by Al K. Line
"Drop it, right now," I ordered.
She stared down at her hands as she strained, the knuckles white and the tendons proud as she tried to open her fingers. But the staff had other ideas, was waking up, and it needed touch to recover to true life.
"I'm trying, but it won't let me."
"What are you doing here? How did you get in? Why did you?"
"I didn't want to miss out, and I thought you were in here. Then I heard people coming so I panicked and broke the code on the door."
"I told you to wait at the car. Won't you ever learn?"
Vicky's eyes widened as she stared past me at the carnage of the dead bodies in the hall. "Oh my God, did I do that?"
"No, the staff did. Now drop it."
Vicky's jaw clenched as she struggled to release her fingers, and as she did she stumbled backward, banging into a large table with many artifacts laid out carefully. As she fell against the table, the staff snapped up and fired a pulse of red light that morphed into a fiery cannonball. It shot straight at the wall with the kitchen the other side.
Brick exploded, the room filled with dust, and as I reached out to grab Vicky the damn staff continued its upward trajectory and the shaft smacked with incredible force right into Vicky's forehead.
She dropped like a stone; the staff came loose as her body went limp.
"Maybe next time you'll do as I say," I muttered, although I doubted it.
I kicked the staff away and it fired once more then rolled into a dark space under a set of shelves. There was a scream from the kitchen. Hopefully Mabel was dying.
I checked on Vicky but it was hard to see with all the dust, and the only thing I knew for certain was that she had a pulse. Goddammit, why wouldn't she ever do as she was told?
"Sasha, that interfering you keep doing? Now would be a great time to do it again," I whispered into the air, holding my breath, hoping for faery dust to fall.
Nothing, just more of the brick and plaster variety.
The screams died down from the next room, so I edged carefully toward the kitchen, not needing to use the hall as the hole in the wall was massive and getting bigger as bricks dislodged.
I saw Selma on the floor, her arm at an obscene angle, bricks all around her, a massive cut on the side of her face, blood flowing freely.
And beside her, looking unfortunately very much alive, was Mabel.
I think she was annoyed with me now.
The Beginning of the End
I reached for Wand, but it was as though I was moving through molasses, everything slow and heavy, the air, and seemingly time itself, fighting me.
Mabel cackled.
I forged on, knowing I had to get Wand and get him quick if I was to leave this place alive, never mind save my fool of a sidekick.
"You don't know who you're messing with, little man. You don't know what this room contains, what treasures you have disturbed. This is the home of the witches, the Residence, did you genuinely believe you could come in here and steal from us? From me?"
"I was gonna give it a go, only to keep the peace," I said, the words coming out slow and slurred. Even my tongue felt like it was weighed down.
"Enough of your foolishness. You will never leave here, and I will have my place in the world of magic." Mabel stared at something in the room, without once physically moving towards me, and then she twisted her head sharply until her gaze returned to lock on mine.
What was that about?
I soon found out as a sharp pain stabbed into my side and I jumped back as another pain hit me on the leg, then the arm, then seemingly everywhere at once. My bag, still secured on my back, felt like thousands of the dislodged bricks had been rammed inside, and I struggled to keep on my feet.
Strange tendrils were piercing my clothes and flesh, silver strands that pulsed as a white, milky light spasmed through them, leading away from my body to a large ball on a small table.
"Yes, I have it, and many other artifacts you have only dreamed of. Your magic will be devoured, and then you will be nothing."
Mabel chortled as I struggled to get this thing off me. I felt myself weaken, felt life force and magic being drained, sapped of my power as a wizard, the same for Wand.
I didn't know what this artifact was, but I'd seen weirder, only knew that I had to extricate myself or I was done for. I thrashed, I stumbled, I crashed into tables. I smashed against walls, I picked up rubble and attacked the tendrils as thin as a finger but as one was broken off or retreated so another shot out to take its place.
I knocked over countless artifacts, something I hit flaring into life, exploding up and destroying the ceiling. Plaster, dust, and wood rained down, making it impossible to see, but I knew where I was so grabbed hold of something cold and hard. As I fumbled with the bag and stuffed the item inside, Wand vibrated in my pocket.
"It's now or never, buddy. You want me to, or try to save it for later?" Wand asked.
"If you don't do this now, there will be no later," I grunted, then hoisted the bag onto my back again and readied for the nightmare I knew was to come.
"Your funeral," said Wand, with a symbolic shrug.
"Yours too, if it comes to that."
Wand flared through my pocket, then magic engulfed us, spasming out and impossibly bright, causing more destruction to the room, burning up delicate artifacts, sending others screaming for the corners, the whole room erupting in disarray as objects large and small scattered in all directions.
The tendril attack vanished in an instant, the artifact either destroyed or damaged enough to keep its distance, but at a severe cost.
I felt my energy drain like a large plug had been pulled, leaving me a husk of a man, empty of the good stuff. Wand was still.
An intense tiredness enveloped me, so extreme I had to struggle to remain upright as all I wanted to do was to sleep and never, ever wake up. But I had to. This woman had to be stopped. I had to fight on and I had to beat her, but how?
