Neon Redemption: An Urban Fantasy Adventure (Words of Power Book 2)

by VK Fox

  Steinbeck was fiddling with her thick apricot-colored nails. She caught his look and instead busied herself straightening her ponytail. Everest gave her a fake smile. “You’ve got this. You’re the one boasting a hundred percent success rate here. My feedback is a safety net.”

  Steinbeck simpered under the praise, “This will be six, not five. I think I’m nervous about hitting a half dozen.”

  Everest willed his posture to remain relaxed. Mordred already had five linked books from Steinbeck. The back of the envelope said if he was acquiring them at a comparable rate during all of his iterations, he’d be close to twenty. Many years ago, shortly after Dahl had been linked and Everest had become the mediator between him and Mordred, Everest had pulled the files on the King Arthur agents. Based on changes in agent behavior and longevity, he believed The Once and Future King had gained consciousness eighteen years ago.

  The first recorded use of the command power that Everest suspected came from Mordred, not Arthur, was in a fourteen-year-old girl named Anna Poe. On an evening in early January, after finishing her daily training at the Sana Baba campus, she’d met her partner for waffles at a nearby 24-hour dive. After they’d finished eating, the pair had entered the parking lot and Anna had sat on the asphalt and forced her partner to put a bullet in her head. Over the next thirteen years, six more teenagers had lived and died short, unhappy lives under Mordred’s thumb.

  Of course, Sana Baba had noticed the trend and put substantial energy into discerning the nature of these issues, investigating if the markers for pledges had changed and discussing what could be done to improve churn. But the fact of the matter was, bad links happened more than most agents were generally aware of. Sana Baba was willing to continue approaching the problem academically while taking full advantage of the incredibly useful, reliably linked new power of command, and resigning themselves to a little head-scratching with each pediatric fatality.

  Adam had been convinced the first thing Mordred had done when he’d gained a foothold in reality was to protect the book from scrutiny as well. Mordred couldn’t force people to do something contrary to their will, but he could easily push one direction or another. This fact brought a whole new disturbing angle to Anna’s story, but made perfect sense for the safety of the book. Sana Baba was always eager for answers that didn’t jeopardize their most valuable resource. Pledges could be acquired for a song. Linked books were priceless.

  The door opened, and a firearms instructor herded his young charges into the room. Steinbeck changed to jabbering about the upcoming trip to Vegas, a location she apparently enjoyed, so the conversation flowed seamlessly. Everest stood, offering his chair to one of the children with a small smile, and the lanky young girl watched him with wondering eyes.

  “I read your book.” Her voice was soft and reverent. “It’s one of my favorites.”

  Nervousness crept in at being the momentary center of attention. Everest traversed this road occasionally, but it made him shy. He was something of a pledge celebrity: his bond was an approachable, curious character in a book most children read around the time they started feeling comfortable trying to speak to agents. The array of questions over the years were amusing, if moderately embarrassing. No, he didn’t particularly like carrots. No, he didn’t have an affinity for animals. No, his nose didn’t twitch more than average.

  Everest was ready with a smile and his practiced answer, “I’m glad you liked it. It’s nice to meet you...”

  “Ellen. My name’s Ellen.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ellen.” He fished one of the black rabbit foot keychains he carried for this kind of interaction from his pocket and pressed it into the girl’s hand. Her skin was stained with magic marker and dirt under her fingernails, exactly how a child’s hand should look. “For luck.”

  She flashed a gap-toothed grin. “Thanks.” Ellen pored over the charm for a few seconds until her attention refocused on the cup of decaf her instructor set on the table, and she teased her fellow pledge about his aim. When Everest turned back to Steinbeck she wore a furrowed brow.

  “You carry rabbit feet around to hand out to kids? Wow.”

  Everest frowned, “I’m sorry, what’s the issue?”

  “I have to pick one?”

