Armageddon Rules

by J. C. Nelson

  “You can’t blame this on me,” I said, hands on my hips. I gave him my very best “Boss” stare.

  It was like kicking a poodle, only less fun. The little gnome’s purple hat sagged down on his head. “We don’t blame you, Marissa. You taught us the meaning of living!”

  “How exactly did I do that?” I began to suspect Petri had spent the day licking stamps and now suffered from glue poisoning. It was about the only way his scenario made sense. “I ran over one of your cousins. You guys were furious.”

  “Yes!” He pumped a walnut-sized fist. “We were. We were afraid. Then we realized, fear is what makes us know we are alive! So we work our day jobs and live for the weekend.” That actually sounded like everyone else.

  I turned to leave. “Okay, well—”

  Petri leaped from the counter and grabbed my hand. “Hooray! Come on, the races are starting soon.”

  I raised my hand, leaving him dangling a few feet off the ground. “What exactly are you racing? Shopping carts? Golf carts? Go-karts?” About that time a roar like the voice of God shook the building. On instinct, I ran for the back exits where the other gnomes had gone, dragging Petri along with me.

  I threw open the door, and my mouth flew open just as wide. Monster trucks stood lined up, revving their engines so loud the sound hit me like a punch to the chest.

  “Monster trucks are more fun than go-karts.” Petri dropped to his feet and dusted himself off. “Come on. You can have the seat of honor.” I stumbled down steps about three inches wide to a booth that would have been perfect for sitting under if I were the size of a miniature Chihuahua.

  Petri bowed, sweeping his hand. “This is where the race judges sit.”

  I took a seat. Actually, I took three, because gnomes are somewhat thinner than people. Petri tapped on a microphone to gather the crowd’s attention. “Brothers and sisters. We gather to feel alive! And tonight, we honor the presence of Marissa, Bringer of Death!”

  The crowd rose to its feet and saluted me with raised fists. And that is where things got strange. The drivers in their monster trucks began to gun the engines. A gnome stepped out into the roadway, a napkin in his hand, and waved it. In a cloud of exhaust and a roar of thunder, the trucks exploded from the starting line.

  They tore down the street toward the end, rubbing fenders and slamming into each other like rockers in a mosh pit. They rounded the corner, still knocking bumpers together and losing that beautiful black paint job. “How many times do they go around?”

  Petri watched them hit the far straightaway and smiled. “That depends on the road hazards.” As they came barreling around to our side, I watched in horror as a group of gnomes clad in white wandered aimlessly onto the track, arranging themselves like traffic cones. Petri pointed with his flag. “See? Hazards.”

  Each gnome knelt in the raceway, curling into a ball.

  “Get them off the track,” I shouted. There couldn’t possibly be time. The monster trucks made it back to the near corner and flames gushed from one’s wheel well. The leaders swerved, weaving among the track gnomes so close the monster tires seemed to almost kiss them. About then I noticed the loser. The front wheel had blown out, and it careened straight for the stands, leaving a trail of sparks and flames.

  I threw myself behind the railing as the monster truck slammed into the wall and went sailing. It missed my head by a foot and buried itself in the wall behind the stands.

  “You’re going to get someone killed!” I yelled.

  “Several someones. It’s audience participation night.” Petri reached under his seat and brought out a box. “Normally these only come with a paid admission.”

  Around me gnomes were opening their boxes and taking out small, evil-looking bits of metal, sticks that looked suspiciously like disposable wands, and what I’m certain were illegal bear traps. The three remaining trucks slowed as the drivers exchanged gunfire, then came flying around the track like smoking hell beasts.

  I opened my box and took out what looked like a flute. A flute with a trigger.

  “Awesome!” said Petri, giving me a grin. “Point and click.” Then he looked down, a little disappointed. “I never get a magic missile launcher.”

  Around me, gnomes tossed wicked bits of metal onto the track, while others attempted to hex anything that moved. The drivers, in turn, ceased to race with one another, and came full on toward the stands.

  I stood, aimed, and then swung the muzzle down.

  “Shoot!” screamed Petri.

