Righteous Eight: An Urban Fantasy Adventure (Words of Power Book 4)

by VK Fox

Dahl rubbed his hands together. “Good enough for me, let’s take it for a test drive. You ready?”

  Everest swallowed. Why did Dahl think they would have more success today? The issues were not with the mirror they were using, but Dahl’s reaction to extranatural exposure. Blue sank into a chair and sipped her coffee, frantic energy petering out. Everest flinched as Dahl closed the distance between them, pulling their bodies flush.

  “It’s going to be alright,” Dahl whispered against his cheek. “We’re amazing together. We’ve got this. Let’s give this another go.”

  They walked Mr. Mirror to the edge of camp where Lamashtu had lain in the snow. Megan stood guard, bundled up in a huge puffy jacket, while Everest unpacked his fiddle, calling to mind the song he’d memorized for opening a gate. After a few tentative string plucks, he drew his bow, launching into a melody that shed heat waves like asphalt in summer. Everest let his mind go lax as the red desert swirled in the mirror before them and all the shadows on the snow bent the wrong way. When he set the fiddle aside Dahl reached for his hand. His golem palm pressed the surface of the mirror and his shoulder flexed, breaching reality. Blue squealed and clapped. In a rush of pressure and scalding air, they stepped through.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The red desert was lucid freedom: vast, unstained possibility calling Dahl forward into a warm, gritty wind. Everest’s hand was tight in his, halting Dahl’s steps. A ball and chain. An anchor. If he could break free, he could fly again; own that bruised, shifting sky like he was born in it, the ground a distant memory—utterly forgettable.

  “Oh my God, Everest.” A complex spectrum dazzled his vision—a rainbow of reds, so many reds they outnumbered every hue on earth. “Fucking incredible.” Dahl struggled, “Everest, let go. I could fly!”

  “Easy. Let’s figure this out.”

  Dahl ground his teeth against a deep frequency reverberating through his jaw. The vibrations were almost language; they almost made sense. After an instant of pain, he welcomed it, flooding through him, sending tremors of delicious noise behind his eardrums—a heartbeat, the rhythm of two bodies, a war drum.

  Dahl’s wrist hurt. What the fuck? Tears sprang to his eyes as he struggled, being hauled back. He tried to counter with his golem hand, but it wouldn’t listen. Dahl kicked towards the restraint to knock it away, but the momentum was wrong, and his foot connected with something metallic and unforgiving. In an instant of horrible pressure, the red desert vanished and he was smothered in North Dakota cold.

  Was he crying? His body shook, wracked with deep tremors. Warm, shaking arms slid around him and something tangled inside his chest went slack. He was sobbing. Maybe Blue and Megan had already left? There were high-pitched shushing noises and a pat-pat-pat on his head. Nope, everyone was still here. At least he wasn’t groping Everest this time. Was he? His clothing was suffocating, and deep oscillations still ached inside his bones.

  Voices resolved slowly into words, high pitched and squeaky, punching through the ringing in his ears “...Aggressive… before?”

  Lower, soothing, intimately familiar. “He was more coherent this time, but equally aggressive. I was better prepared though.” Dahl curled against Everest’s chest. They were kneeling in the snow, and it seeped into his knees and shins. He needed that voice and warmth to fill his emptiness, the huge gaping wound inside.

  “But you’re fine! Why is he freaking out if you’re fine?” Blue’s voice cracked with concern.

  “I don’t know. To me the red desert feels like a dream, but perhaps it’s because I’m controlling the magic? I should consult Zack.” It was impossible to miss his tone of hesitation.

  Blue clicked her tongue. “Well, we’re done until I fix Mr. Mirror, anyway. Maybe next time someone else should go through, since it affects each person differently.”

  “No.” Dahl ground the word out through chattering teeth.

  “Well, we can’t send someone else in without Everest—he’s the one with the music. And if we send three people in and you both freak out, you’ll probably overwhelm him.”

  “I haven’t gone before, but I’m game.” Megan chimed in.

  Lust and hunger oozed from Dahl’s pores. What would “overwhelm him” even look like? Not whatever innocent tussle Blue was picturing. “No.” He repeated the word more firmly.