  Everest stood, his stomach fluttering. Wasn’t Ellen pleased? Could he open his second eye? He’d have to touch Ellen to get a read, and the gesture would be genuinely inappropriate as opposed to allegedly inappropriate. Steinbeck was holding the door and smiling socially for the audience, apparently waiting for Everest. He shook his head and stepped into the hall.

  Outside, the freeze-thaw cycle had turned the ground to churning clay-red slush, caking their boots thickly enough to add weight within a minute, even though they tried to stay on the mulched path. Everest took a trail winding around the campus and mulled over the interaction. Before Steinbeck could diverge to the parking lot, he spoke, “Please enumerate your concerns.”

  Steinbeck’s steps were hesitant, “Look, forget it. It just seemed weird.” Everest ambled in silence. Steinbeck continued after an awkward pause, “So, does that happen a lot? You had the rabbit foot in your pocket for the occasion.”

  “Sure, a couple times a month. I find children start showing the initiative to approach linked agents between eight and twelve years old. Since they’re all in training programs, I want their experience to be a positive one, both for the purposes of modeling agent behavior and because I might be commanding some of them one day.”

  Steinbeck shivered and picked up the pace, zipping her puffer jacket. “You put in a lot of forethought. And a rabbit foot? I can’t tell if you’re trying to be creepy or if it happens naturally.”

  Everest shrugged, “Well, it relates to my story, so they’ll remember who gave it to them. It’s a well-known good luck symbol. Most children haven’t owned one before, so it’s novel. It’s portable, durable, and pleasing to touch.” At this phrasing, Steinbeck’s side-eye intensified. Everest forged ahead, “And I picked black rabbit feet in case they get deeply into pondering the symbolism.”

  Everest walked in silence for a few minutes. Steinbeck probably didn’t have pledges approach her: one of the many ways her experience differed drastically from his own. A weak link was almost worse than not bonding at all. Of all the legendary, exciting, awesome powers of Van Helsing, Evelyn had bonded a knack for research and slightly above average marksmanship. Privately, Everest was pretty sure the magical marksmanship was so weak it was almost the same as her natural aim, but with the notable difference of succumbing to a trance as a side effect and being useless for a significant period of time afterwards. Evelyn was never assigned to the field, which must have been a bitter disappointment, and worked instead in the great library on campus. Steinbeck was speaking again, but Everest only caught the end of it, “...curious about the symbolism.”

  Everest responded to what he assumed the inquiry was, “Well, the black rabbit is the death rabbit and also a symbol of fear, so I thought it would make them think of conqu—”

  Steinbeck’s groan made him jump. “Oh, God, that’s awful. How long did it take you to come up with that?”

  “After the first time caught me off guard, I planned what to say and do. These kinds of interactions are a mostly enjoyable experience ever since. I get to have a nice conversation I wouldn’t have otherwise, and the child benefits from recognition and kindness.”

  Steinbeck arched a penciled eyebrow and smirked, “Well, it’s real nice S.A. assigns your friends. Sounds like you’ve got the rest worked out.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The rollercoaster of the last few days was at a good place on the tracks. The big climb and freefall of robbing the vault only to lose the book to the alien wanderings of the Tupperware golem left Jane feeling invincible and reckless. In a phone update from Sister Isadora, she mentioned canvassing the area searching for the little creature, and Blue had put leftovers out on the porch to try to attract it. When the neighborhoo
d cats ate the leftovers, Blue also put Mercy on the porch to protect fresh leftovers.

  So far, no luck—and Sister Mary said they’d need to loop Ian in for a dream if they couldn’t find it in the next few hours—but her contacts in Sana Baba reported the results for the fraudulent Once and Future King were far better than anticipated: the fake copy was placed under security with the other books from the vault.

