by C. C. Mahon
Gertrude raised her hand to interrupt me. “What’s this about vassals?”
“I think she means my employees. You guys.”
“Great,” breathed Matteo. “And how do we get rid of her now?”
“I tried to negotiate with her tonight. I’m attached to this sword, but not to the point of putting us all in danger. But honestly, I think that our Valkyrie is completely insane and that she won’t listen to reason.”
“So what do we do?” whined Gertrude. “We could go hide out in the mountains.”
“The club’s protections seem to be holding her back for now,” I said. “So you should stay.”
Gertrude let out a gasp and ran from the room. She came back a few seconds later, a giant hammer in hand. It was made of silvery metal with a rather short handle for the size of its head and decorated with abstract engravings.
“I got this from outside the club,” she said. “This is what the…um, the Valkyrie was hitting the club’s protections with. It’s not actually Mjölnir, but it’s a magical hammer. Maybe we could use it against her?”
I took the item she was holding and nearly crushed my foot with it. In Gertrude’s hands, it seemed as light as a regular hammer. In mine, it weighed as much as any giant metal hammer.
Matteo took it from my hands. He was also handling it as if it weighed no more than a feather. Being the only human surrounded by supernatural creatures was sometimes vexing.
Matteo weighed the hammer and flipped it over a few times. “Gertrude,” he said, “could I borrow this? Unless you wanted to hold on to it to go up against our enemy?”
Gertrude froze for a moment before shaking herself and answering. “I appreciate it, but we trolls are not very good fighters. We’re strong but rather slow.”
“Barbie?” asked Matteo.
The harpy showed off her long claws—one on the end of each finger, plus a sixth coming out of her wrist—and her sharp teeth. “A thing like that would slow down my flight, and I’d prefer ripping out her eyes.”
“Boss?” asked Matteo.
“I’m good. You saw it’s too heavy for me. Take it if you want. It’ll give you something to do, instead of keeping me from fighting.”
He thanked me with a snide smile and a dramatic bow.
30
Britannicus still hadn’t shown up, and Nate’s breathing was becoming more and more labored. Therefore I decided to get on my bike and head to Nowhere Junction, the corner of the desert where Dave had opened up his gas station.
Matteo had just barely closed the hangar door behind me when King appeared in front of my bike, weapon in hand, a big bandage around her neck.
I put my foot on the ground. “Hello, detective. I see you’ve recovered.”
“What’s this bullshit?” croaked King.
“What do you—”
“I know what I saw. Grizzlies that appear and disappear. A flaming sword. A bear that turns into a man. And that blonde…I emptied my magazine into her chest, and, and…”
A coughing fit, dry and probably painful, doubled over the cop. I gave her time to recover before answering. “You’re still in shock from being atta—”
She raised her weapon until the barrel was aimed directly at my chest. “I want the truth.”
“Or else what? You’re going to shoot me, in the middle of the street?”
“It might have the same effect on you as it did the blonde.”
“Unfortunately, no,” I said. “She was the one wearing a bulletproof vest, not me.”
“Bullshit. I saw her up close: she had nothing under her clothes. And don’t try telling me she’s a magician again, okay? I already didn’t believe it yesterday morning, but after what I saw last night… This girl is our serial killer, isn’t she?”
That, at least, I had to tell her.
“Yes,” I said. “She killed Agatha, and…and my family.”
“Carver?” asked King.
“Maybe. Or he faked his death. I don’t know.”
She nodded. “What does the blonde want?”
“The sword,” I said. “Vengeance. And she’s absolutely insane, which doesn’t help anything.”
“Crazy and bulletproof?”
I nodded. “That’s why you shouldn’t get involved,” I said.
“No one stops me from doing my job!” replied the cop. Her reaction was so familiar to me that I couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s so funny?”
“You and me, we’re more alike than I thought,” I said. “And I wouldn’t dream of stopping you from doing your job. But believe me when I tell you that this girl is too tough for your gun and handcuffs.”
“But not for you?”
That was the million-dollar question. “I’m not sure,” I said. “But she’s determined to kill my employees and murder me afterwards. So I’ve got nothing to lose by trying.”
She holstered her gun. “Are you going to tell me who she is?” she sighed.
“Are you going to believe me?”
She shrugged and massaged the base of her throat.
“A Valkyrie,” I said. King shot me a flat look, the kind that said, “Stop messing with me, it’s not even funny.” I held her stare before asking, “Do you feel better now that you know?”
“You’re serious?”
“Very,” I said. “And in a hurry. My friend, the one who was injured last night, isn’t doing so good. I have to go get help.”
“The…the grizzly? Do you need an ambulance?”
“I need information, a magical cure, and maybe even a miracle. And within the hour, if possible.”
31
It was six in the morning, and Dave was already behind his counter.
“No gas today,” he said by way of greeting.
“No, I need information.”
