I got up from my seat, stepped around the mound of zombie parts lying in the aisle, and walked up to Marek. He was about a foot shorter than me, and at least two hundred pounds lighter. He was not a big faerie, and most of them are smaller than the average human. I’m considerably larger than most humans, so when I loomed over Marek, it was some serious looming.
“Look, Marek. I’m sure you’re a nice guy, or an evil necromancer, or whatever you want me to think you are. But I’m tired. I’ve been killing your zombies for the last couple of hours, my arms hurt, I’ve got a blister on my left palm like I haven’t seen since eighth grade, and I’m out of ammo. So if you could just get to the point, I can tell you to piss off, and we can go our separate ways. Or you could just piss off. That would be fine, too.”
He looked up at me, and I was close enough that he really had to cock his head back to look me in the eye. It was that or step back, and I guess he thought that would make him lose face. He probably didn’t realize that all the humans in the room already thought he looked like an idiot, so he didn’t have any face to lose, but whatever. He looked up at me, and I watched a whole catalog of emotions work across his face as he processed what I said. Finally I saw the muscles lock in his jaw, and I knew he’d come to a decision, and that I probably wasn’t going to like it.
“I am bringing about a Renaissance of Death, with or without your help. I will tear down the Shadowlands and bring the Court de la Morte into being, if I have to slaughter every human and faerie within the domain of Shadow to do so! You cannot hope to stop me, human, so bend your knee and agree to aid me in killing the Goodfellow, and perhaps I will spare your female to be my queen.”
I didn’t bother answering. There was no point trying to reason with a guy who had more made up names for his make-believe kingdom than I had sacks in my whole college football career. Plus, as soon as he mentioned Amy as his queen, my vision went red and my fist kinda automatically flew at his jaw.
He staggered back a step when I slugged him, but he didn’t go down. I was honestly surprised, given the difference in size, and the average toughness of the faeries I’d punched in the past few months. But Marek kept his feet and glared at me. “Insolent fool! For that, I shall kill you slowly.”
He waved his hands in front of his face, and the air between his fingers started to glow with a sickly greenish-yellow light. I didn’t bother waiting to see what kind of spell he was brewing, I just drew my sword and slashed down at his head in one smooth stroke. My plan was to do something kinda badass, like when Indiana Jones draws his pistol and shoots the guy doing all the ninja shit in front of him.
But my plans never really work out. This was no exception. What really happened was my sword flashed down, his hands went up, and as the blade struck the glowing sphere of energy, fire coursed up my every nerve ending. Now I’ve been set on fire a bunch, had bottle rockets shot out of my butt crack, been tazered in the nuts, and had a damn dragon breathe basically lava all over me, but I gotta tell you, the only thing that comes even close to the pain of that magical shit pouring through me was the time an offensive lineman for the LSU Tigers stepped on my nuts in his cleats in the fourth quarter of a football game back in college. They were down by four scores, so the game didn’t matter, but he was all pissed off about my whole D-line making him look stupid for three quarters, so he just walked on my dick as I lay on the turf. I think one cleat went all the way inside my peehole, he stomped me so hard.
That’s about what Marek’s ball of piss-colored magic felt like, except it hurt like that everywhere, not just my sack. Even the inside of my ears hurt. I dropped to the floor, unable to do anything but try to remember how to breathe and hope I didn’t shit myself too bad.
I couldn’t even turn enough to watch the puny wizard as he walked past me to murder the rest of my friends. I just saw his ankles move past my field of vision and heard him pontificating some more through the sound of blood rushing in my ears. The only way I knew I wasn’t dead was that I was pretty sure dead didn’t hurt so damn much.
By the time I was able to scoot around on the floor enough to see what was going on, Marek had clubbed Skeeter to the floor, and Amy was retreating to the front of the church. I saw Joe come down from the pulpit and position himself between Marek and her, and I thought he was being nice and chivalrous by agreeing to die first.
“Out of the way, human, and I will let you live.”
