Mid-Arc

by David Gosnell

  What the hell did they shoot Znuul with? Destroyer my sweaty ass…

  I can’t tell what’s going on with Z, as the sunglasses cover his eyes. But, I see him reach up to the pistol guy’s belt. Then in one sudden motion, he stands and flings the pistol carrying man into well-dressed man with extreme prejudice, basically pancaking the sorcerer on the front end of the car.

  I dive for the rear of the car and call Vets. I hear a series of booms from the shotgun and cracks from the AK. Vets appears, and she goes after Mr. AK-47. She bounds after him, sword in hand. He wheels on her and lets loose a volley of shots.

  Thank goodness for plate armor. She is taking some harm, so I look up and send healing to her. Then I look over in Znuul’s direction. Shotgun man was apparently flung far away and is now picking himself up. Znuul has the sorcerer by the arm and is twisting it while pinning him down with a foot. I hear a “splort” and realize that the sorcerer’s arm has been totally twisted out of the socket.

  My eye flashes back to Vets who has closed the gap with Mr. AK-47. A downward strike of her sword disarms him. An elbow to the face downs him.

  “Boom! Boom! Boom!” Echoes from the shotgun make me take cover. That sound is swiftly replaced by a wet thumping sound. I stand from the rear of the car and see Znuul beating the snot out of shotgun man with the well-dressed sorcerer’s dismembered arm.

  Damn, that’s not an image I’m not going to forget anytime soon.

  I turn away and see Vets has finished Mr. AK. I summon Hjuul immediately and walk toward Znuul. He is dragging the bloody and beaten shotgun man back to the front of the Tahoe.

  “Can you believe this insect shot me in the knee with that thing?” he fumes. He flings the man like a rag doll into the limo. “That’s for my glasses and blazer.”

  Sorcerer guy is moaning and bleeding out.

  Znuul smiles and says, “Waste not want not.”

  His fingers turn their more natural form, and he jams them into the sorcerer’s rib cage. Znuul’s eyes roll, and his face is one of unnatural pleasure. Sorcerer looks up at me and tries to gasp something, but nothing comes out. His eyes turn milky white, and he shrivels into a dry, mummified carcass.

  Znuul pulls out his fingers and stands tall.

  “He was as good as dead anyway, seems a shame to waste. The devouring never gets old - you remember how it feels, don’t you, Arthur?”

  Znuul is all smiles now.

  I do - I remember my victim at the rectory. I remember the feeling of superiority, the power. The desire for more. Shit, Z’s off the rails.

  All thoughts stop when I hear, “Nobody moves!”

  The other pistol-wielding man has come to after being flung into well-dressed man and has his gun trained on me.

  Znuul cocks his head, looks at the man and says, “Sir, you do not want to do that.”

  The next instant both his hands are lying on the ground in front of him, thanks to Vet’s blade. He holds his bloody stumps up to his face in disbelief. Znuul pushes me aside and grabs one of the man’s arms.

  “You are not eating him too!”

  Znuul turns, looks at me with that shit eating grin of his and shows me his palm, which is glowing red. Just like that he grabs the end of the stump and it hisses and steams. Pistol man is screaming and shaking. Znuul grabs the other wrist and repeats. Pistol man passes out.

  “Cauterizing the wound,” Znuul says. “Can’t interrogate a dead man.”

  Znuul takes off his blazer, looks at it, mutters, “Fuck,” then takes his shirt off.

  “We need to get the limo driver - you try to find out what all this is about,” Znuul says.

  His body expands, wings unfold, and he transforms into regular bestial Znuul. With a whoosh, he is in flight after the driver.

  Of the five in the car, two are alive to interrogate. I call Hjuul over to watch the shotgun man as I liberate him of his weapon. I've always wanted one of these bad boys; the AA-12 is one fine combat weapon, I hear. Shotgun man moans and begins to come awake. He jerks backward and is plastered against the car in fear, as he comes face to face with a snarling, four hundred pound-plus Hjuul.

  "Behave,” I say and then clarify, “That means you, whatever your name is.”

  He looks at me wide-eyed and then back at Hjuul.

