Viva Witch Vegas

by Chris Lowry

  “Great.”

  “You could get a lance.”

  “Do lance’s work?”

  “How do you think Lance-a-lot got his name?”

  “He killed dragons?”

  “He and Merlin.”

  “Knights of the Round Table were dragon hunters?”

  “Merlin lived in Japan for almost a century before journeying to the Isle. He carried with him the knowledge to protect and defend in the land through which he traveled and eventually settled to call home.”

  “Where does one go about finding a lance?”

  “They were destroyed in the Dragon wars. You will have to make one.”

  The Marshall pushed up the edge of his hat and sipped on the sweating bottle of beer between his fingers.

  “I’m not up on my current metal-ology so I don’t know how to make a lance. Is it like carving a spear point on the end of a stick? Because that I can do.”

  “Metallurgy,” said Okori. “And no mere wooden stake would harm a dragon. A lance must be forged.

  The Marshall leaned his head sideways and shot a withering look at the Kitsune. She didn’t seem to notice.

  “I’m not a blacksmith.”

  “You are a quest magic man,” she turned up the corner of one mouth into a cute smirk. “A magic quest to build an object of magic the world hasn’t seen in over five hundred years.”

  “I’m here to hunt a witch and stop a dragon,” he argued but it was weak.

  “Your ghost friend can tell you how important this is, and to save the world.”

  “Save the world?”

  Okori bowed her head.

  “He did not share this information with you.”

  “Elvis?”

  “I was going to, I swear, we just hadn’t reached that point yet.”

  “The point where you tell me I have to save the world.”

  “That one.”

  “A dragon will self replicate in fourteen days once awakened.”

  “Self replicate? Clone itself?”

  “I’m sorry, the translation on that word may be wrong. It will make babies. Hundreds of dragon eggs scattered around the countryside.”

  The Marshall sucked down the rest of his beer.

  “Dragon babies.”

  “Dragon babies who will awake hungry and wreak terror upon the world.”

  “Hunt a witch, kill a dragon, find it’s eggs. Magical quest,” the Marshall shook his head and stood.

  “Collect the materials and forge the lance, kill the dragon, and if it’s laid eggs, you must hunt them as well.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  He laid a twenty dollar bill on the bar and zipped his leather bomber. He glanced at the eyes of the Kitsune and felt a small tug at his heart. Why did the bad ones always have to be so gorgeous?

  The Marshall has to find a meteor with the right metal in it.

  The Marshall has to find a five hundred year old tree.

  "You know you need a staff, right?"

  I shook my head.

  "I don't need a staff. This isn't the middle ages. I'm not Merlin with some crystal ball on a stick."

  She grinnned, eyes twinkling and the magic she infected the world with reached out and tickled my loins.

  Or maybe that wasn't quite magic, but hey, who's going to contradict me.

  "A big long staff," she teased. "The gods know you need to compensate."

  I opened my mouth to snap back and she slapped me in the abdomen with a branch from the redwood.

  "This will do."

  "Do what?"

  "Whatever you ask of it," she said.

  She ran her slender hands along the course bark, tracing a carbon streak from the lightning strike.

  "Touched by heaven," she whispered.

  "Cursed," I suggested.

  She gripped it in her hands and pushed it further into my chest.

  "I could tell if it was cursed. This is what you need," she glanced over her shoulder.

  "For the lance. For your staff."

  She bent over and grabbed another stick, eighteen inches long and twirled it in her fingers.

  "You could even make a wand if you wanted."

  "No thanks," I answered.

  But I kept the branch. I didn't want to push it.

  Besides, a walking stick could look kind of cool. If I took up hiking.

  The wood thrummed under my fingertips, vibrating with unreleased energy.

  The Marhsall has to go to Yellowstone to forge the lance in the heart of the Earth fire.

  The Marhsal has to drive the lance up to the dragon lair.

  The Dragon has laid her eggs across the country.

  The kitsune is captured by the dragon.

  The Marshal storms the cave to rescue the kitsune. Okari. He destroys the dragon.

  The Marshal confronts the witch. The Marshal and witch duel. He kills her. Her spirit goes to join Gloria.

  It was literally the coolest thing to ever see.

  I didn't see it, but it had to be. I sprinted across the ground and dropped to my knees on the slick surface, leaning back Matrix style as bolts whizzed over my head and body. Fingers held out unleashing hell on the witch, on her demon. Coat whipping in the wind and appropriate bad ass scowl on my brow.

  Probably a good thing I didn't see it.

  That's how I'm telling it though. For anyone who wasn't there.

  "I was there," said Elvis.

  "Shut up ghost."

  "That's not how it happened."

  "Did you hear the shut up part, or did I just say it in my mind?"

  He was right. I hated it.

  My slip and slide into battle started off well enough. I got the sprint part right.

  But instead of dropping to my knees, one foot clipped the other and I sprawled on my face.

