Mid-Arc

by David Gosnell

  “I am going to leave now. I can imagine your comrades are outside waiting for me. I strongly suggest you tell them not to strike unless struck against. It would be most unpleasant if I had to assert myself as I did against the soldiers of P.I.S.”

  “Most unfortunate abbreviation,” the sergeant says back, with a small smile.

  The creature nods back to him with a look of agreement and amusement.

  “Please advise the others of my exit. I would take no satisfaction today in having to hurt those just trying to protect their home.”

  The sergeant considers those words and speaks into his radio, “Do not engage the target. Target is not hostile unless engaged. Please do not unleash the demon’s wrath.”

  “Thank you,” Znuul says back to him and heads out the exit doors.

  ⁂

  After leaving the sergeant and his men, Znuul is again confronted by the revolving glass door. A chill runs up his spine, envisioning himself trapped in it. No, the valet door it will be again. Already paused, he takes in the outside scene: the lights from numerous police cars bounce about. They have set up a barricade, and it appears some media types are vying for position.

  Media? Why did it have to be the media? He dreads the vapid questions, the leading questions, and the just none-of-your business questions. He could easily take to wing and avoid the circus. But all that does is lead to rampant speculation.

  And that liar rat-bastard Abu Adan Deir Ezzor has already started enough of that.

  He mutters the words and recasts his magical shielding; then he plunges through the door.

  The police are pensive and armed. They train their weapons on him. The media are calling out for him. He scans over the top of the assembly and not noting any additional threats other than the police, strides forward to the barricade.

  “Ahtsag Znuul! A statement! What do you have to say about your actions in Syria?”

  The media pepper him with a sea of questions that collectively sound like little but noise.

  He continues his stoic, unemotional demeanor, looking over the top of this small, but noisy crowd. He senses the unease of the officers nearest him. They grip their weapons tightly.

  He looks down to the one on his right and says, “Let them come closer. I will make a statement.”

  The police officer looks at Znuul in disbelief.

  “I will make a statement,” Znuul booms out.

  Microphones and cellphones are thrust at him.

  “Powerful and wicked beings are coming for you all. Now is the time for mankind to unite and push back this challenge against the very sovereignty of your home. Put aside your petty disagreements of whose god is better than the other. Put aside your petty arguments of what is the best way to worship the same god. Put aside your petty political and social differences. Because I promise you those that are coming will not care and will show you no mercy. They will not recognize your borders. They will not recognize your right to exist.”

  He scans over the crowd, making sure not to look in any eyes or cameras.

  “I should not be the one warning you of such things. There are protectors of this realm, allegedly. They choose to wait for the coming horde. I would think it better prevented in the first place.”

  He looks across the crowd again, then takes to wing.

  Chapter 45

  After five days, I have come to appreciate Sharjeel quite a bit. Obviously, it didn’t start off all that great with a gun in my face and all.

  I think he won me over when we were discussing the whole Syria/P.I.S. debacle. He said something to the effect that it appears Znuul was singling out his faith.

  My reply was something like, “Well, what if they said Ka-La-La-La-La-La, off with his head?”

  He told me I was racially insensitive.

  I corrected him. I am culturally insensitive.

  He actually laughed and agreed with me.

  I was sold; this is a good man. Later that same day, we caught Znuul’s little escapade and press statement in Turkey.

  “This is what I need to know,” he shouts at the screen. “He rallies us. But why?”

  I can’t answer that question. But I do know Znuul threw a shout-out to The Protectorate to wake up and smell the coffee. I shared the observation with him.

  “That is supposed to be their job. That is why I make weapons for them,” he told me.

  Shortly after, I find out he makes all of Greg’s more traditional throwing and striking weapons, plus a whole lot more for other factions of The Protectorate.

  Today is just another day in the bunker. Sharjeel is asking questions of Sheyliene, hoping to understand where she comes from. Vets and I take some training in the backyard.

