple hours.”

  “Grand decision, Robert. I look forward to seeing you in your formal garb.” She turned to go but turned back to me when I cleared my throat. As much as I wanted her the hell away from me, there was one more thing that I needed to know.

  “Was there something else, dear?” she asked, one narrow, manicured eyebrow clawing its way to the ceiling.

  “Um…yes ma’am. You said something about a tournament. What are they gonna be fighting for?”

  “Oh, didn’t I mention the prize? I have invited sixteen of the most valiant warriors from throughout the Winter Court to join us this evening and face each other in single combat. They are battling for the richest prize in Faerie—my daughter’s hand in matrimony.” With that, she turned and swept out the door, which vanished behind her, leaving just blank stone where the exit used to be.

  “Did you hear that, Robbie?” Mama squealed, clapping again. I was really going to have to do something to get her out of Mab’s spell soon. This enthusiasm was murder on my eardrums.

  “Yeah, I heard it,” I said, trying to figure out what I was going to do about it.

  “Isn’t it wonderful!” Mama said, her voice almost high enough to make dogs whimper. “I’m going to be married again. They say the third time’s the charm!”

  She turned and walked off through the door that I assumed led to her room, holding her hands in front of her like she had a bouquet and humming “The Wedding March.”

  I looked around at my friends, who all looked at least as confused as I felt. “Well,” I said. “Let’s go get cleaned up. Sounds like we’ve got a wedding to spoil.”

  5

  An hour later, we were all scrubbed and standing in Mama’s parlor, waiting on Amy to emerge from her room. “I probably shouldn’t make any jokes about waiting on her, should I?” I asked Skeeter.

  “That depends, Bubba. Do you ever want to see her naked again?” Despite being queer as a golf helmet, Skeeter has always had an uncanny level of insight into the way women think. Or maybe it’s because he’s not spending most of his time around a woman thinking about getting her to sleep with him that he’s got a line into how she thinks. One of those. Either way, I just nodded and kept my mouth shut.

  Until Amy stepped into the room, whereupon my mouth dropped open and my tongue rolled out, down my jaw, and across the floor like a cartoon wolf. I let out a low whistle, and Skeeter just nodded.

  “I hate to break it to you, Bubba, but I think I’m switching teams,” Skeeter said.

  “Get in line, skinny man,” Joe said. “I have a vow of celibacy to throw away.” We both stared at him, and he shrugged. “I’m a priest. I’m not dead.”

  I just shook my head at my friends, closed my gaping mouth, and walked over to the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, who also happened to be my girlfriend.

  Amy was decked out in an emerald green gown that plunged to a neckline trimmed in diamonds that looked like frost. A snowflake pendant hung with its long point right above her cleavage, not that she needed any help drawing attention to her boobs, which looked like little clouds of happiness floating along under her dress.

  Her hair was pulled partway up with silver-and-diamond hair clips, then let loose to cascade down her back in golden curls. Diamond earrings matched her necklace, and at the end of her long sleeves, a pair of diamond bracelets glittered. I walked up to her and kissed her on the cheek.

  “You look absolutely stunning, darling. I don’t think I’ve seen you look prettier since the last time I almost died and you were the first thing I saw when I woke up in the hospital.”

  “Bubba, from any other human being, that would sound completely stupid. But from you, it is the sweetest thing I think I’
ve ever heard. Now kiss me like you mean it, you giant hunk of handsome man-meat.” She wrapped her long arms around my neck and pulled me down to her. Our lips pressed together, then opened, and I kissed her for a lot longer than I should have felt comfortable kissing anybody in front of my mama. But I enjoyed it so much I just didn’t care.

  She pulled back and said, “Now let me see how they cleaned you up.”

  I grimaced, but stepped back so she could take in the whole picture. It wasn’t a pretty picture, but it didn’t look any more ridiculous than any of the other men would look. I hoped. My hair was washed and pulled back into a neat braid, with silver and blue wire running through the braid to give it the hint of Winter Court that apparently Granny Mab decreed. My beard was likewise braided, but in multiple segments, with crystals woven into the ends of each braid. I didn’t quite jingle when I walked, but I did feel an awful lot like I had a wind chime hanging on my face.

  But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the clothes. I left my room to take a bath, which took place in a huge communal bathing room with pools of water that started out hotter than hell, with jets of steam bubbling up to make magical fairy hot tubs, then gradually cooled down as you moved through the pools. But while I was gone, somebody stole my clothes and replaced them with some crap that looked like it was straight out of Lord of the Rings IV or something. I almost barged out in the hall in nothing but a towel, but everything laying on my bed looked a lot like the same crap the guards wore, so I figured it was just what people wore in Fairyland. Only bigger.

  I was wearing a tunic, at least I reckon that’s what it was called, some kind of long nightshirt that hung halfway down to my knees. It was blue, of course, a light blue that reminded me of a Volkswagen Beetle a girl I’d wanted to sleep with in high school drove. It was almost impossible for me to fool around in a Beetle, even at fifteen. I had garters on my sleeves to hold them up, and the whole thing kinda felt like I was wearing a circus tent. The tabard over it was a deep blue that kinda matched Mama’s gown, trimmed in silver fur that I was pretty sure didn’t come from any animal I’d ever seen.