The Neon Boneyard

by Craig Schaefer

  “What’s your name, buddy?” I asked.

  “I’m not your buddy.”

  “Okay,” I said. “What’s your name, pal?”

  “My name,” he said, voice rising as he played to the room, “is Grimm. Hunter MacGregor Grimm.”

  I stared at him. He stared back.

  “I…” I shook my head. “No. Really. What is it?”

  “Hunter. MacGregor. Grimm.”

  I squinted. “Okay, I mean…if that’s really what you want to go with. You might want to workshop it, though.”

  “My great-great-grandfather was the sire of all vampires. My great-great-grandmother was the queen of the werewolves.”

  “No. Stop.” I held up a hand. “First of all, there’s no such thing as vampires. Or werewolves. Seriously, what is this?”

  While I was talking, my third eye was digging deep. Listening to the pulse of his blood, feeling for the texture of his soul. Whatever his real name was, “Hunter Grimm” was a cambion. I sensed something else there, too, buried in the barbed-wire twists of his half-demon soul, some hot and toxic energy, wild magic crammed into a container too small to hold it.

  “They call me the Mystical Marauder, the Hard-Luck Harrower, the Demon Magic Sentry.”

  “That’s three titles,” I said, “and I bet twenty bucks nobody calls you that.”

  “I ride across these forsaken lands with my blade at the ready, in search of fools and pretenders. And when I find them, their heads join the collection on my trophy wall.”

  “Your blade. It’s a katana, isn’t it?” I glanced sidelong at Caitlin. “You know it’s a katana.”

  Caitlin studied him, eyes narrowed to serpentine slits. I figured she sensed the same thing I did. I was being flippant, playing to the crowd and trying to get a smile—and frustrate Grimm into tipping more of his hand—but this wasn’t just some puffed-up clown looking for the wrong kind of attention. I wasn’t going to make a move until I was sure what I was dealing with. And despite the quips, I was taking him very seriously.

  “Which court do you claim?” she asked him.

  He turned, grimaced, and spat on the floor. The whole room had been whispering. Now it was holding one collective breath.

  “A better one than this. Bad enough that a prince’s hound would spread her legs for a human. Elevating one to knighthood? That’s nothing but a sick joke, just like you, just like your entire court.”

  “This would be a good time to stop talking,” I told him.

  “Why? You’re weak. If you claim otherwise…duel me. I wield the black blade of Masamune and the talisman of Thor. No pretender can stand against me.”

  Caitlin leaned close and murmured in my ear.

  “He challenged you, after insulting your hound and your prince, pet. The Cold Peace will not protect him. Do as you will.”

  And he wanted it, almost as bad as I wanted to give it to him. Grimm had his footing squared and light, his fingers curling at his sides, just waiting for me to throw the first punch. Which was exactly why I didn’t.

  This guy was a joke at best, a nutcase at worst, and everything about this situation screamed setup. For all his goofy claims and posturing, he wasn’t entirely harmless; the pulsing core of wild magic in his gut told me that much. Beyond that, I had to think about the message my next move would send.

  When I saw the trap, I almost admired it.

  Grimm—or whoever paid him to put on this act, most likely—had maneuvered me into a no-win situation. His wannabe tough-guy act meant that if I did beat him down, legal or not, I’d come off looking like a thug who punched out a harmless loser. On the other hand, if I backed down, I’d look like I was afraid of him—and that was infinitely worse.

  Caitlin was right. Somebody here resented my promotion. But instead of testing me themselves, they sent in a chump who looked like he was in no way, shape, or form capable of doing the job. So I was damned if I fought him, damned if I didn’t. Every eye in the room was on me. I needed to find a third option and I needed it fast.

  “I’m not going to fight you,” I told him.

  He grinned in triumph, like a bully who just took over the playground. “See? You see, everyone? The human is weak. He’s weak, just like his entire court, like his prince—”

  “I wasn’t done talking,” I told him. “Shut the fuck up and listen. See, a couple of weeks ago, I was walking down the street and passed this mean-looking little kid. He was nine, ten years old maybe. He looked up at me and said, ‘Your hair looks stupid, mister.’”