  It wasn’t the only important book in Jane’s life right now. Courtesy of Olive, she was the proud new owner of a manual for her husband. By the tiny glow of a clip-on reading light, she poured over The Epic of Gilgamesh. The part featuring Enkidu was short, and if she had been asked to write an essay about Ian in the bronze age, she could imagine penning something similar. Well, except for all of the beautiful language and poetic narration - arranging words wasn’t her gift. Her version would have contained more slang and fewer sensuous phrases like “love arts” and “flushed joyfully with sexual pleasure.” She was also moderately hazy on some of the anatomy referenced—what part of her body was her “jewel” exactly? Whatever: it sounded kinda nice.

  Olive thoughtfully gifted her a copy and less thoughtfully highlighted her favorite parts. It made reading sections like Enkidu’s seven-day sex-a-thon moderately more uncomfortable than if Jane could pretend Olive hadn’t read this with Ian in mind. Had Dahl read it? He better fucking never mention it. Maybe this was an extra sexy translation? Unlikely. There were only so many ways to translate, “Let me suck your rod.”

  Besides the occasional blushworthy content, The Epic was about found family and rising to meet life’s path. Jane rolled in bed, snuggling closer to Ian, who was sleeping soundly. The story fit. Although he wasn’t half god, in this reality anyway, there were otherworldly things about him: his driving sense of purpose, his happy embrace of life, his burning loyalty, his kindness and love of adventure. The Divine shone through. Jane would have called it his soul or grace, but it amounted to the same thing. Some people traveled the world with their feet barely touching the ground.

  Ian’s eyes opened slowly, “Hey.” He beamed at her in the low light radiating from the cityscape below the hotel window.

  “Hey.” She turned off her reading light and put it and the book on the side table.

  “It’s a good story.” His gaze lingered on the volume with affection.

  “Yeah. It is. I can’t believe I was assigned this in high school, though.”

  “Well, it’s an important historic work. And it’s a love story. People make too much of the sexual bits. They weren’t taboo to the Sumerians; they were another part of being human.”

  “Mmmm. So when Olive said you’d found your priestess, she was saying I was like the priestess of Ishtar in The Epic of Gilgamesh? Shamat? The one who found Enkidu in the wilderness and civilized him with her ‘love arts?’“

  “You can get too deep into the parallels pretty easily. I wouldn’t think too much on that.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. It’s a fun thing to do—analyze agents and try to match them with their literary links. But my life isn’t the same as the story in The Epic.”

  “Good, because Enkidu dies in, like, chapter three.”

  He kissed her forehead, “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But why me?” Jane’s brow creased.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why did you…” Jane didn’t know how to finish. Why did you pick me? Her throat was tight. Did she even want the answer? Was he drawn to her because of destiny written by his link? Was she just some woman who would make his story come true and happened to be at the right place at the right time?

  Jane wasn’t noticeable, and not in the way where she just needed to shake out her hair. Someone like Dahl would never take a second glance at her. Instantly friend-zoned to the point where he didn’t overly care if she saw him in various states of nakedness - like they were in the same gym class and used the locker room together without a second thought. He accepted and related secrets without a blush because she was safe. No attraction, no mystery: plain Jane—mediocre Catholic girl. Dahl noticing her would be decidedly icky, but the experience with him was par for the course. Why had Ian seen anything else?

  “Jane,” Ian’s voice was soft. “You’re amazing. You’re brave and incredibly loving and clever. Every time you get knocked down you jump back up.” Jane could feel his skin warm. She sensed his blush in the dark. “You make me feel good about myself. When I’m with you I’m so much happier. It felt like I did the same things for you. How often could it happen where we both find someone who wants to go on life’s adventures together? Isn’t that why you picked me, too?”

  Jane snuggled closer, burying her face in his neck, “Yep. When you put it in those words, yeah, it was.”

  Ian retrieved the book and, from the nightstand, opened to a random page in the low light. “Are you going to read the…” he shifted slightly, propping on one elbow. “What are you highlighting?”

  “Oh.” Jane snagged the paperback and set it back on the table. “Not me. I didn’t highlight anything. Olive gave me that copy.”

  Ian rubbed his face.

  Jane tried not to giggle, “Who’s she linked to?’

  Ian mumbled something into his hand.

