Mid-Arc

by David Gosnell

  “What did they do to Arix?”

  “They tried to do a bunch. But he was all warded and would do this translocation thing when they tried to grab him. He didn’t do any offensive magic. I think you have to tell him it’s okay to do that still. But he kept them from putting a mindworm in Vets’ ear and casting all sorts of other stuff. I always knew he thought he was a badass, but he really made those Magerium types look pretty amateur.”

  “The sorcerer’s use of defensive magic was appreciated. Though he should have shielded me before they took a blunt instrument to my leg.”

  I nod in empathy to her. I call Arix.

  He looks around. “Ah, which of Ahtsag Znuul’s warehouse homes are we in?”

  “Dubai. Heard you did well covering for the girls. Thanks.”

  “I am not a girl,” proclaims Vet. “A girl is a small human child. I am a Vetisghar warrior.”

  We all regard Vets in her armor with the death’s head mask. Nope, she’s not really what you’d call a little girl.

  “Good for them you couldn’t cast offensive magic or you’d have owned them,” Shey adds.

  “Oh, I could cast offensive magic. That would just further complicate matters with The Protectorate, little pixie. That and I do believe Arthur would punish me if I killed anyone.”

  Arix is many things, but not stupid. Except for that whole giving up his soul for a promise that couldn’t be kept.

  “Thanks, Arix, the consideration is appreciated. So I take it we didn’t get to help out Bill much?”

  All three heads nod “no” in unison.

  “The mage stationed there must have called for backup immediately. They arrived rather promptly. We had maybe a day of work in the library,” Arix says for the group.

  “Sorry guys. I had no way of knowing. Arix, if you would wolf-size Mr. Hjuul and help Vets with her appearance also, that would be great. The only other news is it appears our host decided to make a statement at the expense of the People’s Islamic State: many bodies and much carnage.”

  Sheyliene says nothing but doesn’t have to the way her eyes narrow.

  “Oh my, I was wondering when he might assert himself,” Arix says, as if Znuul was a player in a pee-wee football league. “Did he cast a pestilence? I taught him that necromantic summoning in the Academy of the Arcane. Of course, that was well before he became what he is now. What he can do with it now is impressive I hear.”

  “Haven’t heard anything about strange diseases, Arix. There’s just a lot of people dead and at least one that he ate the life out of. News coverage is on in the office, Arix. Help yourself after you help Hjuul and Vets. Everyone grab a room; you know the drill. We aren’t strangers to this hotel.”

  “Come, Vets, let us make you presentable,” Arix says. Vets gets up from her knee to follow, helm coming off along the way.

  “You have the usual room?” Shey asks.

  “Yep.”

  “He ate somebody’s soul?”

  “Looks like it.”

  Her face lets me know she’s not happy. She pads off to one of the rooms near mine, turning to wave before going in.

  I look over at a still massive Hjuul as he lounges on the sofa, quite comfy.

  “Your turn is coming.”

  He rolls over partially. I don’t think he’s too concerned, based on how his big tail is thumping.

  I get up to refresh my coffee and step out to the backyard for air. Once there, I reflect on my situation. No question, I’m in hot water with The Protectorate. Based on our run-in with the Order of Light at the airport, I can hope that maybe it’s not boiling hot. Those guys are usually the first to bring the issue of smiting evil to the table. Maybe if I just keep my head down, I won’t get sucked into a political or professional reprimand.

  Yeah, right.

  The red perimeter light goes on. It must be Znuul returning. I trot back inside, flip on the TV, and hit the security camera channel. This place isn’t like the other bunkers with a long drive and lots of warning. By the time I see the small pickup truck stop, it means he’s already here.

  But it’s not Znuul getting out of the truck. It’s Sharjeel Megwhar. Given the fact he just checked his weapon and tucked it behind his pants, it appears he means business.

  Chapter 43

  “Armed company coming.”

  Hjuul scrabbles off the couch, looking at me as if to say, “What do I do, boss?”