  And we all wait patiently for the landlord to return. Me, so I can move on. Sharjeel so he can get some direct answers. That’s how it is doing the bunker hunker.

  So when the red lights start flashing, I have to smile. I flip on the screens and see a large man on a motorcycle pulling up. It looks kind of goofy, like a teenager on a small kid’s first bike.

  “Well, he returns. Finally,” Sharjeel says over my shoulder.

  The front door bursts open followed by, “Arthur, we’re going to have to get moving.”

  Znuul stops in his tracks at the sight of Sharjeel and drops the large satchel he is carrying. The smile that was there is gone, replaced by a scowl.

  “Did you think I would not recognize my own handiwork?” Sharjeel says before Znuul can utter a word. “I must know, have I created weapons of evil or weapons for the good of man?”

  “Neither. You made weapons to serve me.”

  “We have company, Z,” I say as flippantly as I can, stating the obvious and hoping to break the tension.

  That gets me a smirk from the large one.

  “So what is the truth?” Sharjeel asks “Your words of ‘be good, then do good’? The saving of children in Russia? The merciless slaughter in Syria? Or warning of demons coming? I must know.”

  Znuul picks up the large satchel, walks from the front door to Sharjeel, and pitches it at his feet.

  “All of it is true. And for the record, I also said if you would do evil, then be evil also. Do not forget that. To do one and think yourself the other is, at best, self-deception and, at worst, manipulation. There are your swords; good work I must say.”

  They stand there for what feels like the longest time, saying nothing until Sharjeel breaks the silence.

  “Are you good or evil?”

  “I am. That is all. Good or evil are the labels put upon me. I do as I see fit to benefit myself.”

  “He’s not as evil as he used to be,” comes Sheyliene’s voice from the side. “He used to be the worst, real demon scum.”

  “Well, then I shall rephrase my question,” Sharjeel says with a smile. “Do you wish to help or harm mankind?”

  “Neither. I would prefer things remain as they are.”

  I have to pipe up, “What he’s trying to say is he doesn’t want his homeworld screwing up our world. And they will screw it up, bigtime.”

  “What I wish to know,” Znuul says as he leans to Sharjeel, “is whether or not I have to burn this place to the ground because of your flapping jaws. I have a sizeable investment here. It would displease me greatly to write this home off as a loss.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Sharjeel asks.

  “Not directly. You may feel free to walk right out the door. But should our paths cross again and you have cost me dearly… well, you’re a smart man. All I would need is the smallest of excuses to justify your extinction.”

  “Why not kill me now?”

  Znuul smiles, finally.

  “Because you haven’t cost me yet. A great sorcerer taught me that it’s not revenge until someone actually does you wrong.”

  That would be Grey. Damn, I miss him. I know Znuul does, too.

  Sharjeel picks up the large satchel and drags it back to Znuul with both hands. To my surprise, Sharhjeel smile
s at me.

  Znuul looks down at the large satchel at his feet.

  “So, dark one, you abide by a code of honor. That is better than some of us mere men. You give me the opportunity to wrong you, so you do not break this code of honor.” He takes a deep breath. “I will say nothing of you or this place or this person that you keep with you.”

  Nice. I’m a person Znuul keeps with him.

  “Well then, we’re good,” Znuul says flippantly. “Arthur, I have information to get to Percy and Edgar. Would you be so kind to tend to our guest? We have ambassadors to find.”

  He walks away from us as if we aren’t a thought in his mind.

  “Well, Sharhj, there you go,” I say, shrugging any importance away.

  He smiles at my shrug.

  “Well, I see I have my work cut out converting him to more godly ways. Luckily, I am patient. He will know Allah. I will show him.”

  I laugh, not as much at him, but at the fact that Znuul would probably prefer being wronged versus being “taught” godliness on a constant basis.

