by Leod D. Fitz
The giant pulled himself to his feet and swung hard. His fist connected with my face, sending me spinning. I caught my balance and dodged his next two blows, then landed one of my own that the giant barely seemed to notice.
I stepped back to avoid another swing, hoping to buy myself a few seconds. To my surprise, instead of advancing the giant took a deep breath and exhaled a gout of fire at me. I raised my arms to protect my face and hit the floor rolling. I managed to extinguish the flames that tried to cling to me almost immediately. My skin blistered where I’d been hit. It would only take a moment for the seared flesh to begin to heal, but the attack had put me on the ground, and the giant took advantage of my prone position with a couple of kicks to the ribs.
I managed to force myself to my feet after the second blow.
When I saw my enemy taking another breath, I grabbed the nearest thing at hand, the broken remains of one of my bookshelves, and threw it into his face.
He batted it away, losing his breath in the process, and stepped forward, swinging hard at me.
I jumped to my right, staying just out of his reach, and grabbing hold of one of the square posts that had once made up my tower.
As he moved to follow me, I planted one end of my makeshift weapon into the floor and leveled the sharper end with his stomach.
The giant let out a wet cough as the wood bit into his gut. I lifted the end that I'd planted into the floor, got a good grip, and pushed forward, driving my enemy back, step by step until his back was pressed against the wall that separated my living room from my study.
With a grunt of effort, I pressed forward even further, pushing the wood all the way through him.
“Fuck it. I'm not saving you for Andres,” the giant coughed out, thick rivulets of blood dripping out of his mouth with each syllable. “The things I'm going to do to you will turn even his stomach.”
“Right.” I stepped away from the pinned giant and picked up my sledgehammer. A few quick blows drove the post a good two feet further. I tried not to think about the damage it was doing to my study, on the other side of the wall.
The giant let out a pained cry at each blow, falling limp by the time I'd finished.
Whatever this jackass was, he could regenerate from massive head trauma and heart trauma, and he fully expected to extricate himself from being pinned to a wall with a four by four. There were very few creatures that could do that. Part of me wanted to stick around and see exactly how much damage I had to do before my guest stopped being able to put himself back together. But he'd made it clear that he wasn't acting alone. The longer I waited, the more likely it became that Andres, or one of their mutual friends, would show up, and I did not particularly like my odds against two creatures like the one in front of me. The smart move was to bail, figure out what was going on, and wait to engage the enemy until I had some kind of advantage. Or at least knew what it would take to kill him.
It would probably end up being fire. Enough fire would kill almost anything. But I’d have a bitch of a time cleaning up my home after that, assuming I managed to avoid burning the place down in the process.
I leaned on the sledgehammer, watching him for a moment until he stirred enough for me to be certain he was conscious. “Tell Andres he can lick the stains from between my thighs, and if I ever see you again, I'm going to cut you into three inch cubes and feed you to the neighborhood cats.”
“Going... to skin you.”
I sighed, lifted my weapon and swung again, aiming at the creature's head. It might not be enough to kill him, but at least he'd be out long enough for me to gather a few things from around the house.
This was not the first time I'd had people chasing me, and one of the lessons I'd learned last time was that a trailer home does not make a good fortress.
One of the other lessons I'd learned was that it was always good to know who exactly wanted you dead. Brushing aside some blood and brain matter, I searched the giant's pockets. He didn't have any kind of ID on him, but I did come up with two knives, some oversized brass knuckles, probably custom made, a few coins, some cash, and a bronze ring with what looked like a misshapen cat on it.
I pocketed the lot, then headed to my bedroom to grab a duffel bag and some things I would likely need over the next couple of days. A few changes of clothes, some books I'd borrowed from my mother, my alarm clock, a few odds and ends, and of course all the money in the place, which, after my spending spree the night before and the tank of gas I'd gotten that morning, came to twenty-two bucks, most of which was in spare change. I stopped back in the kitchen to lick up the food that had been dumped out of my fridge and grab the keys that had been thrown into the cabinet. By the time I was ready to head for the front door, my visitor's head had reformed itself and he was clawing weakly at the post that pinned him in place.
I turned his cranium concave again and headed out.
Chapter 3
“Oh, come on!” Simon hissed at me.
The girl in the room behind him stirred. “Baby?”
“I'll be back in a minute... honey.”
I grinned at my brother. “You can't remember her name, can you?”
He grimaced and lowered his voice. “It's either Christine or Theresa.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Those aren't exactly similar names. How do you have it down to those two?”
“Well, hurry up or we'll start without you.” This came from a distinctly different voice.
“I just can't remember which one is which.” My brother gave me a disappointed look. “You couldn't smell them both?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course I smelled them both, I just didn't catch that they were both still there. Your room smells like twenty different women. How long has it been since you've washed your sheets?”
“Sounds like an excuse to me.”
He was right. I should have picked up on both of the women. I could say what I wanted about the incense and alcohol and weed interfering with the odors, but the truth was, I'd allowed myself to get distracted and wasn't paying as much attention as I should. My mind was still back in my trailer, with the strange man who wanted a key, and my skin.
