Old Dogma New Tricks (The Elven Prophecy Book 2)

by Theophilus Monroe

  I snorted. I wasn’t sure if I was more upset that she volunteered my credit card for personal training sessions I didn’t want or that she’d managed to talk to Jag before she left but hadn’t gotten hold of me. Not that she hadn’t tried, but couldn’t she have waited an hour until I was out of my meeting? Was the issue on New Albion so pressing that she couldn’t spare that much time?

  “How’d she even get your number?” I asked.

  Jag nodded at the front counter. “I assume she took one of my cards. I’m certified, and the gym lets me train any clients I recruit here provided they maintain membership and I give them a percentage.”

  I sighed. “So, what sort of ass-kicking do you have in store for me today?”

  “First, we have to get your mind right,” Jag said. “Let's do some self-deprecations.”

  “Self-deprecations?”

  “You need to tell your old self that he isn’t worthy of your future,” Jag said, gesturing at one of the wall mirrors. “Call yourself a pussy.”

  “I thought positive affirmations were supposed to be good for you?”

  “Affirmations are for pussies. Deprecations are for men!”

  I looked at Jag blankly. “I’m not calling myself that.”

  “Do it!” Jag shouted. “Or are you too much of a pussy to call yourself a pussy?”

  “No, I’m not,” I said. Then I realized that contradicting him and rejecting the notion that I was a pussy set me up for contradicting myself if I did what Jag wanted. Whatever. Consistency probably wasn’t the point of this exercise. Might as well play along. I took a deep breath and stared myself down in the mirror. I curled my lip. “You pussy.”

  “There you go!” Jag said, slapping my back hard enough that I almost slammed into the reflection of my pussy self. “How did that feel?”

  “Honestly?” I scratched my head. “It felt strangely empowering. Like I was forbidding myself from ever being the same again.”

  “That’s the point,” Jag said. “Affirmations tell you that you’re fine the way you are. That’s the crap we tell kids. It’s why kids these days are so soft. If you want to change, you can’t affirm your present. You need to embrace the future you. A better you.”

  “So, you’re saying fat-shaming is a good thing?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.

  “Heavens, no,” Jag said. “You should never fat-shame anyone else, but if you want to change, there’s nothing wrong with fat-shaming yourself.”

  I snorted. “I’m not sure that makes sense.”

  “Why would anyone change if they were comfortable with what they are?” Jag asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, can’t you be comfortable with how you look but decide to get fit for health reasons?”

  “Health is important,” Jag said. “But you want to get huge. You want to be ripped. You want to turn heads!”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “What else is there?” Jag replied.

  I wanted to go through a litany of things more important in life than attaining a beach-worthy body. I was reasonably confident, though, that Jag would dismiss anything I suggested. I mean, who needs to work on living more virtuously, learning new skills, or acquiring knowledge about important things when you could get ripped instead?

  “I see your point,” I lied.

  Jag nodded. “Go get changed and meet me at the free weights.”

  “Free weights?” I asked. “Can’t we just do machines?”

  “That’s what your old self the pussy would have said. Now you’re a man. We’re doing free weights.”

  I didn’t waste time in the locker room. I half-expected that Jag would crush me like a bug if I waited too long. Besides, I suspected I was paying him by the hour.

  And I had an advantage working with Jag that I didn’t have with Layla.

  He didn’t know I could use magic.

  I know, by cheating in my workouts, I was only cheating myself. I wouldn’t do it every time, but just once, I wanted to see Jag flip out when he saw me lift more weight than he could. And with magic, it was possible.

  “Let me see you do a pull-up,” Jag said, pointing at the bar.

  I nodded. Focused my mind, I leaped and grabbed it. I felt the tingle of my magic course across my back as I raised and lowered myself, maintaining steady control.

  “Good,” Jag said. “Let's see if you can do two?”

  “Two?” I asked. “I’m not a pussy.”

  I did twenty.

  “Good enough?” I asked.