  Blue exhaled between her lips. Dahl buried his face in Everest’s shoulder, rubbing the soft fabric and scratchy gold braid of the dress coat he’d layered under his unzipped thermal jacket.

  “Okay.” Blue was all business. “Let’s take five. I’m going inside to warm up. When you’re ready we can go over what we’ve learned, how long repairs will take, and the best way to proceed.” The crunch of people moving away was followed by the click of Blue’s door. Beautiful silence permeated the frosty air. Dahl was nuzzling against Everest’s neck, the pulse under his mouth enigmatic. He probed the vein with his tongue and fought the urge to bite and gulp down something hot and living.

  Everest leaned into him. “The mirror is watching.”

  “Sorry.” Dahl found his voice.

  “It’s fine. I didn’t want you to be surprised when you realized we had company.”

  “Did I hurt you?” Dahl pulled back and the full spectrum light stung his watering eyes.

  “No. Are you well?”

  “Getting there.” Dahl unwound his shaking hands from Everest’s clothes. “Feeling more like myself.” Dahl studied the man he loved: thin frame, bruises, and newly split lip—chapped with cold and bleeding where he must have bumped it in the scuffle. “This isn’t working.”

  Everest nodded once and cleared his throat. “What have we learned?”

  “Stepping past the barrier causes mental issues for me. Impulse control problems, and it feels so good... “ Dahl closed his eyes. “It brings some nasty things to the surface. What I’m experiencing reminds me of…” color rose in his cheeks. Why was this hard to admit? “Of Mordred. Dominance. Brutality. Lust. Fury. Nothing I want directed at you, and yet you seem to be the focal point for all of it.”

  “Proximity?” Everest’s voice was calm. Dahl clung to that.

  “Maybe, but I can’t control it by force of will. I’m a vicious, craving mess inside of a minute.”

  “An aftereffect of your possession?” Everest stood, brushing snow from his legs and offering a hand. Dahl took it and scrambled to his feet. The mirror watched them like a moderately annoyed sentinel, metal body bruised to an uneven polish where Dahl had kicked it.

  “That’s possible.” Dahl patted his pockets and found his cigarettes and lighter. He lit up and took a long pull of smoke, letting his lungs soak in nicotine. Mordred had changed him. Obviously. He was missing an arm and huge chunks of memories. The effects on his body and past were angering but livable. Why did he wilt with shame when he considered that his mind could be altered as well?

  Another long drag made the tip of the cigarette cherry bright. Everest stole it from his lips and inhaled. Dahl loved it when he did that. Like he wanted to touch everything Dahl touched, make it a part of him. He looked so fucking good when he was shaking: wanton and roughed, bleeding into the cigarette paper.

  “I have a confession.” The twisting in Dahl’s stomach might be extranatural exposure, but it tasted like fear. This was going to suck.

  “I’m listening.” Everest’s voice was gentle.

  “It’s about sex.”

  “Alright.” Everest’s expression froze.

  “You’re familiar with the Epic of Gilgamesh, yes?”

  “Yes.” Everest visibly relaxed and glanced around the snowscape. “Of course. Do you want to have this conversation somewhere more comfortable?”

  “Bread, beer, and sex are the three civilizing forces.” Dahl continued, plucking his cigarette from Everest’s hand. He gripped it in his mouth and took a square of gauze from his jacket pocket. Tearing it open, Dahl gently pressed it to Everest’s bleeding lip.

  “I’m familiar.” The words
were funny while he tried to hold still under Dahl’s hands.

  “The Sumerians figured out Traveling, you see. They knew how to gate between realities, and they knew how to anchor themselves here so they wouldn’t come undone.”

  “By eating, drinking, and lovemaking.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s why you thought we would have more success today: because we made...” Everest swallowed and tried again. “Because we slept together last night.”

  Dahl nodded but couldn’t make his voice work.

  Everest studied him: focused consideration stretching long beyond where Dahl expected him to lash out or clam up. After a few minutes, he raised a trembling hand to hold the gauze, freeing Dahl to ash his cigarette.

  When he finally spoke, his tone was matter-of-fact. “What was it you called me? The perfect tool with benefits?”

  Dahl’s eyes burned. “Are you serious right now?”