  I squeezed the trigger and nearly had my arm ripped off as it threw out a trail of smoke, blowing a huge crater in the track. The trucks hit it and dropped nose first into the pit, yielding a heartwarming combination of breaking glass and crushed metal.

  The crowd cheered, despite the fact that no one won the race. Then they poured out of the stands, wielding spiked clubs and razor whips.

  I plopped down in my seat, taking deep breaths. “What are they doing?”

  “Sudden death overtime,” said Petri.

  And right about then, a fresh wave of screaming burst across the stadium.

  Not the screaming of a gnome on fire (there were several of those). Or of a gnome hit by small arms fire (several more of those), or of a gnome smashed by a monster truck tire (unfortunately, only one of those). This was fear. And if the gnomes thought feeling fear was being alive, they were really, really alive. A green hand the size of a beer keg reached up out of the pit, digging into the track.

  “Petri, what were you using to power the trucks? Tell me that’s not an ogre,” I said. “Oh, please.”

  He bounced up and down at the railing. “I told you they were monster trucks.”

  I dashed for the exit, cursing myself for leaving the pistol back at the office. Petri clung to my back, evading my attempts to elbow him, scrambling away each time I reached for him.

  I swiped at him again, and missed. “Tell me you have control collars for them. Tell me that.”

  “Yep. They’re in the box you delivered.” Petri leaped onto my shoulder. “Don’t you feel alive?”

  I ran through the door into the building, hopped the ticket turnstile, and sprinted for the exit. “If I survive, I’m going to make you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt.” I swear he was smiling. I didn’t pay much attention, because right about then the back of the building blew out, and an ogre came tromping through the hole.

  I threw the front door open and swiped Petri from my shoulder. Then I hit the ground and rolled into the gutter. Right behind me, the front door exploded outward, showering me with wood and steel. With one hand, I grabbed a piece of sheet metal and pulled it over us. As it took one thunderous step closer and then another, I held my breath and attempted to squeeze Petri into pulp.

  The stench of the ogre smelled like overcooked broccoli combined with sewer and rotten fish. Then it slowly thudded away, stopping only to smash a wagon that got in its way. I sat up. My hands were bleeding where the cobblestones scraped them. I had splinters in my hair and holes in my pants.

  Petri rolled on the ground, laughing, even though his face still looked blue. “Aren’t you going after that thing? It’s headed into Upper Kingdom.”

  I briefly considered it. Then I remembered a promise I’d made. No opening tombs. No dragging ghouls to dental appointments. No ogres. “Let animal control handle him. I need a drink.”

  Petri hopped onto the sidewalk and toddled back toward the smashed building. “Come on. We’ve got a full service bar and field hospital.”

  I followed him to what was now an open-seating bar, where another gnome skipped along the bar, taking orders. “Burn ward’s full, but we have draft beer on the house tonight.”

  “Something sweet. Red wine?” I slid onto a bar stool, thankful that at least it was normal size.

  Petri whispered to the bartender, and he came back with a shot glass of something that looked like brake fluid and smelled about the same. I downed it without hesitation, and to my shock found
it tasted just like cherry soda. “Fantastic. I’ll have another. You know, you guys are absolutely insane.”

  Petri sat next to me, drinking from a thimble filled with black ichor. “I haven’t felt so alive since last weekend. You know, Marissa, you did us gnomes a huge favor. We learned the meaning of death, and we learned to appreciate life.”

  I knocked back another shot, letting liquid calm burn its way through me. My hands no longer shook, and I could easily walk home, as soon as I figured out where I left my feet. “What’s in this stuff?”

  Petri looked at it and shrugged. “Dwarven liquor. It’s like, ten thousand proof. Wait, I can’t remember. You don’t have a liver, do you?”

  I poured a drop from the bottom of the glass and watched as it burned a hole into the bar top. For the record, I stood absolutely still as the world suddenly decided to spin around me like a top. Fortunately the earth was nearby, and it gave me a nice, hard hug upside the head when it rose up and hit me.