  That got a tiny chuckle or two, but most of the guests were silent now; they were busy trying to follow my angle and figure out where I was aiming to land.

  “Now, first of all, that kid was wrong. My hair is flawless.” I ran my fingers through it to highlight the point. “But you might be wondering…what did I do to him? Did I beat him up? Kill him? Of course not. It doesn’t matter what he said to me—he could have insulted my girlfriend, my mother, my family name—because there’s absolutely no honor in a grown man retaliating against a child, and there’s no weight in a child’s insults. He was beneath me.”

  I jerked my thumb at Grimm.

  “Just like this clown is, and I’m not going to degrade the dignity of the honor I’ve been given by dueling him.”

  From the blindsided look on his face, I figured Grimm had prepared for every response except that one.

  “You’re…you’re afraid,” he said, fumbling for his tough-guy act. “You know you can’t beat me.”

  “Please. I’m a knight of hell. You’re a pissant nobody. I don’t have to prove myself to you.” I turned my attention to the rest of the room. “And who am I supposed to be defending? Caitlin? Caitlin, the Wingtaker? You all know where she earned that title, and if you don’t, you’d better ask somebody. Prince Sitri? The master of an entire court? Get real. I don’t care if Hunter MacPfeiffer Granola here curses all three of us out, all day long. His words don’t mean anything, because he doesn’t mean anything.”

  I took a long, slow look around the room. Checking expressions, searching for the tell of a player whose gamble just went south. Mostly I was looking for Naavarasi. Either she’d left or she’d found another face to wear.

  “One of you, though,” I said. “One of you I do want to duel. Because somebody here hired this joker.”

  Grimm’s left eyelid twitched. “That’s not true. I’m a lone wolf. A one-man occult army—”

  “Shut up, sparky. Grown-ups are talking.” I made a circle, giving everyone a dose of eye contact and seeing who looked away. “One of you wanted to test me, didn’t have the steel to do it yourself, and put this loser up to the job. Now that? That is an insult worth going toe to toe over. So step up.”

  Honestly, I didn’t care if it was true or not. Even if Grimm was acting alone, I’d just reframed the narrative. Now the guests were looking at each other, whispering, pointing subtle fingers.

  “Nobody?” I asked. “Have it your way. If you change your mind, and you want to bring a real challenge, you know where to find me. Until then, how about we all get back to the party? I hear the spread at the red table is really great, so definitely try some of…whatever that is.”

  A couple of bouncers were closing in, bracing Grimm from the sides. He was already yesterday’s news. I’d given the partygoers something a lot more interesting to gossip about—his mysterious master, who might or might not exist—and they broke ranks to mingle and chat about it.

  “This isn’t over,” Grimm told me.

  “Get him out of here,” I said and turned my back on him.

  Outside, I was a picture of callous cool. Inside, I was sweating. If I’d gotten him wrong—if he really was a deadly menace in a jester’s cap—I had just set myself up for a literal stab in the back. But people were still watching, casting discreet glances, and my act had to be picture perfect.

  He didn’t say another word as they hustled him up the stairs and out the door.

  * * *
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  After the final gift was added to the table, the open bar shut down, and the last few guests drifted off into the night, it was just me and Caitlin in the abandoned party room. Light from the neon piping shimmered off her dress, painting her in shades of black and gold. We split the last bottle of chardonnay between us, glasses half-empty as we unwrapped presents together.

  “Some of these have been floating around for centuries.” She opened the lid of a small teak casket and nodded her approval. “A few of the guests were definitely trying to get on your good side. I’ll make a list for you.”

  “Obliged.” I glanced to Emma’s gift, the diamond tie clip. “Okay, so all of these are basically cursed to kill their owners, right?”

  “That’s the tradition, yes.”

  I pointed to the clip. “So if I put this one on, what would it do to me?”

  She gave me an impish smile. “The Curse of Xyl’kotis, if I remember correctly. It would cause your bowels to violently evacuate.”