  Chapter 46

  We spent little time at the bunker after Znuul’s return – just enough time to arrange for a flight back to the USA. And enough time for Sharjeel to shadow Znuul, peppering him with constant questions and observations. All posed very respectfully. I think it drove the big guy to distraction. Not because of the questions, but because of the statements and observations that would potentially come later. None of those statements dropped, but I know Sharjeel is just building up for a good “talk.”

  I know Z is sensing the same thing, too.

  I hope I can be there when that conversation does happen. It’s bound to be amusing if not enlightening.

  The flight back was pleasant enough. I found out the leader of P.I.S. basically caved in and promised he would never speak ill of Znuul and take responsibility for his actions. The press coverage tells me how much of a man of low character he is. Znuul’s take is he’s not worth focusing on now, meaning payback comes on Z’s terms – later. After a while of being around him, you understand how to interpret Znuul. It’s not hard really – screw with him and get screwed back, in spades.

  I didn’t call my personal chauffeur, Carl Turner, given the hour I got in. A regular taxi will get me home. It’s not a terrible fare, and the ride is easy enough. I dismiss Arix and Hjuul, leaving Sheyliene, Vets, and me.

  We’re dropped off at the front of my building. I take a moment to soak it in. Home again – sort of. We make our way to the back and take the service elevator to the second floor. Once inside, I re-call Arix and Hjuul.

  “Thank you, my Wielder,” Arix says in such a way I can’t be sure that’s what he really means.

  Hjuul says nothing but goes immediately to the sniffing around routine. Good boy, checking for unwanted visitors.

  “It’s late, group. I’m packing it in,” I share, because, yes, I am that damned tired. I get back to my apartment and promptly collapse on the bed. I look at the clock and see it’s 2 a.m. I sit up to take my blazer off and consider that my super-secret Znuul team phone is in it. I put the battery and chip back in and fire it up. A moment or two passes and I get a nice “bonk,” meaning I have messages.

  Two voicemails and a series of texts – all from her Sil-ness. I scan the texts, and one takes my eye immediately: “I’m no longer a fugitive!”

  I have to check that out.

  “Paul’s been working so hard to get me leniency from The Protectorate. Today we just learned I am no longer on the most-wanted list. I have to report to a parole officer of sorts – same guy Paul reports to – and wear a damned ankle bracelet thing to make sure I don’t leave town. But still! Call when you can! XXX OOO XXX.”

  The time stamp was five days ago. I can imagine some celebration was had.

  As I know Sil is a bit of the night owl and figuring a 2 a.m. call couldn’t be too out of place, I dial her up. After a few rings, she answers in a hushed tone.

  “Hey there. You’re back? You get my messages?”

  “Just got back, saw the good news, and thought to call.”

  “I am so glad you did. Hang on.”

  The phone goes very quiet, and I think I hear muffled voices.

  “Sorry about that. When can you come?”

  “Soon, very soon, just let me make sure all’s good here. Was that Paul, or Jex?”

  “No… I’m taking auditions.”

  “Oh, the feeding thing.”

  “Yeah. Awkward, eh?”

  “And you broke away for me, aww.”

  That gets a quiet giggle.

  “He’s spent. I was ready to make an exit. I think the phone woke him.”

  “Well, sorry about that. Pass on my apologies.”

  “That’s funny. Let’s talk more tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Love you. Miss you.”

  That actually stops me. “Yeah… love you, too.”

  We hang up, and I bask in the strangeness of what just happened. She was laying with another man and telling me afterward that she loves me.

  And I say it back.

  Chapter 47

  Sil wasted no time calling me early in the morning, sounding excited as can be. No problem as I am, after all, a morning person, though I was hoping to sleep in past 7 a.m. It was mostly a one-sided phone call where I get to occasionally add a monosyllabic response like “yeah,” or “really?”

  I’m glad she’s so happy to share. I’m not that conversant before my first cup of coffee.