“You’ve found your Carver, it would appear. What are you looking for now?”
“I need a way to save a metamorph and a way to take out a Valkyrie.”
Dave’s too blue eyes widened, and he threw his long hair back. “That’s it?”
“Is it something you can do?” I asked.
“What’s wrong with your metamorph?”
I described Nate’s injury to him. He stared off, as if he was looking for the answer to my question on the shelves of his gas station. “Holy fire,” he finally said.
“Huh? Like from a church or something?”
“Not exactly. Real truly sacred fire. Like the one that the Vestas stoked in their temples or the fire produced by certain magical weapons.”
“Like a Valkyrie’s sword, for example?”
“For example,” he said.
“And what do I do with it?”
“You cauterize the wound.”
My stomach did a somersault before going up to my throat.
“It means you have to burn the infected tissue,” explained Dave. “And a little of the healthy tissue with it, just to be sure.”
“Yeah,” I whispered, “thanks.”
“You look pale. You haven’t had breakfast yet, have you? You’re not about to faint on me!”
“And what about my second question?” I asked.
“How to off a Valkyrie?”
I nodded, and Dave once again stared into the void.
After several long minutes, he ran his fingers through his chaotic hair and pouted. “Nada. Either it’s a very well kept secret or the information hasn’t crossed the Atlantic yet.”
“Or they’re invincible.”
“Nothing is invincible,” Dave assured me. “That said, you probably shouldn’t tackle someone like that before breakfast.”
“She’s not leaving the time or place up to me,” I said. “She could attack me as soon as I go through that door.”
Dave’s eyes focused on a small TV screen placed on the counter. “Nope, the coast is clear ten miles around. But you might not want to take on an enemy like that on your own. You don’t have anyone who could back you up? One or two jacked-up guys?”
“I don’t need men to protect me.”
Dave shrugged. “Girls then. I don’t care if your friends pee standing up or sitting down, as long as they leave my bathrooms clean. But having backup can’t hurt.” He tasked himself with organizing his messy counter before continuing, without looking at me. “We don’t see a lot of Italian motorcycles in the area. So I’d miss yours.”
I left Dave on this strange declaration of friendship and mounted my famous Italian motorcycle. The heat was making the air dance above the asphalt, and I tried not to think of what I was going to have to do once I got back.
A strange pairing greeted me in front of the club. On one side, King, sitting on the hood of a police car, a huge steaming mug in hand. On the other, Britannicus Watson in his three-piece suit, his face so expressionless that he must actually be boiling with rage.
“What are you doing here?” I asked the two visitors.
“Ah, American hospitality,” replied the wizard. “Your employees didn’t think it wise to let me in.”
“Did you find something to heal Nate?” I asked.
“Alas, no.”
“So they were right not to let you in. What do you want?” I asked him.
“Maybe we could talk in private?” he suggested.
I turned towards King.
“We didn’t finish our conversation,” she croaked without waiting for my question. “They didn’t let me in either, but I’ve learned not to take those things personally.”
“What happened to your throat?” asked Britannicus.
“A Valkyrie tried to strangle me.”
She’d answered Britannicus’ question, but it was at me she was staring. Like she was challenging me to continue spouting bullshit.
I held her stare as Britannicus let out an, “Oh, dear.”
“I’m here to talk strategy,” said King.
“What strategy?” I asked.
“Exactly,” she retorted. “You might have a gang of grizzlies and a super shining sword, but have you ever tracked a killer?”
“I decided to no longer hang out with psychopaths,” I said.
“Excellent life philosophy,” said King. “So you have no idea what you’re taking on.”
“Wait a minute, you’re the one who has no idea! Have you come across a lot of psychotic Valkyries throughout your career?”
“There’s a first for everything,” she said. “And that’s exactly why I’m suggesting that we join forces to come up with a plan of action.”
“That’s precisely what I was coming to talk to you about,” interjected Britannicus.
I turned towards him. “The wizards aren’t neutral now?”
“I’ve received new information concerning the actions of our Valkyrie before her arrival in the beautiful city of Las Vegas, and I believe it is my duty to intervene. On this subject, I had a, let’s say, ‘enriching’ exchange of words with the local guild.” He grimaced.
“They kicked you out?”
“I left!” he said, offended. “And I can’t say I regret it.”
I unlocked the entrance to the hangar and signaled to them to follow me. “Before we get to chatting, I have a wound to cauterize,” I said. “Are you any good with barbecue?”
32
Nate was even greener, colder, and covered in more sweat than when I’d left him an hour ago. His breathing, fast and shallow, barely raised his massive chest. His lips were blue, his eyelids purple and sunken into their sockets. Gertrude continued to clean the wound, but it hadn’t stopped the infection from spreading a good five inches on each side of the initial cut.
“Boss,” asked Barbie, “do you have a cure?”