  Instead of sliding in a very cool, awesome manner, magic blazing, it was more of a desperate crawl on the floor hoping like hell I didn't get my ass shot off.

  Literally.

  I fetched up in the corner where the wall met the floor and rolled over in time to shoot off a couple of blocking spells.

  See, there's no way the first version isn't more entertaining. More elegant.

  "I know you," said the ghost of my watcher. "I know how you operate. You're going to play this up and try to come out a hero."

  "In the middle of a fight Elvis."

  "Left."

  I banged off a shot from the tip of my finger. It wasn't a lightening bolt, more like a shimmer in the air as energy transformed from my willpower into a manisfestation of magic.

  The result was an expanding circle of nothing that collided with another cirlce of shimmering air from the witch I could still hear cackling until a miniature sonic boom popped her quiet for a second. A literal second.

  Then she cackled again.

  "You snort when you laugh,"I called out. "You're snorting."

  That shut her up.

  But now she was quiet and doubling down on the whole try to kill me thing.

  I wiggled my fingers and tried to think of a way out of this predicament. Because the witch had back up. In the form of a demon, and they both had me dead on the agenda.

  WITCHMAS DAY

  I asked the Judge once why we were where we were and he looked with me with eyes made huge by the tiny glasses he wore, round spectacles perched on the end of his hawk like nose that made the pupils too large to stare at for more than a moment.

  "I'm in Memphis," I explained. "The nexus of Little Egypt and close to a ley line."

  He said nothing which made me want to fill the silence with the noise of my voice, and I knew that was his training clashing against mine. Even though he was and is a mentor, I learned much of my magic from hands other than his, and of course there is innate talent too which can have a bigger affect on the world we create than any of us realize. I knew he was playing salesman to me, wanting me to talk more because no one can stand an idle silence.

  I thought for a
microsecond of stretching it out, a test of will between the two of us, and instantly felt a hum and sparkle of electric energy charge the air, like you sometimes feel when the clouds are thick with the promise of rain, and the metal gray sky shakes with thunder just before the lightening cracks. The mere thought of a challenge, the hint of it set off a wave of charms and spells interwoven around his being that was effective as racking a Mossburg shotgun in the dark.

  "The West Marshal," I continued and felt the tension in the air around us ease. "He should be based in Los Angeles. The ley line runs through San Andreas, and so the nexus of power is there."

  Those eyes watching me again. No nod of the head to continue. No movement whatsoever. It was as if I were speaking to a marble bust of an ancient Greek God and I suppose that might not be too far from the truth. Before he was Merlin, he had to be someone else, and before even that he may have been something more.

  "Why then does he live in Las Vegas."

  "Because."

  "Because is not an answer."

  Now when one chooses a battle, one must choose wisely. One does not simply tweak the nose of the Judge of Magic, an ancient being with more power in his little pinky that I carried in my whole boot. Both of them.

  For a moment I thought I was going to end up toad dust. Sure it would be a waste of a good Marshal, if I did think so of myself, but like I've mentioned before I'm not the best Mage out there, and there would be plenty of others willing to step into my place if the Judge would only ask.

  Then the corner of his eyes crinkled and he laughed. I didn't get the joke.

  "Son, if I had a couple more men just like you we'd round up all these varmits likety split."

  Gulp.

  "Yes Sir."

  I felt like I dodged a bullet. One that came very close to parting my hair.

  "Las Vegas son," he continued. "Why do you think they set up shop at that particular oasis?"

  "Water."

  "That, sure, and plenty more besides. It's got nature magic in the hills and canyons, and the ancient ones who were here so long left a lot of it around when they designated it, and consecrated it. But what makes Vegas such a special place now is the magic we bring to it now."

  I crinkled up my brow, trying to work one eyebrow up in a what you talking about Willis moment.

  "The magicians?" I guessed. Vegas was lousy with magicians. The ones with their own shows, cabarets, and street performers. You could swing a familiar cat by the tail and hit a dozen minor magic users on the Strip.

  "The greenbacks. The sawbucks. Money," said the Judge.

  We didn't have much use for money since we could conjure up just about anything. Alchemy was pretty much magic 101 and anyone who learned the Arts figured out that casting pretty quick because unless you were willing to spend a lot of time hunting and grinding, ingredients cost money. Space cost money.

  Plus most magic users were extremely long lived so setting up an investment fund for the long term just made good sense. I put a big bang into my alchemy lesson when I first came into magic and sunk it all into an annuity that paid me each year, just so I could live on the interest and never touch the principle.

  What I'm saying is I never thought much about money because I put my money to work for me a long time ago and just forgot about it. But I kind of knew the power of compound interest and even thought I didn't obsess on it, I knew my net worth was pretty high. All the wizards I knew had values that doubled Buffett and Soros, only you would never see or hear their names in any circle.

  Since I didn't pay attention to money, I wasn't aware of it's power, except peripherally.

  But it made sense.