“I don’t think so,” Joe said. His voice was icy calm, the way he gets when he knows what’s about to happen is going to suck, but it feels necessary. The last time I heard him talk like that, we were about to go kill my brother, and hearing that tone again gave me goosebumps.
“Fine, then. Die like your idiot friend.” Marek raised his hands above his head, and his fists were wrapped in fire. He flung his hands in Joe’s direction, but Joe just drew a sword from his belt and knocked the fireball aside like he was a kid playing tee ball. The flames winked out when they touched Joe’s blade, and when the light dimmed, I could see his sword glowing with a brilliant blue-white light.
“You will not harm these people so long as I stand,” Joe said, holding his sword in a guard position. “Leave now, and we will not pursue you. You can go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and scheme and plot against whomever you please. But if you strike at us again, I will be forced to destroy you.”
Marek grinned. “Like you even could, human trash. I don’t know what kind of lucky spell you cast, but it won’t matter. I am power itself! I am Marek! I cannot be defeated! I am—” His words cut off in mid-pontificate as Amy put a round from Joe’s rifle through his eye. The dead faerie dropped to the floor, and I never got to find out the last thing that he was gonna claim to be.
Joe turned to look at Amy, hands on his hips, which looked a little silly since he was still holding a sword. “I was giving him an opportunity to surrender and promise not to do it again!”
“And that’s your job, Joe. You’re the paladin, buddy. I’m the assassin. You try to redeem them; I assume they’re just evil as shit and I kill them. We each have our roles. Sometimes yours is to be the distraction. Good job, by the way.” She handed Joe his rifle back and hurried up the aisle to me.
“Bubba, are you okay?” She knelt beside me, then wrinkled her nose. “Jesus, these zombies stink.”
“That might be me,” I croaked. “I think he knocked the shit out of me. Literally.”
“Ew. Well, other than some embarrassment, are you injured?”
“I’m so far past the point where I even consider that injury,” I replied. “I’m fine. I’ll just need to wash out these pants before we get back on the road.”
“We’re gonna need a little more than that,” Skeeter said. He stood between two pews a few rows ahead of me, holding his right arm with his left. He looked ashen, and it wasn’t for lack of lotion. Skeeter looked like he was about to pass slap out.
“Skeeter!” Joe cried, running to him. He got there, realized he was still holding the sword, and shoved it in his belt. “Skeeter, your arm is broken.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“We’re going to have to set it.”
“I was afraid you were going to say something like that. Is it going to hurt?” Skeeter started to say something else, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the pew, unconscious.
I looked up at Amy, still not quite able to stand myself. “Well, shit.”
7
“Now what?” I asked Amy.
“I don’t know. We can’t take him with us. He’s going to be in a lot of pain, and his mobility is going to be seriously limited.” She looked at Skeeter, who sat up on the pew with his arm splinted. He was conscious again, if a little drunk. I found one last bottle of whiskey hidden behind the pulpit, and it took pouring most it down Skeeter’s throat to get him loaded enough for Amy and the town herbalist to set his arm, and that still involved a lot of screaming and thrashing. Joe and I held him down, but he was like a real
ly loaded spider monkey before Amy finally got the arm bones back in an approximation of the right place.
“I’m sorry, guys,” Skeeter said, his tone mournful and his words slurred. “I didn’t mean to let the zombie douchebro break me.”
“It’s alright, little buddy,” I said. “That guy had some serious mojo. If Joe hadn’t gone all paladin on him, I don’t know what we would have done. Speaking of which, can’t you guys heal stuff?”
“It’s not a Caverns & Creatures game, Bubba,” Joe said. “I’m not some kind of holy warrior. I’m just a priest.”
“A priest who swings a glowing white sword like some kind of bleached-out Jedi,” I amended.
“I’ll admit, I may have felt some sense of the divine flowing through me at the time, but it was Amy who struck the final blow for justice.”