  “Impressive,” Jag said. “Must be because you’re a lightweight.”

  I smirked. “Yeah, maybe. How many can you do?”

  “I’m two hundred and eighty pounds worth of solid muscle,” Jag said. “It’s apples and oranges. There’s a reason you don’t see big men like me on American Ninja Warrior. Layla made it clear that performance, not size, was your primary goal.”

  “Then why’d you tell me a few minutes ago that getting huge was the point?” I asked.

  “Are you going to let your woman set your goals for you? She wants you to perform, but trust me, size matters.”

  I cocked my head. I was about to challenge his assertion, but I wasn’t sure that what I assumed he meant was what he was saying, so I shifted the subject back to him.

  I nodded. “So, you won’t tell me how many you can do?”

  “I told you the last time you were here that it’s not good to compare yourself to others.”

  “Yeah, I’m my own competition,” I said. “I remember.”

  I chuckled. I had to admit, it was a clever way of getting out of admitting he couldn’t do as many pull-ups as I’d just performed. Jag took an adjustable bench and lowered the back until it was flat.

  He grabbed a twenty-pound dumbbell from the rack.

  “We’re going to do a dumbbell row,” Jag said, putting one knee up on the bench, the corresponding hand with his arm locked straight, and his other leg extended to the ground. With his free arm, he raised and lowered the dumbbell slowly.

  “I think I get it,” I said.

  “Just don’t let your elbows fly out. You want to keep your arm close to the body. That will help recruit the lats.”

  I nodded as Jag set the twenty-pounder he’d used to demonstrate the move on the floor next to the bench.

  I got into the position he had demonstrated.

  “Brace your core,” Jag said. “You don’t want the weight to tweak your body.”

  I nodded, then grabbed the dumbbell and imitated his motion. Twenty pounds was challenging. I only used a little magic to assist. “Can we go heavier next set?” I asked.

  Jag nodded and grabbed a twenty-five-pound dumbbell from the rack.

  I shook my head. “Heavier.”

  Jag nodded and grabbed a thirty-pounder.

  Again I shook my head. I walked over and grabbed a hundred-pound dumbbell. It was the heaviest one on the rack. It took all the magic I could muster to drag it back to the bench.

  Jag raised his eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

  I nodded, got into position, and hammered my way through twelve reps, then set the dumbbell gently back on the floor. It took a lot of focus and more than a little magic, but the look on Jag’s face was priceless.

  Jag stood there, his jaw hanging. “You must be a lot stronger in the back than in the chest. We’re going to have to get you into balance. Don’t get me wrong, if there’s an imbalance, it’s better to have a stronger back and weaker chest than the opposite. That’s the problem most men have. They work their chest too much and have weak backs.”

  I smiled. Sure, I was paying for the session. I should have let the process work. But I’ve paid for entertainment before, and this was pure comedy.

  We went to the lat pull-down machine. I pulled the whole stack.

  Jag’s ego, meanwhile, was melting in front of my eyes. I could see from the look on his face that he was bothered. Maybe it was cruel, but doing it to a guy who’d insisted I call
myself a pussy was worth it. Not to mention, it was good for us to have our egos checked from time to time. The way I saw it, I was doing Jag a service.

  We wrapped up the workout, and I hardly broke a sweat.

  “What muscle group are we doing tomorrow?” I asked as I handed Jag my credit card. He swiped it through his Square reader.

  “Back again,” Jag said.

  “But you just said my back was strong. Don’t I need to catch up on my chest?”

  “You lifted a lot of weight today. Tomorrow, how about you try the same workout without magic?”

  I almost choked on my tongue. “What did you say?”

  Jag reached into his gym bag, pulled out a set of silicone elf ears, and put them on. “I’m a member of the Order of the Elven Gate. You think I don’t know who you and Layla are?”

  I snorted. “Well, damn.”