The dust cleared, there were no more screams as everyone else was either dead or unconscious, and I staggered forward.
I fell immediately, devoid of energy, exposed, alone, and not in the best of positions for the epic battle that was yet to even begin.
Better Than Magic
I clambered awkwardly to my feet, clutching the side of the destroyed wall for assistance. Brick crumbled to dust under my touch, the wall collapsing and me along with it. As I toppled sideways and got a mouthful of mortar, I cursed out loud, then my body trembled as more bricks tumbled from the other side of the opening, pummeling my body like rain sent down by angry gods to destroy what little was left of The Hat.
Refusing to give in, even as my body protested and my clothes tore, my flesh was ripped, and my bones were dented yet somehow not breaking, I stood, tearing away the Velcro on my side pocket.
Wand was deep in slumber, the lucky sod, and yet I had to wake him if I was to survive this. We were too closely connected, he a manifestation of me and my energy, me a reflection of him, our combined magic inseparable. I shook him desperately even as the woman I'd severely underestimated stepped around the table and sneered. Wand was comatose, he wasn't going to wake up any time soon.
My magic was non-existent, I was truly running on fumes, but I did all I could and put up as strong a defensive barrier as I could muster under the circumstances. Those being, I was utterly exhausted, weak beyond anything I'd experienced for years, my shoulders sagging, my knees ready to buckle, feeling like I carried the weight of the world.
I felt the familiar tingle of magic encompassing my body, my confidence rising as I forced my will to hold on to this sliver of protection that would save my life. I moved awkwardly over the bricks, dust billowing in my wake as I repeatedly lost my footing. How I didn't twist my ankle is a miracle but my hands were cut to ribbons as I kept falling.
Clear of the carnage, I focused on the magic, the only thing that made any sense, then panicked as Mabel smiled a knowing smile. I felt it a mo
ment after, the stuttering like the flame on a lighter as it runs out of fuel.
My body shook, the magic drifted away, and then it died.
Wand had done all he could to help, was way beyond that now, so I pocketed him to keep my friend safe, or as safe as I could.
"You will pay for this destruction," said Mabel as she reached into a satchel on the counter beside her and pulled out something unexpected.
"A gun?"
"Why not? You wizards are so foolish. Witches have intelligence. Sometimes magic is the answer, sometimes not. Why waste a good spell when you can use a tool much easier to control?"
She had a point, but it wasn't the done thing. This simply wasn't playing by the rules.
Mabel lifted her right arm, closed one eye, took time to adjust her aim, then fired.
I died along with the magic.
A Familiar Meeting
On the pebble beach of Imaginary Figure of Death's timeless home—although I should stop calling him that as this was definitely no figment of my exhausted imagination—I glanced up at the myopic, endless sky, took in the whispering, lapping waters at the shores of whatever purgatory awaited me one day, and stared down the beach until the repetitive nature of this place began to make my head swim.
"Shit," I groaned, which I felt was apt, if a little too tame. Talk about inconvenient, and altogether unwanted.
Not only was this bad timing, but I'd been dreading my next encounter with Death as he'd been in a peculiar mood the last year or so. First he was happy, which was perturbing, then he'd been miserable, and questioning the point of existence, which was even more worrying. Death can't be the one having an existential crisis, that was reserved for those of us who were alive. Were being the operative word at the moment. I was currently dead, and that's no way to win an epic battle against an all-powerful witch. Especially when she's got a gun.
"Kevlar, I need Kevlar," I noted, wondering if they made nice shirts, or maybe jackets, in material that could stop bullets. Maybe I could get one to deflect magic too, that would be awesome. I added it to the list of things I wished I had but probably never would, and focused on the here and now. The sooner I got out of here the better, but I suppose a plan when I returned wouldn't go amiss.
I searched the shore for Death. He was usually there being dramatic, standing facing the gray waters where you sailed away on the final voyage.
He was missing.
"Huh?"
Death was always here, it was his thing. He set the tone by looking all menacing in his tattered black cloak, his infinite scythe, the Grim Reaper vibe making you want to get on with the whole sorry business and go meet your fate.
Except I was different. Sasha had bestowed seemingly endless lives upon me and I had entries spanning multiple pages in Death's ledger. Sure, they'd run out eventually, and I wasn't sure when, but surely today wasn't that day?
There was no way to find out if the big fella wasn't around.
Was this how it worked if it was your time? Did he not bother to appear and you just slunk off to your fate? No, this was his job. He had to be here; it was how it all worked.
"Hello?"
Nothing, not even an echo, just my voice being sucked away into infinity, leaving me feeling cold and desolate and a little unsure of myself.
Ten minutes later, and I was done with the desolation and uncertainty. I was merely antsy. Where the fuck was Death when you needed him? Didn't he know I had shit I needed to do? Like throw my morals away and beat the crap out of Mabel. If I could, obviously.
I should have listened more closely to what Selma had been telling me. Namely, Mabel was truly mad, and extremely dangerous. I hadn't considered the state she must have been in to believe it was a viable option for gaining power. It was kinda obvious looking back at it—she was nuts and then some. Maybe even suicidal. In fact definitely suicidal.