“Yeah, but assassins aren’t known for their healing powers,” I said.
“Fair point,” Joe agreed. “But either way. I can’t heal him, Bubba. I don’t even know what made the sword glow. Your mother has healing magic. I don’t.”
I turned to the mayor. “Hey, Flumberstump.”
He cleared his throat and looked affronted. “My name is Frumblecrump,” he said, peering down his nose at me.
“Don’t get all snooty on me now, Mighty Mouse,” I said, standing up to my full height, which was almost two feet taller than the diminutive faerie. “Do you have a healer in town?”
“There is no healing in the Shadowlands.” He shook his head sadly. “Our ruler has decreed that magic is forbidden, and all who practice it have either fled to Summer or Winter, or they live in hiding, afraid to use their gift. It is an offense punishable by death.”
“Balls,” I said, sitting back down. I looked to Joe. “Okay, then you two are out.”
“Why does Joe have to stay?” Skeeter protested, weaving a little in his seat.
I lowered my voice and leaned closer. “Because I don’t trust these assholes. You saw how Mayor Fumblefart looked at me. Now that they aren’t in danger, I don’t trust them not to turn you over to P-U-C-K as soon as we’re out of sight. If Joe’s still here, he can shoot them if they try anything too stupid.”
Joe nodded. “I wouldn’t feel right leaving you alone, Skeeter. You’re my family. I can’t leave you by yourself.”
Skeeter got that boozy smile on his face that people get right before the awkward hugging starts and said, “Thanks, Joe. I wouldn’t have said nothing if you all left, but I know what would have happened. Like I said, black dude in horror movies…” He started to topple over, but Amy caught him before he fell on his bad arm. She eased him down on his other side, and he curled up on the pew and started to snore.
“He’s got the right idea,” she said, looking at the snoring Skeeter. “There are a few hours left until daylight. We oughta catch some sleep while we can.”
When dawn came, Mayor Crumblegrump woke us all up and told us that the pastor needed his sanctuary back to begin cleanup and repairs. I watched over the mayor’s shoulder as the little faerie preacher shook his head and made apology motions with his hands as the mayor douched all over us.
“Fine,” I said, stretching and listening the symphony of cracks that came from my back and knees after a night sleeping on a church pew built for people two-thirds my size. It didn’t even make the top five list of most uncomfortable places I’d slept since coming to Fairyland, another reason I wanted to get back home. “We’ll get going. Do you think any of your folks could spare some breakfast, or are we just supposed to handle your zombie infestation and then disappear like some kind of storybook assholes?”
“We have prepared food for your journey, Mr. Bubba,” one of the townswomen said, walking up with a picnic basket. “And we will make sure that your friends are safe and well cared for while you continue your quest. We appreciate everything you all did for us.” She kept shooting sidelong glances at the mayor, and I had a feeling that somebody wasn’t going to be running unopposed next election. I felt a lot better leaving Joe and Skeeter now that I knew they’d be safe, so I took the picnic basket and held out my hand to the mayor. That didn’t stop me from slipping my Judge revolver into Skeeter’s hand as we hugged our goodbyes. I figured the faeries wouldn’t try anything, but better safe than sorry.
“Mayor, I’m glad we were able to help. I hope you don’t have any more zombie problems. But if you do, I hope I’m nowhere close when it happens.” He stared at my hand for a few seconds, just long enough to make it awkward, then we shook. Feeling extra-asshole, I pulled him in for a tight one-armed bro hug and whispered in his ear. “If I get back here, and my friends aren’t in absolutely perfect condition, I’ll make you wish you were eaten by zombies.”
“Fair skies and safe travels to you both,” the mayor announced, his face pale and hands shaking. “Have no fear. We shall care for your companions until your return.” Then he turned and bolted from the church.
I chuckled and headed up the aisle to the back of the church, Amy in tow. “What did you say to him?” she whispered.
“I just made my expectations for the safety of our friends very clear,” I replied. “There might have been a promise of violence involved if those expectations aren’t met.”