  Everest shrugged, removing the gauze too soon and shredding the edge with restless fingers as his lip bled freely. There wasn’t any fight in his eyes, only the weight of mortified acceptance. The heat in Dahl’s veins turned to ash.

  Fuck that. Dahl flicked his cigarette into the snow and took Everest’s face in both hands. “I am not using you. We’ve fought for each other. We shed blood and tears. We have built something real and important and lasting. Five words spoken in a moment of drug-infused agony nine months ago do not invalidate our love. I apologized and you forgave me. “

  Everest studied his face carefully. What was he looking for? After half a minute he nodded and dropped his gaze. “We’re going to need beer.”

  Dahl took out another piece of gauze and tried again, kissing Everest’s cheek to compensate for the sting. To his incredible relief, Everest pulled him closer, and Dahl could breathe again. “You don’t happen to have a six pack secreted away?”

  “No.” Everest was pulling a notepad and Sharpie from his back pocket, jotting down a list, his voice glowed with strategy. “I have something far better.”

  Ian’s voice boomed across the Grit Room from the shower where he was scrubbing a fifty-gallon, food-safe plastic drum. “Enkidu had never seen human food before. After finishing her love arts, Shamat led him to a farmer’s house where all the people were amazed by his wildness and beauty. They gathered at the table laid with bread and beer, but Enkidu did not know what to do.

  “‘Come, Enkidu.’ Shamat said. ‘This is human food. We eat and drink this.’

  “Enkidu reached out cautiously and tried a piece of bread. And another, and another. Loaf after loaf, he ate until he was sated. Then he tasted the beer and drank deeply; seven pitchers full and his face warmed and he sang for joy. His heart grew light, his body shining, and he became fully human.”

  Dahl grinned and stirred a boiling pot. “I wonder how many more ancient texts survived from Ur and Uruk and how much truth there is to them.”

  “I’m sure Sana Baba has records.”

  “We burned that bridge. Sorry, Dad.” The room was filled with pungent scents of steam, scalded molasses, and bread yeast in warm water.

  Ian measured a cup of bleach into the half-full drum. “There’s nothing better you could have done. You were given a nearly impossible set of cards and you shot the moon. I’m proud of you.”

  Dahl rubbed the back of his arm across tired eyes, trying to keep his hands clean, and checked on the steeping pot of black tea. “I never in a thousand years would have guessed Adam Shelley’s weak-ass beer would be our salvation. It’s a minor miracle Everest even remembered it.”

  A bloated silence stretched between them, and Dahl mopped his forehead again. The recipe was simple enough to be fascinating. Mix tea, molasses, bread yeast, and water, and Bam! Overnight beer. Everest thought the preparation was a few hundred years old. Hops would have been more authentic, but black tea could stand in. Hopefully their bastard concoction would check the box for a reality-anchoring potion, even though it would probably taste like watered-down swill.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Ian joined him in the kitchen, carrying the sanitized plastic drum.

  Dahl took in Ian’s wrinkled brow, his sad eyes. “Talk about what?”

  “Any of it.” Ian situated the drum on the floor and fiddled with one of his lapis ear gauges. “I’ve missed most of your life since you were a kid. There were so many things happening, I had no idea. I wasn’t there when you needed me and…” Dahl unwrapped more tea bags while Ian chose his words. “And now we’re leading separate lives. There’s no time to make it right. I don’t know what to do.”

  Dahl studied the man who had been most of his life for almost all of his memory. Huge and solid, as strong as Atlas and as brave as Sundiata. How could he comfort Ian? Before he opened his mouth, Dahl marked the last thread of his childhood passing away. No more simple answers, tucked into bed, happily ever after. Time to grow up. It was alright. He was ready.

  Dahl closed the distance and stretched to kiss Ian’s cheek: son to father, man to man. “It’s not over. If we both keep trying, we’ll reconnect. I want to. You do too?”

  “Yes.” Ian returned the kiss. “But I wonder if I ever had any idea what I was doing with you.”

  Dahl gave him an easy grin. “I feel like that all the time with Fitz. Does anyone know how to raise children? I think some parents are simply better at deluding themselves than others.”

  “No, you’re good to him. A couple of months in and he loves you. It’s no small thing.”