  “Yes, he will tear you into kibble.”

  Mr. No Hands is lying on the ground twitching. I’ll guess we’ll have to question him next.

  I wave Vets on to join me, and we take our place next to Hjuul in front of Mr. Shotgun. I signal her to take her helmet off. Shotgun’s eyes get even wider beholding Vet’s fierce feline-like face: the desired effect.

  “We’re going to ask you some simple questions, and you’re going to give truthful, simple answers, or, the body count goes up. Understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Now that we have that understanding, we begin.

  “Who sent you?”

  “He did,” Shotgun man says, pointing toward the well-dressed mummy in front of the car.

  That’s not helpful, so I must clarify, and impart some urgency.

  “Real funny, damn it. How about you tell me who he works for, who you work for, and what in the fuck this is all about.”

  I grab him by the shirt and drag him around to the front of the car so he can get a better look at No Hands and Well Dressed.

  “The Potentia!” he says, “The Grace!”

  That’s a start.

  “Okay, keep going… What? Where? When?

  “I’m just a damn merc,” he pleads. “I was to assist Bartholomew there in acquiring… you and bringing…”

  We are interrupted by the sound of a man’s screaming. Znuul releases the driver from about twenty feet in the air, and he falls to the ground, landing feet first on the pavement and crumbling into a mass.

  “My legs! Goddamn, my legs is broken!” he screams.

  Znuul touches down lightly next to him and drags him unmercifully to us, the driver screaming all the way. I shoot Znuul a look of displeasure.

  “He won’t be running away anymore,” Znuul says.

  In between Vets pretty Vetisghar face and Znuul’s handsome winged visage, we have just totally rocked Mr. Shotgun’s world. Taxi driver seems to be more worried about his legs.

  I tap Mr. Shotgun with the business end of the AA and say, “Continue.”

  “All I know is we were to pick you up, sedate you, and bring you to the bar.”

  Hjuul growls and snaps - good doggie.

  “He wants to know what bar, where exactly.”

  Sometimes you have to translate for Hjuul.

  “The Happy Place, man. It’s a bar Marigny and Royal. We were supposed to bring you to the boss, some guy named Jean. I don’t know nothing else man, please – it’s just a job for me.”

  “Alright, Mr. Znuul, please confirm this information with his friend there – and no devouring, please.”

  That gets a nonchalant shrug from the big guy, who hoists handless up and begins lightly slapping him into consciousness. Once conscious, Znuul’s tail flicks to one of the guy’s hands still on the ground. Znuul stabs it with some stinger thing in his tail, and takes the poor guy around the side of the Tahoe, away from us.

  I turn to the driver.

  “You don’t seem so surprised by all these colorful characters.”

  “Listen, Mister, I drive a cab in New Orleans… I’s seen some shit. Not quite all this… but vamps and zombies and crazy magician types like…” He looks over at well-dressed mummy “Damn.” He looks back at me, “Y’all don’t mess around now, do ya? I’s just the driver. I don’t know nuthin’ - don’t want to know nuthin.’ I just work for the cash money - got a family to support. Hey, once my legs get healed, I’ll drive y’all for free. I specialize in transporting strange folks. Why don’t you just drop me off at a hospital…”

  He is interrupted by the sight of Znuul coming back around the Tahoe. He plops down handless mercenary on the ground.

 
“Story checks,” he says. “We waste them now?”

  Znuul has everyone’s attention, certainly mine. I turn and look at him with all seriousness.

  “I figure they’re going to be helpful getting us into the bar. We need to have a heart to heart with this Jean guy.”

  Znuul’s laugh fills the bayou.

  “I knew I was going to like New Orleans," he says. "Let the good times roll.”

  Chapter 48

  “Which vehicle are we taking?” Znuul asks. “We’ll ride one and burn all the evidence in the other."

  “Man, that ain’t no vehicle – that’s my livelihood there,” the driver says.

  “You got insurance,” I ask.

  He looks at me sadly.

  “Damn, that’s just cold.”

  “We take the limo, Znuul.”