  “Tomorrow,” Jag said. “Don’t be such a pussy.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I scratched Agnus behind the ears when I got home. His eyes were plastered on the television.

  “Cats, the musical?” I asked.

  “It’s the movie version from a couple years ago. That Victoria!” Agnus purred loudly.

  “You realize she’s played by a human, right?”

  “Shush!” Agnus piped back. “Don’t ruin it for me!”

  “Well, enjoy,” I said. “I have to get to work. Donna’s expecting me at the bar in ten minutes.”

  “Well, hurry up,” Agnus said. “I need my privacy.”

  “Whatever,” I said, shaking my head. I hadn’t sweated much at the gym because I hadn’t done any work, but I needed to change my attire for my shift at the pub. Usually, a good pair of jeans and a button-up shirt were sufficient. I quickly changed and slipped past Agnus, who ignored me as I headed out the door.

  “Look who the cat dragged in,” Donna said as I stepped through the door. The pub was pretty empty in the early afternoon, now that the lunch crowd had gone. It was ideal because, while I’d been in training for a while, with my limited hours, I still had several drinks to learn. Not to mention, they still needed someone to man the bar even when it wasn’t busy. Since I wasn’t living off the tips but mostly working the job for the sake of the free rent perk, I wasn’t particularly eager to change shifts.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” I said.

  “How’s Layla?” Donna asked.

  I bit my lip. “Had to leave town. Family emergency.”

  “How are you handling that?” Donna asked. Donna was also an AA member. We’d known each other for years. While she wasn’t my sponsor and never had been—AA generally advises against selecting sponsors of the opposite sex—we had a pretty open relationship when it came to sharing our feelings. And, since we happened to work a bar together, it wasn’t bad to have that kind of accountability and support at work.

  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t anxious about it,” I said. “I mean, the relationship is new. I think we’re still in that infatuation phase.”

  “When all you ever think about is each other? When you still whisper sweet nothings in each other’s ears?” Donna was smiling.

  “Yeah, that’s about where we’re at,” I said. “But she’s the first woman I really felt like I could have a future with since my marriage fell apart.”

  “Young love is fragile,” Donna said. “It’s also when you’re most vulnerable. Just make sure you can handle it.”

  I nodded. “I’m not going to drink over it if that’s what you mean.”

  “I know you won’t,” Donna said matter-of-factly. “But make sure you don’t lose yourself in the relationship.”

  “I won’t,” I said. Though, if I was honest, it was a little late for that. Not that I was losing myself in the relationship, but with everything that had happened since I met Layla, truth be told, I wasn’t entirely sure who I was anymore.

  Yes, I was a minister again. But when I’d first gotten involved in the ministry, it was part of who I was. Now, it was just something I did.

  I still believed in it. My faith hadn’t changed all that much.

  But I suppose nearly losing my career and not falling apart over it meant I knew I was a lot more than that now.

  Not to mention the elven prophecy and my role in it. There were bigger issues afoot. However, even Layla had learned that a lot of what she’d assumed about the prophecy wasn’t complete. The elven priests had hidden some of the truth from the elven people. And everything about the prophecy had been in limbo since we fulfilled the last seal. And the last two seals of the prophecy hadn’t yet been revealed.

  Something about being the chosen one gave me a little hope.

  I had to assume that since I’d fulfilled five of the seven seals and the princess’ love for the chosen one was part of the prophecies, our story wouldn’t end. Not as long as there were more seals and more prophecies to be revealed.

  At the very least, I imagined, we wouldn’t be cut off from New Albion. At the same time, though, the seals broke at random intervals. The last one had been revealed just days before I fulfilled it. There was a chance that the other two could break at any moment and be fulfilled, somehow, without me even realizing it.

  Two businessmen came in and sat at the bar, probably to negotiate some kind of deal.

  “Two O’Donnell’s stouts,” the older of the two men said.

  I grabbed a glass and started to fill it.

  The glass slipped out of my hand and shattered on the floor.