  As he’s still basically his normal hulking hell-hound self, I just say “Hide and, if shots are fired, come running.”

  He takes off down the hall past the kitchen leading to Znuul’s master chambers. I dart to my room and stop, realizing we didn’t bring arms with us other than Yayne – damn customs. The doorbell rings. I turn back around and run back to the screen, focusing on the camera at the doorway. Looking at him, he seems a little pensive. There’s just enough fidget there to sense his nerves. I hear Sheyliene’s door open.

  The doorbell rings again. Arix steps out looking human as does Vets. He looks at the TV screen, at the door, then me. His hands twist and arc. I sense the crystalline feeling of being enveloped in a warding. I nod to him.

  Time to man up. I go to the door just in time to hear the doorbell ring again. Taking a deep breath, I open it.

  “Hello.”

  “Good day. Is Mr. Newell in?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “When might I expect his return?”

  “No idea.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Well so much for cordial conversation. I keep my eye out for the move to the gun.

  I wasn’t looking for the stiff-arm into my chest. At the same time he shoves me back inside, he pulls what is certainly a .45 auto. He falls into a shooter’s stance, gun trained on my chest.

  “Where is he?”

  “Can’t say exactly.”

  Sharjeel’s eyes move, and I know why – Arix, Vets, and Sheyliene.

  “But you can tell the little girl with the pretty bow to stop pointing it at me.”

  “Bite me, camel jockey,” Sheyliene says.

  “Why don’t we all relax a bit? Especially you, Shey.”

  “Ahtsag Znuul. I know it is you. Come out and face me,” Sharjeel shouts.

  Arix chuckles. It’s one of those “you poor bastard” chuckles.

  “You think this funny, old man?”

  “I find it humorous you would knowingly burst into the lair of the Destroyer of Hope and Devourer of Souls carrying only a simple firearm. What? Were you hoping that you might kill him? You would be lucky to only hurt his feelings.”

  “Where is he?”

  My eyes haven’t left Sharjeel, and they don’t have to. I know the condescending look on Arix’s face.

  “How should I know? I just got here,” Arix deadpans.

  “You should put the gun down, and we should talk like civilized people,” I add.

  “You will tell him I came to speak with him and that I will return.”

  “Sure. You’re welcome to wait for him if you like. Just holster the pistol.”

  “I think not,” he says, starting to back out.

  “Hjuul…” I call out.

  His eyes go wide. I think he just saw his first hell-hound.

  “Sharjeel, come back in. We can’t let you go now. Trust me, Hjuul likes to play fetch. You just don’t want to be what he’s fetching.”

  I make a motion with my finger to Hjuul to move to the center of the room. Sharjeel hasn’t moved the weapon from me. His eyes are darting around in panic.

  “Oh enough already,” Arix says followed by “Sesoon.”

  At the moment the stun spell hits him, the gun goes off, the bullet deflecting from the ward. I feel the ward fail.

  A blur of pixie fairy flashes by me, tackling the stunned Sharjeel to the ground and disarming him. Vets is over in a rush as well, to help restrain our attacker.

  I turn around to Arix, “Really? You’re just going to let him shoot me?”

  �
��The ward held like I knew it would. Even you have to admit it was getting tedious.”

  I hear the sounds of Sharjeel coming out of the stun spell and turn back around to see that Vets has him on his belly, straddled, one arm in a hammerlock and her forearm pushing his head into the concrete floor.

  “Tell your master I do not make weapons of evil. Go ahead and kill me. I will curse these weapons and you all.”

  That hits home. I don’t need another curse.

  He starts saying things in Arabic, or whatever language it is that I don’t understand. When the “Allah” comes up, I figure it’s got to be a prayer. I let him go with that. Prayer is a good thing. After a few moments, it turns back to English.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  “You to finish praying. Interrupting a man in conversation with God is rude. If we let you up, will you behave?”

  “You wish to save me for your master?”