She spotted the wizard and the cop who were entering the room, hid her wings under a glamour, and shot me a quizzical look.
“I might have a solution, but it’s not going to be pretty,” I said. “Barb, Gertrude, clear the space in the middle of the room. Matteo, if you’re done calming your nerves in the kitchen, lay Nate on the ground and hold down his shoulders. Gertrude, Barb, you hold his ankles.”
“What are you going to do to him?” Gertrude asked with a fearful expression.
“Cauterize the wound.”
As they executed my orders, I kept my eyes fixed on Nate. That guy, I’d sent him packing every chance I got, and he’d still risked his neck for me, again and again.
Maybe I should’ve listened to him? Let him help me? Would it have changed anything?
I unsheathed my sword. No flame spouted from it.
“Whenever you’re ready, boss,” said Barbie.
“What’s going on?” asked King.
“You’re too tired,” said Matteo.
“Let me see,” said Britannicus. He walked towards me, hand outstretched toward the sword. I backed up and glared at him. Letting someone other than me touch my sword was out of the question.
“Don’t think about it! !” I barked at the wizard.
Matteo clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Erica, don’t be childish.”
Anger exploded inside me, and the sword burst into flames with a satisfying “whoosh.”
“The next person who talks down to me,” I growled, “will have their tongue cauterized.”
Britannicus backed off until King was standing between us. The cop watched him with a mocking smile and winked at me knowingly. “The amount of times I dreamed of doing that at the police station…”
I smiled, but my heart wasn’t in it. In front of me, Nate whimpered softly. Careful to maintain my anger, I thought of the psychotic Valkyrie who had injured my bouncer, killed my waitress, butchered my family…
I kneeled next to Nate and placed a hand on his shoulder covered in cold sweat. “It’s going to hurt, you big teddy bear,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
The flat side of the blade met the infected flesh with a repugnant sizzle. Nate let out a roar of pain, but he didn’t open his eyes and hardly fought back. He was so weak…
The smell of rotting meat and barbecue filled the room, and I forced my stomach to stay where it was and my hand to remain steady on the hilt of my sword.
Two seconds, three seconds…
After five seconds, I removed the sword to examine the results of the treatment. A nasty red and black line now crossed Nate’s chest. But the upper and lower ends of the wound had escaped the heat, and green pus still oozed from them.
I was about to apply the tip of my sword to the surfaces I’d missed when I heard the club’s ventilation kick in. My eyes met Gertrude’s, who’d just set the air conditioning to max. I thanked her with a nod before getting back to work.
Once I had cauterized the last inch of infected flesh, Nate was no longer moving and he was barely breathing. I backed up to lean against a chair and let the sword go out.
“Do you think he’s gonna make it?” asked Barbie.
“Metamorphs get their strength from their pack,” answered Britannicus. “Could you get some of his family to come?”
The wizard’s tone was less firm than usual, and he looked sickly.
“Nate is a lone bear,” said Barbie. “Other than us, he doesn’t have anyone.”
Matteo picked up Nate as he had the night before and put him back on the velvet booth.
“I should have a topical antibiotic in the first aid kit,” said the vampire. “Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t need it, but…”
“It could help,” confirmed Britannicus.
Matteo began to smear Nate’s chest, and Barbie shoved a glass in my hands.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A pick-me-up. Family recipe.”
I sniffed the drink, which was a cloudy purple. “It smells like apples,” I said.
“There’s some of that,” she confirmed. “I have a cousin in Europe who drinks it every morning for breakfast. It’ll do you good. Now that you’ve dealt with the most pressing issues and that you no longer have any wounded waiting, maybe we could concentrate on the suspect? What do we know about her?�
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“She’s a Valkyrie,” I said, “a minor goddess of the Nordic pantheon. She’s strong, fast, and bulletproof, but she’s not immune to my sword.”
“And she wants the sword?” asked King. “Why?”
“No idea,” I lied. “She also wants to kill everyone in this room—except you two,” I added, referring to the cop and the wizard. “You haven’t pissed her off enough yet.”
“Let’s hope that changes quickly,” said King. “What?” she retorted to Britannicus’ outraged expression. “I didn’t come here to make friends.”
The wizard raised an eyebrow as a silent challenge, which the cop ignored splendidly. She turned to me to continue.
“As I see it, we have to options: either we stay nice and warm in here, waiting for…what’s her name?”
“No idea,” I admitted. “I call her Goldilocks.”
“Either we stay here waiting for Goldilocks to take action and we try to fight her on our own turf. Which gives us home turf advantage but forces us to wait until the enemy attacks, and we risk being caught off guard.”
“Or?” I asked.
“Or we find where she’s hiding and we ambush her when and where she’s not expecting it.”
“All that’s good and all,” said Barbie, “but once we ambush her, what do we do? Because having gone head to head with her, I can tell you she’s tough.”