“Whatever. Look, can you do it, or what?”
Simon grimaced. “I'll drop by and check up on her, but I'm not playing babysitter.”
“Come on. I don't know what these people are willing to do.”
“You know, mom can actually take care of herself. She was at it long before either of us were born.”
“Somehow I doubt she had to deal with quite as many man-eating monsters before us.”
“You don't know that,” Simon replied stubbornly. “She could have hung out with vampires and werewolves and mummies and all that shit back when she was a teenager.”
I pursed my lips.
“Look, I'll stop by later today. I'll take a peek around the neighborhood, and I'll tell her not to talk to any strangers. Okay?”
“The guy that came to my place didn't exactly wait for an invitation. I'm not worried about her talking to strangers, I'm worried about someone standing on her throat because she doesn't know where this key thing is.”
“And you don't even know what type of creature might want to stand on her throat?”
I shook my head. “It smelled like wild animals.”
“Some kind of shifter, maybe?”
“No, no. It wasn't... it doesn't turn into wild animals; it is wild animals.”
“What kind of --”
“All kinds. Like, eight or nine different predators.”
“Huh. That's weird, man.”
“And he breathed fire.”
Simon's eyebrows drew together and he gave me a look of bewildered disbelief.
“Exactly. I don't want something like that coming after mom.”
Simon rubbed his temples. “Look, I’ll tell her what's going on, if she's worried, I'll spend a few days at her place.”
“Come on, you know mom. She's not exactly the worrying kind.”
Simon glanced into the room behind him, from which the sounds and smells of sex were emerging. “Dammit, Walter. Okay, final offer, I'll check up on her for the next couple of evenings, play some hearts or something, and check out the block before I go.”
“I'll take it.” I turned to leave.
“Woah, hold on there, cowboy. I haven't named my price.”
“Crap.” I'd hoped he'd be too distracted by his visitors to think of that. I turned back around. “All right, hit me with it.”
“I need to borrow Percy. And I don't want to pay for his time.”
A few years before he worked for me, Percy had worked for the local mages' guild. He'd been a librarian/book-restorer/book-copier/a-bunch-of-other-crap. He lost the position when someone found out he was selling access to some of the more dangerous texts to students who weren't supposed to mess with that kind of stuff.
He'd been lucky that he hadn't lost more; the mages' guild wasn't known for its kind and forgiving nature. Personally, I suspected that he had some kind of blackmail on a few members of their board. I also suspected that he'd kept a few manuscripts, or at the very least, copies of manuscripts. But god only knew where he had those hidden. I'd searched his place once or twice and never found that kind of stash.
Either way, he'd learned quite a bit in his time there, and while he didn't have the natural talent to light a match, he knew more about magical theory than a lot of seasoned spell-slingers.
I sighed. Percy knew how valuable that kind of knowledge was, and he didn't like giving anything away for free. I'd either have to pay him extra for his services, or I'd have to cut him some slack in some other areas.
“All right. I'll talk to him and get back to you. Just so I know, what subject are you looking for help in?”
“Necromancy and Summonings. I've got a big test coming up.”
I nodded and turned around.
Behind me I heard my brother close the door and turn his attention back to his guests. “Sorry about that. Now, do either of you remember where we put the handcuffs?”
I parked the car in the loading dock and made a loop around the perimeter, taking long, slow sniffs as I went. An unfamiliar car with a minor coolant leak had been through the lot since I left, but they hadn't gotten out of the car.
Once I was sure nobody looking for trouble was nearby, I headed into the building.
Downstairs, in the morgue, I pulled one of the empty tables under the light and set out the contents of my attacker's pockets.
Both of the knives were large enough to be illegal. They'd been made sometime in the last fifty to one hundred years, and I was pretty sure they were German in origin. They were well maintained; oiled on a regular basis with wrapped handles and keen edges. I could smell blood on both of them. About half of it was human.
What I didn't know was why a monster like that would need knives. He certainly hadn't bothered using one with me. I turned them over in my hands a few more times, then, when I didn't find anything else, I moved on to the brass knuckles.
At first glance, the brass knuckles made even less sense than the knives. My attacker had certainly not needed them against me, his fists had been hard enough. But the size of them convinced me that they’d been made specifically for him. By contorting my hands a bit, I could slide them onto my wrists like bracelets. The monster’s reason for carrying them had to be related to the magic I smelled in them. Underneath the metallic odor and the smell of sweat and blood and bile, the thing carried the scent of a deep and powerful enchantment. Unfortunately, my nose gave me no hints as to what the enchantment did.
They didn't have any of the usual markings on them from whomever had forged them. In fact, the only marks I could find, besides scratches, were small images of what appeared to be feathers, one on each weapon.
The paper money my attacker had been carrying was utterly unremarkable, a five and three ones. I pocketed those, putting me up to thirty bucks. Woohoo. There were eight coins from his pocket, three quarters, four pennies, and a coin that I didn't recognize. It was old and so thoroughly worn that I could barely make out the face on the front. The wheat on the back was worn almost completely off as well. I put the American money in my pocket and the strange coin back on the table.