  * * *

  WHEN I WOKE up, my stomach and my bladder were competing to see which could make me evacuate it first. The building was empty. My purse was empty, and it looked like someone had drawn tattoos all over me with permanent marker. I took one of my bead necklaces off and tentatively took a bite. It tasted like ground-up aspirin, which made me want to puke, but my head throbbed and I could hear every noise in the street like it was being screamed in my ear, so I kept chewing.

  I left the gnomes a present in their trophy cup, then found an empty bottle with a silver label and put in an emergency call. “Grimm, I could use a little help.”

  He tried to flash into the bottle, but it wouldn’t hold his reflection. Then I heard him from behind me. One of the chairs had metal legs, and he was able to form a stable image there. “Marissa, what happened to you?”

  He doesn’t actually speak. That is, you couldn’t record him on tape, and yet for some reason it still sounded like he was shouting. I put my hands over my ears. “Gnome races. Ogres. Dwarven liquor.”

  Grimm sighed. “This simply won’t do. Do you have any idea what day it is? Liam’s flight touched down yesterday. Even with an eighteen-hour layover in Moscow and the drive into the mountains, he’s been on the ground for nearly a day. It’s time for him to begin guarding, and he’s refused to do it until he can talk to you.”

  A pang of guilt and fear hit me. What if he had already taken the potion? What if I hadn’t gotten to talk to him, all because I went on some stupid errand into Middle Kingdom? “Put me through to him,” I said.

  “No. We’ve got to get you cleaned up. He’s already a nervous wreck and seeing you like that would have him on a plane back in minutes. Can you see yourself?” Grimm faded out. Sure enough, marker tattoos covered most of my face.

  “Would he really come home?” I can’t say that the thought filled me with horror.

  “Without a moment’s notice, absolutely. And I assure you he would start a new war with the vampires by breaching our deal. Try to keep your tongue in check, my dear. I’m going to tell him you can’t get video reception.”

  A moment later, a different presence entered the connection. One I knew. I could almost smell him through the link, and even in my hungover state I smiled. “Hey. How was your flight?”

  “M, I’ve been worried sick about you,” said Liam. His voice almost quavered, and I couldn’t tell if he was angry or afraid.

  “I’m sorry. I had a rough Friday, and I sort of passed out. I’m not feeling well.” I picked my words carefully. I didn’t want to lie. I also didn’t want to tell the truth.

  When he spoke his voice was warm again, that kind, soft baritone that I hear in my dreams every night. “It’s time. These guys are really jumpy, and I’m going to take the potion and get to work. Two weeks, M. Be careful. Je t’aime.”

  My voice choked up on me, and what came out was a squeak with a croak combined, but I meant “I love you too.” The connection broke, and he was gone. Changed. Probably huge, red, and scaly. I loved him like that too.

  I dusted myself off and began the long walk back to the gates. Ari met me in Upper Kingdom, along with Mikey, and to my relief, my car. Mikey rolled down the window. “Ari said I could drive.”

  “You did good, but there’s no need to shout.” I slipped into the front seat, shivered at the cold rush of magic as Ari began to chant under her breath. “What are you doing?”

  Her cold fingertips brushed my temple, then an electric shock like a tingle ran through me. My eyes still refused to completely focus, but the splitting headache and the noise sensitivity were gone.

  “There,” said Ari. “I can’t fix it all, but that should let you function.”

  “Can you do anything about the marker?”

  She handed me a package of wet wipes from her purse. “Sorry. Haven’t learned how to remove marker yet. In fact, healing in general is hard.”

  I had an awful thought, and grabbed my bracelet. “Grimm, Ari did magic on me. Is she going to be okay?”

  He popped into the passenger-side mirror. “Relax, Marissa. Healing magic is on Ari’s approved list. We’ll dial back her training exercises. Fantastic work, princess.” He faded away, leaving Ari with a grimace.

  “Did it hurt to do that?”

  She shook her head and threw up her hands in exasperation. “I can’t get him to stop calling me ‘princess.’”

  “You have to be what you are,” I said.

  “I could give you that hangover back, you know.” Ari couldn’t quite hide the smile at the edge of her lips.