  "Tell me why," the Judge instructed as if reading my mind. I suppose he was.

  "Vegas was a place of power before, and when they began building the casinos and tourist attractions, it became a mecca for money. People would save for it, plan for it, believe in it and their faith in Vegas built the power up."

  There was the nod and the smile I wanted, like a good teacher's pet.

  "The people kept coming in droves and now by the millions," I said, thinking about how much ad money went in reminding people to visit Sin City, and even now it was being billed as a family vacation, with shows and rides and attractions. That must have expanded the number of believers who in their faith gave even more power to the place.

  Of course the Marshal would be in Vegas.

  The ley line there, while weaker than San Andreas was made stronger through the power of the people who went there, and who believed in the money they brought their to sacrifice to the gambling gods in the hopes of a bigger return. And when they left Vegas, they still continued to worship it from afar.

  Because all that magic would draw a lot of magic users. Wizards, mages, witches and warlocks. Low level magic users performing on the street feats that boggled the mind, and the crowd was wowed and believed, which fed the magic. Multiply that by thousands and you created an exponentially powerful place.

  It's no wonder the Marshal of the West was one bad hombre.

  He had to be to deal with all the Vegas madness, and he still had the rest of the US to cover as well.

  "And you sent a Witch there," the Judge concluded.

  "Get out of my head," I warned him.

  Thunder rumbled the foundation of the stone building we were in.

  "Please," I added.

  The judge crinkled his eyes again and smiled.

  "Son, go West young man."

  And he flashed me into a junk yard on the outskirts of sin city.

  "Damn it," I grumbled.

  There was thunder here too shaking the air around me, and even though it was in the middle of a desert, he dropped me in a rare rainstorm. Magic doesn't work that well in running water. When it rains hard enough, it doesn't work at all and I was soaked to the bone within seconds of popping out into the space. Looked like I had a long wet walk to the Strip.

  Served me right for smarting off.

  Probably wouldn't be the last time it happened.

  The kitsune and Marshal drive around in the pickup truck to collect the dragon eggs.

  “Do you think they’d make a good omlette?”

  “What is an omlette?”

  “Never mind. What are you going to do with the eggs?”

  “They will be sent to Mt. Fuji.”

  “Into the volcano.”

  “Some. Some will be trained in the ways of magic.”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  “It is not mine to say. I too follow orders.”

  “What if I destroyed them?”

  “I cannot allow that.”

  “I don’t think you can stop me.”

  He turned toward her and raised a finger.

  The sky flashed in a silent explosion of white and when it cleared the Marshal stood alone in the field.

  “She could have killed you, you know,” said Elvis.

  “I know.”

  “You’re just a wizard. She’s a god.”

  “Small g.”

  “Small g. Big g. You don’t tangle with deities man.”

  “Elvis, I’m just trying to do what’s right.”

  “Right isn’t always smart.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  Elvis spun around in the air.

  “She took the truck,” he said. “Won’t bother me so much, but you…”

  “These boots were made for walking,” said the Marshall and took off up the dusty road.

  “She could have killed you, you know,” said Elvis as he drifted behind.

  “I know.”

  “But she didn’t. Kitsune’s are tricksters, but when you threaten them, they’re pretty much cut and dried.”

  “So the truck was a trick.”

  “But leaving you alive, that I don’t understand.”

  “Maybe that’s a trick too. Maybe we’re two ghosts wandering the desert together.”

  “Don’t even joke about that.”

  �
��What? I can’t haunt a ghost that’s haunting me?”

  “She should have killed you but didn’t,” said Elvis. “She must have liked you.”

  They reached the edge of the crater and started up the road to the rim.

  “It happens. I’m a likable fellow.”

  “Sure you are. Likable. Gullible. Blind.”

  “Blind?”

  “Did you notice where the ghosts went for the last three witches you’ve killed?”

  “Hell, I suspect.”

  “Nope. I’ve watched them whirl away, all to the same point.”

  “So where are they?”

  “I dont’ know yet. Just a general direction.”

  “So what does that mean?”

  “They’ve got a summoning spell triggered on their death. Someone is calling them.”

  “Trouble.”

  “With a capital T.”

  We reached the rim. I could feel the popping sensation when we moved out of the spell circle cast by Okori.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” I told Elvis.

  “Do you have a fix on where we find our next contestant?”

  The ghost closed his eyes even though I suspected he didn’t need to do that. He was being dramatic. I could expect a hip wiggle at any moment.

  “That way,” he pointed East.

  “Any particular point Elvis? East is a lot of country to cover.”

  “Kentucky. Coal Mines. Start in Lexington.”

  I flicked my finger and we whirled up into a transport spell. Just as the world around us shimmered, I saw a tail flick in the bushes and the bright eyes of a fox watch us disappear.

  CHAPTER

  Some men liked to chop of the heads of their enemies and shove them on a stake for all the world to see. A warning.