Finally, there was the ring. Bronze, and oversized to fit its owner, I couldn't make out the figure on it any better in the morgue than I had in my home. It looked a bit like some kind of cat, but crude and misshapen, with a fucked-up tail.
I sighed and lay the ring next to the rest of the evidence. Knives, enchanted brass knuckles, an old coin and an old ring. I needed an expert, and only one person came to mind who might have a working knowledge of everything in hand.
My visit with the Dead Man could wait until morning. I needed to get some sleep while I still could.
But first I moved some furniture around, blocking all of the external doors closed with coffins. Not that coffins would keep something like that thing that attacked me out, but he'd have a hell of a time getting in without making enough noise to wake the dead.
That done, I curled myself into the smallest coffin that would fit me and drifted off.
Percy looked me over and frowned. “You look shittier than usual.”
“I didn't shower this morning.”
“That explains the smell, then,” he mumbled. “And why's there a coffin here?”
“Long story.” I picked the large oak box up and headed to the gallery in the back to put it with the other display models.
When I got back I found Percy sitting in his office.
I cleared my throat. “You think you can handle the Bachman funeral today?”
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Good, I've got some errands to run.” I turned to leave, then paused. “Oh, and before I forget, I've figured out how you can start making that little fuckup of yours up to me.”
“Hey, just hold on a minute, Walter. I made some mistakes, sure, but I made them in good faith.”
“You took borrowed drugs to known thieves and managed to mix me and my establishment up in it all. Frankly, I'm having a hard time figuring out how you could have fucked it up more, and I don't give a damn how good your faith was, your actions sucked monkey balls. So, sometime this afternoon, you are going to go to my brother's place and make arrangements for some tutoring sessions.”
“Oh, tutoring, no problem.”
“And you won’t be charging him for it.”
“Walter, come on! For magic lessons? Do you have any idea what the standard rate is for those? I mean, I don't have a problem giving the friends and family discount, but I don't do that kind of work for free.”
I smiled, stretching my mouth just a little wider than a normal person could and showing enough teeth to make Percy's mouth snap shut. “I just picked up your check for that drug shit. If you have enough in your piggy bank to cover that, then break it open and you and I will go back to being square.”
I waited a moment, allowing Percy enough time to squirm awkwardly under my gaze. “No? You want me to clean up your mess? Okay, fine, but that puts you squarely in my debt. Doesn't it?”
Percy twitched, his mouth opening and closing like a man with a great deal to say but just enough brains not to say it.
I shook my head at my assistant, then left the office to grab the last of the coffins that I'd put out the night before. After that, I had places to go, and dead men to see.
The Dead Man pushed a glass of fetid liquid across the counter, took the two fives I offered and glanced down at the small pile of miscellaneous crap I'd set in front of him.
There were only two patrons in besides myself, a drunk old neckbiter named Willis, and a man I'd never met before. He was a bit on the short side with close cropped hair and a smell like granite. My guess was, I was looking at a gargoyle. The duffel bag by his feet told me that he'd either just come into town, or was on his way out. Most likely both.
Ilsa was setting a shot glass filled with a mix of dog'
s blood and tequila in front of Willis.
“Well what have you gotten yourself into this time?” Roy asked me with a small smile and a shake of his head.
“I was hoping you could help me figure that out.”
“I’ll do what I can.” The Dead Man picked up one of the blades. “This is a World War Two German dagger. It isn't especially rare, but it is in good shape, despite seeing a lot of use. I could tell you who made it and about how much it'd go for... wait, no, it's been a few decades. I could tell you how much it would've gone for in the 1980s, but somehow I think you don't care about that.”
“Not at the moment.” I agreed.
He picked up the coin. “This is a very old coin from Greece. Horrible condition if you're a collector, but the interesting thing to me is the wear on it. If you look closely you'll see that there are no discernible nicks on the coin, the way you'd expect. The edges are quite smooth and very circular, as if it hasn’t spent a lot of time banging around with other coins. And it’s smoother on the sides than in the middle. Almost as if...” he took the coin and set it between his thumb and the crook of his pointer finger, “... almost as if it had been subjected to a regular, circular rubbing motion, like someone might do to a lucky charm, or a particularly meaningful memento.”
I blinked at my old friend. It seemed like a bit of a jump to me to come to that specific of a conclusion based on something so minor as a subtle pattern of wear. But then, Roy had been around for a very, very long time, and I was more inclined to trust his wild guesses than the absolute certainty of most of the other people I knew.
“Interesting.”
The Dead Man set down the coin and picked up one of the brass knuckles. “Then there are these.”
“They smell like magic.”
The Dead Man nodded. “How much do you know about artificing?”
“That's just enchanted objects, shit like that, right?”
Roy shook his head. “No. Artificing is one of the five major magical disciplines.” He paused looking thoughtful. “Or rather, it used to be. These days they look at it all rather differently. Now it's necromancy and pyromancy and whatnot. In fact, come to think of it, I believe most people of your generation would consider artificing and enchanting to be the same basic thing. But I can really only explain things in the framework which I learned.”