  I got to hear all the details of how Paul pushed so hard to get her amnesty and how she hid out at Mr. Jaw-Long Hou’s place. Apparently, he’s the wizard who Paul has to report to as part of his amnesty program. Now she reports to him, too.

  Nothing like hiding out in the last place The Protectorate would think to check, namely with their own guy.

  He sounds like a neat, crusty old man who thought his service with The Protectorate came to an end a while back. Being a crusty old guy myself, I can relate. She says he’s a wise, kind man, but his wife really doesn’t care for her or Jex. No newsflash there. She knows what Sil is. She knows what Sil does.

  I get to hear about how she’s moved in with Paul and Jxsiga since her “parole.” Parole turns into a brief complaint of her ankle bracelet and questions of why she has to wear one and Paul doesn’t. That and she can’t leave Louisville for two years without advance notice and approval. After that brief interlude, I get to hear that Paul gave her the guest room on the second floor of his condo.

  Everything sounds great.

  Then she says, “And it’s so nice to be living with my own kind. We just get each other. So many things are just understood without having to explain or apologize. It’s beautiful.”

  It’s the pause in my monosyllabic responses that tips her off I am seriously considering that statement.

  “I didn’t mean that you don’t understand me. I just meant… it’s very nice. None of us are trying to manipulate, or control. It’s nothing like where we came from. It’s nothing like… It’s new to all of us. Even the twins used to play terrible mind games with each other before… Before we all changed. It’s hard to explain.”

  “I’d get it better if I was an incubus, right?”

  “Maybe not. I’m talking about love, respect, and consideration. And yes, because I know your mind is going there, touchy-feely, too. I told you things would be strange.”

  She wasn’t kidding. But she’s not hiding anything and seems truly happy to share it. I can tell she feels awkward also. I change the topic to another point of strangeness.

  “Yeah, you did. So, how go the auditions? Is last night’s guy a keeper, or is he getting pitched back?”

  “Jury’s still out. He might be too clingy. Paul shared his rules for regulars with me. They make sense. Partners have to be able to deal with things casually, you know, a late-night booty call or a regularly scheduled thing. They can’t be calling me or following me. Once they start
doing that, you have to cut them off. That and you can’t see any one person too often; there’s that whole addictive aspect we have to be careful of.”

  “Yeah, good to consider that. Can you do me a favor?”

  “I hope so, what?”

  “Don’t wreck any homes – avoid the married ones, please. There’s plenty of unattached.”

  “I hadn’t even thought of that. Yeah, I will for sure. But you know the real rascals aren’t going to tell me anyway. Hey, when are you coming up? You can stay with us. It’ll be great.”

  “Well, give me some time here. I’ll go online and see if I can buy a house unseen. Maybe you can come live with me.”

  “Yeah… maybe split my time?”

  That says a lot. I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s with her own kind, and it sounds like nothing I could offer.

  “I didn’t mean that I wouldn’t want to be with you,” she says quietly. “I just... We have a very nice thing going on here. I...”

  “I get it,” I say, cutting her off, really more like letting her off the hook. “It wouldn’t hurt to have more property in the portfolio. I’ll try to get up as soon as I can. Hell if Z can buy a house in Houston in three days, I think I can find one in a week or so.”

  “I know you can. Please hurry. I miss you.”

  “Miss you, too. Let me get going. Coffee is calling, and it sounds like I have a property to buy.”

  “Okay. Don’t forget to take your medicine. You’ve been doing that – right?”

  “Yes. I’m keeping the curse at bay. And I will. We’ll talk soon.”

  We hang up, and I go through my prayer ritual. I move over to Yayne’s case, pull him out, and say “good morning.”

  I get what I perceive to be the mental equivalent of a nod in acknowledgment.

  “Talked with Sil; they’ve given her amnesty. She’s moved in with the others of her kind.”

  “I had wondered. There was conflict in their decision-making. Is there word on the battle for this world?”

  “Not yet. Znuul uncovered some information, and others are investigating.”