  Znuul nods and goes about moving the bodies into the backseat of the Tahoe. I tell Vets to pat down everyone for weapons and help get them into the limo. Mr. Shotgun man doesn’t wait; he just starts unloading knives, a small pistol, taser, and other items as fast as he can.

  I think we made an impression on the gentleman. I collect them all, as they may be useful later.

  Znuul throws well-dressed mummy in last and looks over at me with that over the top smile.

  “Kindling.”

  Znuul takes in a great breath and blows bright blue fire inside the car. He shuts the door and calmly walks around to the front of the Tahoe.

  “Off we go,” he says, with a wink, taking hold of the front bumper, apparently measuring the vehicle for something. Then he lifts it up by the bumper. With a twist and a step, he hurls the burning Tahoe about a hundred feet into the bayou.

  Now everyone is staring at him: me, Hjuul, the mercs, and the driver being assisted to the limo by Vets are all slack-jawed.

  The driver sums it up: “Damn.”

  I will never, ever, arm wrestle Znuul.

  Znuul dusts off his hands, gives us a look that says, “What?” and kneels down. There are sounds of bones popping, and he grimaces as he begins to transform into human appearance again. After what appears to be a less than pleasant experience, he collects his shirt and blazer and puts them on.

  He walks over to me and clasps my shoulder.

  “Not fun changing human, but it feels so fine changing back ... We going now? You’re driving – I call shotgun!”

  “Shotgun?” You sure you’re thousands and thousands of years old?”

  “Older.”

  ”Vets you watch over our guests,” I say.

  She piles into the back. Once in, I hear her give a growl just to set the tone for them. I call Hjuul over and give him a good pet.

  “Sorry, back to the white just for a bit.”

  I dismiss him and get in the limo. Key’s still in the ignition – good.

  I drive us to our first destination - the LSU Medical Center.

  “What’s your name, driver,” I ask.

  “Carl, sir, Carl Turner.”

  “Okay, Carl Turner, you are at a hospital. Your limo will be parked in the public lot at Jeff Square. You owe me. In fact, for all this, I think you are now my bitch – got it?”

  “Yes sir, thank you, thank you, sir!”

  “Vets, please help him from the vehicle.”

  She literally throws him to the pavement.

  I take off, no time to waste. I have a bar to be at. I’m sure it’s close to five o’clock somewhere.

  I cruise by "The Happy Place" once, just to set eyes upon it. It’s a dump. There are no signs of guards, henchmen, mercenaries or anything. I park us a block away and pump Mr. Shotgun for information.

  “Jean’s office is in the back, down a long hall and that he will most likely have bodyguards with him,” he says.

  “Here’s the plan,” I say to the group. “Znuul, you Pffif and Sil will arrive before us, find a seat near the hall and deal with anyone coming from the bar after the commotion starts.”

  “By your command,” Znuul says. “Hey, if I buy her a drink does that mean she has to do something for me too?”

  I just shake my head in disbelief and turn to the two mercenaries.

  “You two will escort me to the office. I suggest you keep your… stumps in your pockets to avoid attention.” That one was not looking good at all. “Once we get to the office, you would both be best served to run away and forget you ever crossed paths with me.”

  Mr. Shotgun nods emphatically, Stumps basically blinks and lolls his head. He’s looking worse by the second.

  “Vets you are back to the white. I’ll have you and Hjuul back as soon as we are at the door."

  I dismiss Vets. Znuul gets out of the car as do I. I walk around to the back of the limo and get in. I immediately summon Sil and Pffif, quickly briefing them on the situation. Sil transforms herself human and exits the vehicle, taking Znuul by the arm as they walk down the street.

  Pffif is nowhere to be seen. This is good. He is in super sneaky mode.

  “What in the hell are you,” Mr. Shotgun asks.

  “Someone you never want angry at you, and if you have any thoughts about turning on me in the bar, there are worse things than death."

  “Loud and clear, sir.”

  I summon Shey, and she goes teeny-tiny to be able to follow us stealthily after making sure to point her finger at both of the Mercs faces. Enough time has passed.

  “Showtime boys,” I say. “You are almost free from all this crap.”