  “That sounds bad, but not deadly.”

  “To evacuate everything inside your body. Including said bowels.”

  I pushed the box a little farther away.

  “I know you didn’t want this,” she told me.

  “A tie clip that makes you poop yourself to death? Well, it’s not my ideal fashion statement…”

  She gently swatted my arm. “No. This. The knighthood. Being drawn into my court. You’ve been putting on a game face, but I know you’re not happy.”

  “It’s not…that I’m not happy,” I said. “It’s just a responsibility that got dropped on me out of nowhere, and…”

  “And you’re not one of us. Daniel, it’s all right. I understand. You’ve been charged with defending a court you feel no allegiance to. That’s a burden.”

  I reached for her. My fingertips trailed along the curve of her chin.

  “Hey. It’s important to you. So I’m all in.”

  “Do you know why, though? Do you understand why this is important to me?”

  I had to shake my head. She took my hand in hers.

  “When we first met, you welcomed me into your family. Your circle of friends, these people you trust more than anyone in the world…and you welcomed me in. No one had ever done that for me before.”

  “At Margaritaville, as I recall.” I glanced over her shoulder, into the distance. “Strange things are often afoot at Margaritaville.”

  She laughed and squeezed my hand. “Be serious. It meant a lot to me. And now…now it feels like you’re a part of my family, too. I know you don’t feel the same way, but…if you’ll try, maybe in time, you might?”

  “I think I get it,” I told her.

  My phone buzzed against my hip. Bentley calling.

  “Hey,” I said, “it’s late. Everything okay?”

  He sounded cagey, like he was holding something back. “Oh, certainly, everything is…everything is fine, fine indeed.”

  “Okay. And you’re calling because…?”

  “Oh! Yes. When you’re free, could you swing by the bookstore? It won’t take long. I just need…something.”

  A bad feeling loomed over my shoulder. Maybe tonight’s encounters with Naavarasi and Hunter Grimm had me on edge, but this smelled fishier than last week’s catch.

  “I’ll be there in twenty,” I told him.

  26.

  I killed my headlights a block before my final destination, coasting in slow and careful along a back-alley strip. I pulled in behind the Scrivener’s Nook and killed the engine, leaving the sedan’s door cracked when I got out; shutting it would make too much noise. Then I padded across the dirty asphalt, shoes rustling on loose gravel, to the back door of the shop.

  I had my own set of keys. They jangled softly, one sliding into the reinforced lock, the tumbler thunking as it rolled over. Too loud. I put one hand on the door, silently counted to twenty, then pushed it open.

  It yawned onto a darkened stockroom. I felt my playing cards pulse against my chest, ready for a fight, as I stepped inside. I shut the door behind me and bathed in pitch darkness. That improved my odds, if somebody was lurking in here, assuming they couldn’t see in the dark. I knew the layout of the back room by heart. I sidestepped to my right, figuring I’d follow the perimeter all the way around to the shop door. Then I held a breath and braced myself.

  The lights flooded on and nearly a half dozen people shouted, “Surprise!”

  Bentley, Corman, and Mama Margaux were in the middle of the room, flanking a folding table with a cake frosted in white and scarlet. Jennifer came in from the opposite door, toting two magnums of champagne, while Pixie popped a party noisemaker between her lips and blew a celebratory raspberry.

  I had a half smile, half grimace pasted to my face, frozen while a burst of adrenaline rioted through my body. “What…what is this? It’s not my birthday yet.”

  “Given recent events,” Bentley said, “we just thought it would be good to pause and celebrate everything we—especially you—have been through these last few months.”

  Corman leaned back and jammed his thumbs in his pockets. “Lotta shit and gunfire. Sometimes you just have to take a few minutes and eat a slice of cake.”

  “Also,” Margaux added, “we wanted to remind you what side you’re on.”

  Bentley slashed his hand across his throat. “We weren’t going to say that—”

  “What? Danny’s not stupid. He knows what this is.” She shot me a look. “I wanted to do an intervention. They said, bring cake and booze, he’ll be too distracted to figure it out.”