  The two men didn’t notice. They still wanted their beers, and my clumsiness wasn’t a matter of significant concern to them.

  I grabbed another glass and filled it, twisting the glass as it filled to pinch off the head. The perfect amount of foam, just grazing the top.

  I set the glass in front of one of the men.

  Then I proceeded to fill the next one.

  And the first one inexplicably fell over. It slopped over the younger man’s lap.

  “What the hell!” the man shouted.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I don’t know how that happened. Must’ve been some water on the bar.”

  The man looked at me dumbly. “A towel, please?”

  I quickly grabbed a rag from beneath the bar and handed it to him. “I’ll replace those beers for you.”

  “Never mind,” the young man said. “We’ll go someplace else.”

  I sighed as the two men stood up and left, stomping their way through the door.

  “Sorry,” I said as Donna looked at me from across the room.

  “Not your fault,” Donna said. “That was a freak thing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a glass just spill itself all over a man like that before.”

  I shrugged. “Like I told him, I wonder if there was just a little water on the bar. Maybe the glass slid across a puddle or something. Or maybe he bumped it with his elbow, and I didn’t see.”

  “No worries,” Donna said. “I think that’s your first spill. It happens to all of us eventually.”

  It was going to be one of those shifts. Ever have a morning or a moment in time when it seems like Murphy’s Law has set its sights exclusively on your life? If anything could go wrong during this shift, it did. We were even five dollars and some change short in the drawer at the end of my shift, and since I was the only one who’d accessed it, the difference was on me.

  Part of me wondered if fairies were to blame.

  Layla had said that they were tricksters. They’d make sure that if you used magic irresponsibly, you’d experience negative consequences. Magic had a price, that whole idea. I shook my head. I was overthinking it.

  I hadn’t done anything awful with magic. I couldn’t imagine I’d done anything to force the fairies to start interfering. If anything, my distraction with the uncertainty of what was happening with Layla and the elves was likely to blame.

  I’d probably caused the drink to spill because I hadn’t paid attention to the condition of the surface where I’d set it down. And th
e glass I dropped? That happened often enough that it could have been a coincidence.

  And the five and change missing from the drawer was easily explained by my mind being elsewhere.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I still needed to reach out to my contact from the soup kitchen. Evelyn Smithe was a kind woman, and she’d been at it for a while. Now in her late fifties, she’d been a pastor in the Methodist denomination the better part of two decades. I didn’t know what she’d done before that. Her being the one in charge of the soup kitchen was one of the major hurdles my council had had to overcome.

  After all, in our denomination, they took St. Paul’s injunction that women should be silent in the churches and another statement that he did not permit women to teach, not as a reflection of Paul’s own time and situation, but as a universal dictum meant to limit the ministry to males indefinitely.

  Many of our ministers were so chauvinistic about it that they disparagingly referred to female pastors as priestitutes.

  Yes, it was offensive as hell. But in their minds, these women were violating some kind of holy ordinance.

  Of course, they usually only used that word in conversation with like-minded male ministers. They’d never dare call Evelyn or any other female pastor that to her face.

  That was because although those men viewed the male organ as a divine scepter conveying special privileges upon its bearer, at their core, they were pussies.

  At least, that was what Jag would say.

  I say all that to indicate the sort of challenge I was facing, trying to convince our district to participate. What was even more surprising was the Methodists' willingness, especially Evelyn’s, to tolerate our participation.

  It was a Monday evening, so when Evelyn didn’t return my text message, I knew I’d be able to find her at the soup kitchen. Might as well meet up with her there.

  Not to mention, after the comedy of errors that had been my afternoon shift at the pub, I figured donning an apron and helping a few folks would be mildly therapeutic.

  Pretty much any spirituality worth its salt, whether it's found in AA’s spiritual program, the Bible, or some other tradition, encourages acts of service. Not that that’s the point. I think if you only do things that appear loving because you’re hoping to reap benefits, then you don’t really love your neighbor.