  “What?”

  “It’s kind of a secret she doesn’t want wandering about. Olive’s older than I am, and she was very young when she linked. I’m one of the few at Sana Baba who remember her ceremony. I must have been nine or ten years old at the time. Promise not to tell Dahl?”

  Had she managed to suppress her shit-eating grin? Hopefully the dark hid it. He was going to spill it. She had her love arts to grease the wheels if needed, and she wasn’t afraid to use them. “Cross my heart.”

  “I bet you can guess.”

  “I don’t know. I never would have guessed Owen was linked to Sherlock Holmes. You’re assuming I’ve even read the right book.”

  “It’s a famous story. I think you could get it. Does she remind you of anyone? She can fly, fight, and forgets things.”

  Jane chewed her lip, “Not ringing any bells.”

  “She’s careless, curious, and shameless. She still has her first laugh, kind of like she never grew up.”

  Jane racked her mind for all the young heroines she’d idolized as a child. Pippi Longstocking? Lucy Pevensie? Dorothy? None of them made sense. Ian continued, “I’m sure Dahl would have figured it out by now if he wasn’t so intimately involved with her being a woman.”

  “She’s not linked to a woman?”

  “No. She’s linked to a little lost boy.”

  “Holy shit!” Jane gasped, “Peter Pan!”

  “Hello?” A distracted, teenage voice answered after the third ring. Jane closed her eyes and savored the sound. “Helloooooo?”

  “Kristen, it’s me. Libby.”

  “Oh my gosh! OH MY GOSH!! LIBBY! Where are you? How are you? Are you ok? Tell me where you are. Right now. I’m writing the address and stealing a car.”

  Jane closed her eyes and grinned—her whole body was warm and tingly at the sound of her sister’s voice. She could hear her youngest sister squealing in the background. Ian had been called into Sana Baba headquarters, most likely to be informed of the security breach, which was awkward since Jane had done the breaching. Right now she needed to fill the anxious waiting with something to focus on. She called home.

  “I’m traveling still—I’m in Las Vegas right now—but I want to come home for a visit soon. I got married!” It might have been best to open with something else, but shouting the most burning piece of news first was how conversational pecking order was established.

  A lot of screaming and possibly jumping resulted in the phone getting dropped. Jane held the receiver away from her ear and rolled a little on the massively oversized bed. When Kristen started shouting into the headset again Jane brought the phone closer, “You’re bringing him with you when you visit, right? What’s his name? What’s he like?”
>
  “Amazing. Ian. His name’s Ian and he is amazing.” Jane blushed to the tips of her ears for no reason. “We met last year. You’re going to love him, he’s exciting and outdoorsy and he loves animals. Tell Anna he loves animals.”

  “Anna! Libby got married and he loves animals!” Then back into the phone, “Mom and dad are going to freak out.”

  “Yeah, maybe don’t tell them yet. I’ve got to figure out how to break the news.”

  “When are you coming home?”

  “Soon, I hope. I’ll figure it out with mom and dad. Is dad home?”

  “Nah, he took mom to the doctor.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s just a follow-up. Actually, the whole thing is kind of crazy. You know how she went to visit you in September?”

  How could she forget her mother driving to Chicago to yell at her for being assaulted and put her in a mental institution? “Yep. I remember.”

  “When she got home, she was hella upset. We couldn’t get a lot of details out of her, but she was so angry you took off before your treatment was finished. Her and dad fought about it a lot. Like, a lot of yelling.”

  “Ugh, I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever. So one of the things they kept arguing about was whether or not she should go to the doctor. She kept saying she didn’t need to and it was too expensive and dad kept saying she should ‘go get it checked out.’ Like a month later she did that ‘Fine, if it will make you happy’ thing she does and went.”

  “Well?” The butterflies in Jane’s stomach refused to settle. She’d told her mom to go get her arm checked out. She’d seen something there… maybe skin cancer. She hadn’t been experienced enough with her magic at that point to figure it out exactly.