  I had to laugh. I held up my hands in surrender.

  “Guys. C’mon, it’s me. Same old Dan. I’m not plotting in cahoots with Prince Sitri to take over the planet.”

  Margaux folded her arms. “Mm-hmm. Yet.”

  “I’m pretty sure this entire knighthood thing is the setup for an epic practical joke. Once Sitri springs the gag—assuming I survive it—he’ll probably yank the job right out from under me.”

  I played it off, but deep down I was as worried as they were. Not long after Caitlin and I hooked up, Prince Sitri had played another one of his games, forcing her to choose between me and her sworn duties. The entire mess, starting with his challenge for me to kill a supposedly innocent priest, was a giant setup. It was a labyrinthine scam that the prince had under his complete control from start to finish, and no matter what choices I made along the way, the outcome would have landed in his favor.

  Sitri could give lessons in the art of the con. Only problem was, it was impossible to tell if I was his student or his mark. Knowing him, the answer was probably both.

  Jennifer held up a knife. “Can we distract you with cake?”

  “Absolutely not, and I’m offended that you would think so.” I nodded at the bottles. “You can distract me with cake and some of that bubbly.”

  The cake was butter cream with chocolate filling. It was also labeled “Happy Birthday, Maurice.”

  “Okay,” I said between bites, “who stole this cake?”

  “Who says we stole it?” Corman asked.

  “I’m just saying, whoever Maurice is, his birthday is ruined.”

  “Then he should have kept a better eye on his stuff,” Jennifer said.

  I couldn’t argue that. The cake was too good. We got to drinking, and we got to talking, and fell into pockets of comfortable conversation. On my second flute of champagne, I pulled Bentley aside. I needed some fatherly advice. I would have grabbed Corman, too, but he and Margaux were busy arguing about tarot symbolism on the other side of the stockroom.

  “So, about Melanie—” I started to say.

  “She asked, I presume?”

  “You knew?”

  The crow’s-feet crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “I did more than teach her a few card tricks that night you asked Corman and me to watch her. We sniffed out her magical potential. And she has potential.”

  “Did you tell her that? Because she’s pretty dead set on
rolling her sleeves up and diving in.”

  “Is there any reason she shouldn’t?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “Let’s look at the last few months. I’ve been thrown in prison, broken out of prison, fought a mummy, fought a mob war, got drawn into an ancient cosmic conflict waged between endlessly reincarnating fictional characters, traveled to another dimension and almost died there, and that’s just a small sample of the joys a life of magic has laid upon my doorstep.”

  “And all of that would have knocked upon your door anyway, ready or not. When we first found you, before you’d had a lick of training, you’d fallen in with that vile little cult. Their leader, what was his name?”

  “The Shepherd,” I said. The word felt dirty on my tongue.

  “He sensed your spark and set out to plunder it. You didn’t choose a life of magic, Daniel. Magic chose you. What you did was learn, and study, and grow strong, so you could face the challenges it threw in your path. Melanie has the same spark, and if anything, she’s twice as headstrong as you were at that age.”

  “That’s a terrifying thought.”

  “She’s going to find a teacher,” Bentley said. “If not you, she’ll find another. If she’s lucky, that teacher will be half as skilled as you are. If she’s not…well, she might find a Shepherd of her own.”

  He was right. I hated to admit it, but he was right. That didn’t stop me from arguing.

  “What about Desi?” I asked. “I couldn’t keep her safe.”

  Bentley rested his hand on my shoulder. “And that’s the real issue, isn’t it?”

  “Shouldn’t it be? I had an apprentice. Once. She’s dead now. I think that should disqualify me from taking the job again.”

  “What happened wasn’t your fault,” he said. “And heavens above, even if it was…Daniel, do you know how many mistakes, blunders, and absolute disasters I’ve caused in my lifetime? If I let each one close and lock a door forever, well, I’d be all out of doors. There’s something to be said for getting back on the horse and trying again. If not for you, for Melanie’s sake.”