Where the hell was Death?
I checked behind me, just on the off chance there was something to break the monotony. How did he handle this? Everything was so damn boring, so samey. No wonder he was depressed.
The beach was the same, no surprises there. But the more I looked, the more I was certain there was a tiny dark shape way off in the distance. So, for the first time, I went for a walk in the place Death called home. I wondered what he did call it. Limbo? Maybe his own private purgatory?
The going was tough and slow. The pebbles, although small, hurt my feet, and I kept sliding down the slight incline, as though the water was calling to me, wanting to clutch me in its cold embrace and never let me surface again. It began to freak me out so I moved away from the shore and continued.
After what felt like numerous exceedingly boring lifetimes, I finally seemed to be getting somewhere. My vision was blurry—no change in scenery can do funny things to your eyes—but after several wipes with my sleeve, I got my focus back and was sure it was Death.
I crunched forward, making one hell of a racket, but the figure never moved. Maybe it wasn't him after all. But what else could it be?
As I got close there was no doubt, this was Death all right, but still he didn't move or even acknowledge me.
Slowing, I considered my options. I had none. Freaked out, but with no choice, and my usual cockiness gone under such a weird vibe, I stepped up beside Death and stared up at the towering figure of the immortal creature responsible for helping every soul transition. At least that used to be the way of things. Now I wasn't so sure. Last meeting he'd said a lot of oddball stuff, and I was doubting everything I knew about the afterlife.
Death turned fractionally and looked down at me. I stared into the absolute blackness beneath the cowl, no hint of the person or thing hidden in there somewhere.
"Hi." I smiled my most winningest of smiles, but he just kept staring.
"It's me. Arthur. Did you miss me?"
"Go away."
"That's not very nice. How are you feeling? You were a bit down in the dumps last time."
Nothing. Just more stares.
"Hey, what's up?"
"Go away."
"I would if I could."
Death shrugged his bony shoulders almost imperceptibly and lifted his head. The familiar table dropped down to land on the beach followed by the largest, heaviest book you're ever likely to see. The ledger thudded onto the desk and dust billowed. The pages snapped open, a quill darted from the sky, dipped angrily into an inkwell, then slashed across the page, presumably putting a line through my name.
Without warning, the book slammed shut, shot skyward, the table the same, and I stumbled as my head went woozy and a familiar feeling washed over me.
"Hey, I'm not ready yet. I thought we were friends?"
Too late, I was going right back to the land of the living, but I was in no position to do so. I hadn't thought this through. Encounters with Death took no time at all, meaning, I'd be standing right in front of Mabel, or lying more likely, with a fast-repairing hole somewhere nasty, and she still had a loaded gun. How many bullets did modern weaponry hold? I wasn't up on guns, it wasn't the wizardly way to shoot someone with a tiny lump of metal when you could blast them and make their head explode anyway.
I gasped for air. My hand went to my forehead where I poked around a fast healing hole.
Guess Kevlar wouldn't be much good if you got shot in the head.
"So, it's true?" asked Mabel, looking impressed.
"True?"
"About your extra lives?"
"I guess."
"Let's see how many you've got."
Mabel let loose.
Ugh
Same sky. Same beach. Same water. Same old shit.
Except things weren't the same. Nowhere near it.
Never once in the many lives I had lost due to idiocy or accident, weariness or lack of magic, had I been killed twice in strict succession like this. I'd lost count now of how many times I'd died, but I think it was maybe ten. Each time I returned, I extricated myself from the situation, but not this time.
I couldn't just go back. She'd shoot me again, wouldn't she? Maybe not. Maybe she'd do something else and I'd have a chance to escape. But how? I needed to think, to plan something, assuming this wasn't the final time.
And to be honest, I was a little miffed with Death. Why was he being so stand-offish? What gave him the right to treat me like this? Just because he was having a bad day didn't mean he could screw around with my life. Not that he really had, but I was somewhat out of sorts after being shot twice.
And so it was, with a deep sigh, and trepidation in my heart, that I turned and trudged down the beach to the remote figure once more.
"Before you do anything, can you maybe talk to me?" I asked as I stood in a repeat of last time, staring up at the towering figure.
"I said go away." Death turned from me, like that would make his request happen.
"I can't. I just got killed again. Any ideas about that? Can you help me out here?"
"Not my department. Thought you didn't like it here? Last time I wanted you to stay you were in a mad rush to get back."
"That's because you killed me, made me think I had a heart attack. I was annoyed."
"There you go then."
"What does that even mean?"
"Just go away." Death searched the sky and right on cue the table and book slammed down. This time he didn't even bother with the dust effect. He was definitely feeling down as he lived—or died—for this stuff. The pen darted down and wriggled about in the viscous ink like it was trying to stab it into submission and then the quill rose, splashing ink all over the open pages, poised to put a line through my name yet again.
"Wait! I want to ask you something. Please? I don't know how many chances I have left."
"Tough. Not my problem."