  “Mikey, drop me off at the college and take Ari on over to the supermarket. I’ll catch a cab back later.” Mikey started the car, but before he could pull out, Ari spoke.

  “You shouldn’t be looking into mirrors. And I need to sweet-talk a professor about my lab assignments, M. You go kick out the bums, and I’ll look at all the mirrors on campus and call it done.”

  I’d have argued with Ari, but honestly, even after her spell, I still felt woozy, weak, and dizzy. “Fine. The women’s dressing room in the second theater is probably hexed to Inferno and back. Do your squinty spirit-sight thing and then we’ll call in a shaman to dispel it. And stay away from the mirror. Just in case.” Then I put my head over on the seat and tried to sleep.

  Eleven

  I HAD MIKEY drop me off at a convenience store a couple of blocks away. Inside, I bought enough wipes and rubbing alcohol to make it look like I was only mildly crazy. After forty minutes of heavy scrubbing, I came out looking red and pink, with only traces of black.

  Then I walked to the supermarket to see what I was up against. It was on the bottom floor of a redbrick building, apartments on top, and, underneath, what I guess was a Sell-A-Lot grocery store. Gray dust coated the windows so thickly I couldn’t see in.

  Mikey had been kind enough to bring my nine millimeter from the Agency. I’d seen parents of missing children who weren’t as happy to see their kids returned as I was to have my gun back. For that matter, I’d seen parents who would’ve been happier if their kids stayed missing.

  I checked the front doors, and sure enough, some moron left them unlocked. That was probably how the homeless people started sleeping there in the first place. I know, I’d told Ari it might be a yeti, but honestly, there was a better chance of me being the death goddess of a gnome cult than of there actually being a yeti. If it were, I’d back away, come back armed with a chain saw and a dog-grooming kit and take care of business.

  Sell-A-Lot tried to combine small department store and small grocery store. Unlike the “medical supply/fast-food restaurant” places, it quickly went out of business. The “Final Sale” signs still in the window advertised blenders and toasters for ten bucks. I slipped the door open, listened for sounds of trouble, and walked inside.

  The door locking behind me was the giveaway. Self-locking doors never do so with the monster on the other side, but for the moment I refused to panic. Don’t get me wrong. Panic is a perfectly good reaction whe
n there’s nothing else useful to do, but I wasn’t certain of that yet.

  The place looked wrong. Rows and rows of empty shelves, the occasional ancient cereal box. Then I realized what was bothering me: A thick layer of gray dust covered everything. There wasn’t a single mirror or reflective surface anywhere.

  “Grimm?” I put my hand on my bracelet. “Grimm, you there?” Of course he wasn’t. There wasn’t going to be any calling for help.

  Like the whisper of rat’s feet, a voice answered, from everywhere and nowhere, all at once. “Princess.”

  And it ticked me off. It wasn’t that I was pretty sure this was an ambush. It also wasn’t that I was almost certainly locked in with something nasty. It was that once again some idiot had mistaken me for a princess.

  “Princess,” said the voice again, coming louder.

  I walked along the rows, careful to keep my back to a shelf, and my gun ready.

  “I don’t know who you are, but you picked a really bad day to start a fight.” I hoped my voice didn’t waver. Truth is, there were lots of fights I’d won, but very few I won without getting hurt in the process.

  “I am dust,” said the voice. I’d never really understood why they couldn’t ever have normal names. I found the place I was looking for, once part of home electronics. I chose it because it had a nice U-shaped inlet, perfect for backing up to. I backed myself up to the wall and waited.

  “Princess,” it said again.

  “Someone failed their vocabulary test. It’s going to be hard to have a conversation if that’s all you can say.” From the shadows all around me it laughed. “Blessing? Curse? I could use some help.” In answer the lights began to flicker and shake. My harakathin were coming, and no power on earth would persuade them to stop.

  Lights flickered from the front of the store to the back, then back and forth, in mesmerizing patterns. With a crash, a shape punched up from the ground, and I shot at it twice. Then it sagged back down into the ground. With a sinking feeling it finally hit me: The thing that had risen was the dust itself, forming a blanket. No, a barrier.