  We get out of the car and Stumps falters. I put my hand on his exposed neck and concentrate on connecting to the world around me, closing my eyes. I say a prayer of healing, focusing that energy into an image and word. I open my eyes and say “vitae” releasing the word and energy through my hand to him.

  Stumps jerks and blinks a little at me. “Thanks,” he says, “How did you…”

  “Just know I can do that in reverse too. Let’s go.”

  With a grimace, he stuffs his wrists into the pockets of his cargo pants, and we proceed. We enter the bar, and Mr. Shotgun nods to the bartender. I play groggy. Sil and Znuul are staged near a corridor enjoying beers. Nobody notices the little glowing firefly buzzing above.

  We shuffle into the hall and Shotgun indicates the door on the end. I scan for cameras and see none. I look at them both and say, “Scram.”

  Noting the size of the hall and reconsider summoning Hjuul. I summon Vets.

  “Kick the door in.”

  She pulls her sword and with a kick takes the door off the hinges. Shey buzzes in after her, and I take up the rear.

  “You must be Jean!” I say to the fairly skinny, well pierced and inked man. I would peg him to be in his late thirties. He’s flanked by two large tattooed gentlemen sitting in chairs to either side of his desk with their heads down. “I’m Arthur, I think you wanted to meet me!”

  I expected some surprise. Instead, he just scoots his chair back up to his desk and steeples his hands.

  “Yes, thank you for coming.” He moves his hands, pointing each one to the men in the chairs. “Get him, now!”

  Both men look up simultaneously. Both men have very dead, gray eyes. They stand immediately and lunge forward with unnerving speed.

  Zombies.

  Vets intercepts the first, skewering him straight through the chest. That gets her a series of clubbing blows that knock her to the floor. The second zombie is met by a volley of arrows from the now regular sized Shey. The arrows don’t slow it down at all. I have to roll to evade, only to stand and see a zombie with a sword in its chest barreling right for me.

  Vets dives and tackles it by the legs at the last second, allowing me to jump away. Pincushion zombie now realizes it missed me and turns. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jean smiling as he pulls a wand out of the desk drawer – that can’t be good.

  Pffif appears next to him and nails his hand to the desk with his dagger. The little guy jumps back, whips out his flask and takes a big gulp. Jean starts to say something, but Pffif jumps
back toward him and spits the contents of his cheeks into Jean’s eyes, blinding him with that very potent liquid.

  The zombies react to their master’s trouble, and attention turns from me. Vets wrestles her sword out of the zombie in a gory spray, followed by a head-lopping strike. My attention shifts to the familiar voice coming from the door.

  “Oh, flesh golems.”

  It’s Znuul. He casually strides over to pincushion zombie and turns its head one hundred eighty degrees.

  “This must be Jean,” Znuul says.

  “Yes, our host,” I say.

  Vets pushes me to the side and puts herself in front of me. I hear the “crack crack crack” of a gun and the pinging of the rounds against her armor. A man bounces off Jean’s desk. I see Sil’s bare feet standing in the doorway.

  “Good girl,” I mutter.

  “Shoot me in the back? You have to be kidding,” Znuul bellows.

  I pick myself up and see Znuul lifting the man with the gun up by his belt and slamming him on the desk in front of Jean. He releases the belt and shoves his hand deep into the man’s lower back which elicits screams of agony.

  With one deft and powerful move, he tears the man’s spine out, silencing him forever. With a shake, he tears it from the body and then tosses the body across the room, setting the spine on the desk in front of Jean.

  “Damn it, Znuul! That was not necessary. You are leaving me one hell of a trail to clean up.”

  Jeans eyes widen, and he looks over at me.

  “Ahtsag Znuul?” His eyes turn back to Znuul, then to the door where the bartender is now standing with a sawed-off shotgun in hand.

  “No problems here, Bull,” he says to the bartender who is surveying the gory scene around him and noting Jean’s hand, still daggered to the desk.

  Sil smiles at the bartender and says, “You go on now before someone gets really hurt.”

  Nobody has to tell him twice.

  “You keep impressive company, Mr. MacInerny,” Jean says. He turns his attention to Znuul. “I am honored to meet you great one, we look forward to your liberty from the wizard Lightbringer.”