“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”
“After we get done with this trip, you’re damn right you can’t. I plan to spend at least a month within ten miles of my cabin. I’m going to hunt, fish, drink beer, pee off my back porch, then drink some more. After that month, we can talk about plans for the future.”
“The future?” Amy asked.
“Well, there is the little matter of a ring and the dates that are usually associated with that. And whether or not you’re going to convert.”
“Convert?” I didn’t quite hear the brakes squeal in her mind, but almost.
“Yeah, convert. I mean, I know you’re not Catholic now, but…”
“Bubba, you’re about as Catholic as the Dalai Lama. You work for the Church, but the only time you go into a church is to kill something.”
“That’s not true! Sometimes I go into a church to hide from something that wants to kill me.” I heaved a mock sigh. “I suppose we can table to conversion conversation until we get the guest list figured out. How many of your relatives do you think will come to the wedding?”
“Before we plan a wedding, let’s plan an assault on a castle,” Amy said. “And I think that looks like a good place to start.” I stopped and looked where she was pointing. It was a wagon, one of the covered kind that had basically a little house attached, with a stage that flips down on one side and a roof that pops up to display a huckster’s wares. It was parked on the edge of the village and looked abandoned. Judging by the brownish stains on the seat of the wagon and the back door, the last owner of the wagon had an eventful meeting with the zombies.
“Doctor Parnassium’s Physicking Phormula!” screamed the big letters painted on the side of the wagon in garish colors. “Good for what ails ya!”
“And what exactly do you think that’s going to be good for?” I asked. “You don’t expect me to dress up like a fake doctor and BS our way into Puck’s castle, do you?”
“No, nothing like that,” Amy said, and I heaved a sigh of relief. “I expect you to play the part of my lovely assistant while I masquerade as a doctor and talk us into the castle.”
In what seemed to be the running theme of my conversations in Fairyland, all I could really say was, “Well, shit.”
8
It took an hour to get the bloodstains off the wagon and another half hour to figure out how to hitch the horses to it, but once we finally got underway, the road was clear. We traveled the rest of the day to reach the castle, and the sun was low on the horizon when I stopped the horses to survey our surroundings. You would expect a castle in the capital city of the whole land to have a town built up around it, or at least bustle with activity.
Puck don’t roll with anyone else’s expectations, apparently, becaus
e this place looked deserted. There was no town at the base of the long, winding drive up to the hill where the castle sat, looking out over the land like a hulking gargoyle.
It was like something out of a horror movie, and not a gross one like Saw or The Human Centipede. No, this was old-school Dracula shit right here, the kind of castle that looks more like a painting than anything you could actually walk into. There was a windy road leading up to a wrought iron gate set into a stone wall high enough for me to see from a hundred yards away. This place wasn’t some keep built for the defense of its citizenry; this was a lurking beast keeping a baleful watch over its subjects and daring anyone to come fight it.
“Well, looks like this costume was a waste of time,” Amy said, poking her head through the curtains that led back into the wagon.
“Not from where I’m sitting,” I said with a leer. She smacked me in the back of the head, but not real hard, and she smiled when she did it. I gotta say, my girlfriend rocked the sexy ringmaster getup we fashioned from the clothes left behind by the wagon’s previous owner. She wore a bright red tailcoat with a corset underneath and her bra, no shirt. The tails hid her pistol that she had tucked into the waistband of her flowing skirt, which also obscured the pair of knives strapped to her calves. The only incongruous bit was her shoes, which were the sensible hiking boots she wore over from our world. The last driver of this wagon had obviously been a male faerie, and he had feet way too big for Amy to wear his boots, so we just hoped that her upper charms kept people distracted from her out of this world feet.
“I’ll get changed,” Amy said, ducking back into the wagon.
“Don’t go to any trouble on my account,” I called after her.
Monsters, Magic, & Mayhem: Bubba the Monster Hunter Season 4 Page 33