  “He’s not my master. And truthfully, he’s got a lot of answering to do about that whole mess he just left in Syria.”

  Vets is looking at me for direction. Sharjeel isn’t saying a word.

  “Pat him down and let him up.”

  Shey and Vets get busy on my direction. Vets produces a knife, and Shey produces a gun from an ankle holster. Vets hoists him up rather unpleasantly, maintaining the hammer-lock and her arm now under his chin and around his throat.

  “Let him go.”

  He dusts himself off and looks at me, not fully trusting any of us.

  “The beast there,” he points to Hjuul. “It belongs to the demon?”

  “Naaaw, that’s my puppy dog.” I turn around to Hjuul with a big smile. “Come here! Yeah, who’s my good boy?”

  He comes and gets his affection, tail thumping heartily. Hjuul enjoys his hugs and scritches.

  “Are you also a demon?”

  “No. It’s kind of complicated. Why don’t you come on in, take a seat, and I’ll explain it all to you. But, needless to say, I can’t let you leave until the big guy gets here. Care for something to drink? We have water, tea, coffee, and vodka.”

  “Tea, yes. Tea is good.”

  “Arix, would you brew us up some tea?”

  Arix sighs heavily and puts on a pained smile.

  “Of course. I exist but to serve you, my master.”

  Chapter 44

  Hatay Province, Turkey

  The persons along the street in front of the hotel instinctively stop and move away from the not-quite-easy-to-see disturbance which appears to land there. When the camouflage disappears, and everyone sees Ahtsag Znuul stand from a crouch, panic ensues.

  He takes in the sight and moves toward the hotel. He looks at the revolving door and thinks better of entering the tiny confined area, instead using the valet door to enter the hotel. Once inside, the occupants also start to panic – the lobby becomes pandemonium.

  He steps up to the line for check-in/checkout. The line thins out fast.

  “I’m not trying to butt in line. Take care of your business, please,” he says in his best and most polite Kurdish.

  For whatever reason, everyone decides that moving away is the better idea.

  Znuul approaches the front desk. The two attendants are frozen.

  “Good day,” he says as happily as he can, putting on his best car-dealer smile. “I’m here to inquire about a couple that stayed with you several weeks ago. Might I speak with your manager?”

  The attendants look at each other somewhat befuddled. The lady attendant picks up the phone and punches in a number.

  “We have a guest that needs your attention.” She puts down the phone. “The manager will be with you shortly.”

  “Thank you,” Znuul responds politely.

  After a short while, a door opens from the rear, and the manager almost comes in. That is, he stops dead in his tracks at the sight of Znuul – the guest needing his attention.

  Znuul flashes the smile at him and beckons him to approach.

  The manager, after some consideration, walks up to the counter.

  “How may I help you?”

  “Yes, thank you. Two persons took residence here off and on, under the names of Mr. and Mrs. Smith of Leeds, United Kingdom. I will require all guest and financial records.”

  The manager gulps.

  “We do not share financial or guest information. Our guest’s privacy is paramount to us.”

  Both Znuul’s and the manager’s attention is broken by the sound of a man’s voice yelling out, “Your hands in the air and down on your knees now!”

  Znuul doesn’t turn but tries to discern what’s going on in the textured, mirrored backdrop of the front desk. He sees one man with a shotgun and others filing in behind him. Znuul raises his arms and slowly begins to turn around.

  “Who is in charge? We need to speak before this escalates.” Znuul scans the group. It must be the guy with the shotgun who came in first. So he locks in on him, “Come over here; we should talk.”

  Znuul walks away from the front desk toward a corner, signaling the man to join him. The man comes forward shotgun at the ready, perspiration beading on his forehead.

  “Best you lower that so we might speak in a civilized way,” Znuul says in a whisper, locking eyes with the man. “I don’t turn the other cheek. If that goes off… it will not be good for you.”

  The man lowers the gun.

  “I am going to need you to get on your knees and put your hands behind your back.”