  “Well, I love you too.” Dahl went back to the sink to wash his hands and splash cold water on his face. The molasses was threatening to boil over, and he cut the heat, blowing on the top to pop the syrupy bubbles. Ian began to fill the drum with water, using a pitcher at the sink, his perpetually jovial manner sober.

  Dahl tried again. “My life hasn’t been all agony, Dad. I have a ton of good memories with you from our work for Sana Baba and living in Virginia. Even when I struggled, I discovered strength I never would have known otherwise. Fighting Mordred was a constant effort, but it was pure. In a lot of ways simpler than…” Dahl shook his head to clear it, donning hot mitts to pour the tea into the plastic drum, “than what we’re doing here. I mean epic good versus evil, man against monster is about as black and white as it gets. I wasn’t juggling the lives of my family, reality coming apart, Everest damaged, Zack fading fast, isolated, no magic, second-guessing—”

  “Hey.” Ian’s hand was warm on his shoulder.

  Dahl set the empty pan on the counter. When he spoke, his voice was strained. “It’s going to sound crazy, Dad, but I miss him.” The words gushed like a hemorrhage. “It’s sick but true. When he was here, I knew what I needed to do. My whole life was a fight, but I’m a really fucking good fighter. All of my weakness, malice, ugliness—I could put it on his shoulders.” Dahl swallowed hard. “Who am I now? How can I be who everyone needs me to be? I know how to do one thing, and I don’t have a clue about all the rest of it.”

  “You don’t have to know all the answers right now. You’ll figure it out.” The warmth was back in Ian’s eyes. “You always do.”

  Dahl shook his head, scooping yeast into the vat while Ian poured molasses before closing the lid. Success or failure, tomorrow would bring the fruits of their labors.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “How are you doing?” Jane murmured the stupid, stupid question into the nighttime gloom. Her cheeks went bright red as Zack’s eyes fluttered open and he peered at her glassily from his sweat-soaked bed. After focusing for a few heartbeats, his lids slid closed again and he began to cough, shallow and light, like he was trying to keep it in his throat and not get his lungs involved at all. After the rattling puffs of air quieted, he whispered,

  “I’m amazing. You?”

  “Kind of sleep-deprived.” Megan had shaken her awake at oh dark hundred, and one look at her face rendered words unnecessary. This was happening now.

  Jane took Zack’s hand, long fingers sl
iding through hers. His nail polish was glossy black and unchipped, and Megan hadn’t put away the jar of polish and files. “But I’m going to be getting a really long nap in a few minutes, so that’s cool.”

  Zack gave a minimal grunt, eyes still closed. “I helped. I was good.”

  “I know.” Tears sprang to Jane’s eyes. “Thanks.”

  “Turns out with the proper motivation—” The coughing came on fast and awful: huge, wet, curled fetal, whole body spasms that took almost a minute to abate. When he finished, Zack just lay in the same position, like he didn’t have the energy left to uncurl or get back on his pillow.

  “Don’t pretend this was selfish. You did more than the minimum. Dahl told me you helped fight the freakhogs. You worked hard and kept your head in the game even when you were almost too sick to stand. You were nice to my mom.” He couldn’t see her crying with his eyes closed. “So don’t be a stranger once we all come out of this, okay? You should start feeling better in no time.”

  “I’m scared.” His voice was tiny. It didn’t fit him.

  “It won’t hurt. Promise.” Jane clenched her jaw. She’d meant to wait until the apocalypse was wrapped up, but Zack might not have that long. Hopefully Dahl and the Suicide Kings would be alright without her at their backs. Dahl would have an aneurysm over Jane making this call without consulting him, but he could shove it.

  Damn, she was going to miss the babies. They’d be crawling and babbling by the time she finished the side effects from healing a sickness this old. It wasn’t like she was unique in missing a big chunk of her child’s infancy in the line of duty, but she would feel the loss for the rest of her life. The rest of her long, healthy, loved life. Zack deserved that too. Jane squeezed his hand and reached for her power.

  Nadda. Zero. She may as well have been trying to raise the dead. Jane’s eyes flew open, frantically groping at Zack’s neck for a pulse. His skin was still hot and slick with sweat. Her touch at his neck sent him into another coughing jag, and Jane had to let go of his hand so he could curl further around himself.