  Znuul smiles at the man and beckons him closer with a curling finger. Once the man is close to him, Znuul bends down to his ear.

  “If an army with weapons so much more than yours couldn’t stop me, what makes you think I’ll yield to you? Do you remember what happened in Novgorod? Your men are so anxious… They best not let loose with aggression. Now, I can see that, unlike the others, you and your men appear to be good folk. You wish to protect. You wish to serve. Let me propose something.”

  The man looks up into the red snake-like eyes of Ahtsag Znuul.

  “What do you propose?”

  “Simple. I will turn my swords over to you in a symbolic gesture of respect to your authority. You will do nothing. It saves you face and allows me to gather the information I came here for, without having to harm anyone.”

  The man looks confused.

  “Just step away and demand them from me. Shout, whatever. Establish your authority. People will feel at ease. I’ll take care of my business, and no one gets harmed.”

  “Yes, nobody harmed is a good thing.”

  He walks back a few steps and looks at his men. Then he turns back to Znuul.

  “You will relinquish your weapons!”

  Znuul reaches back and pulls off a sword with a “snick” of the magnet holding it there. Then he does the same with the other. He sets them together and presents them hilt first to the leader of the law enforcement group. The leader nods to another who holsters his pistol and comes to take the very large swords.

  Znuul turns as he hands the swords over to him, “Be careful. I keep them very sharp.” Znuul turns back to the leader. “I’ll be a minute or two.”

  Znuul strides back to the service counter and gives the manager another way-too-happy smile.

  “Where were we? I need financial records of Mr. and Mrs. Smith who stayed with you.”

  A small pocket opens in the armor, and he hands the manager a slip of paper listing names and dates of stay.

  “As I said, it is against hotel policy to…”

  Znuul hops over the service counter and lets himself into the back office area. The manager scrambles behind him.

  “Only hotel personnel are allowed back here!”

  Znuul turns, his smile fading.

  “Oh, I think I broke your rule. Now, let’s be plain. I will have this information. Either you will supply it to me, or I will take your server and all of your information. It’s unfortunate I must be this way, but you could not imagine the trouble those two
are trying to make. It’s end-of-world stuff.”

  “End of the world?” the manager asks.

  “Yes. And speaking for myself, I would prefer it not to end. Now, either give me what I want or try to run this hotel without your server. I will not apologize for my behavior. It is necessary.”

  ⁂

  The sergeant and his crew have been holding their position. The sergeant has fielded more than a few questions asking, “Is it safe?”

  He tells them that he feels the situation is under control. Still, people scurry away – except for those with their phone cameras wishing to get pictures; they would probably sell pretty well. Those people are like the media, who are clamoring to get in themselves. He had to assign a man just to keep them at bay.

  He sees the door open and the creature Ahtsag Znuul ducks under the doorjamb followed by the manager of the hotel. They both look fairly happy. In fact, the creature turns to the manager and shakes his hand. Then it hops across the countertop, stepping toward him and his policeman.

  It stops about five feet from them.

  “I would have my property back now.”

  The sergeant looks to his men. The one in charge of his swords looks back with so many questions in his eyes.

  “You will need to come with us,” says the sergeant.

  He does not care for the stern look given him. The creature beckons him forward, with a flex of his index finger, so he steps forward, uneasy.

  The creature bends down to him and whispers, “I will have my property back. I will not come with you. And I do not wish to harm you or your fine men. Please do not think you have either the strength or established a relationship enough with me to sway my resolve.”

  The sergeant doesn’t break eye contact out of principle, but inside he is worried. This thing cut its way through an army with just swords – what will his men do against it?

  “Bring Ahtsag Znuul his swords.”

  There is a moment of hesitation in the officer, and the sergeant gestures him on. He walks up to the creature and offers the swords. It looks down on him and smiles an inviting smile.

  “Why thank you, young man,” it says and takes the swords.

  It leans back down to the sergeant.