by C. C. Mahon
The chain that held the glass doors of the warehouse closed had long since succumbed to the efforts of thieves, thugs, and squatters. The glass panels were broken, and the double doors were ajar, blocked by debris that I didn’t take time to identify.
King took out a flashlight. The thin beam of light briefly swept the ground in front of us, revealing typical business decor: an entryway with linoleum floor, a reception desk, a hallway. The linoleum had been burnt in several spots, the desk was partly reduced to rubble, and the walls disappeared behind the graffiti. King headed down the hallway.
We quickly reached a dark and cool area, like a cave: the actual warehouse space. The air smelled of dust, cold ash, and…fresh grass?
Something seemed off. I hurried to catch up to the detective and whispered, “Lola.”
A bright light blinded me.
“Get down!” yelled King.
A violent shove to my back helped me to comply. I fell against the concrete floor. A knee pushed into my kidneys, and a hard and cold object pressed against my neck.
“It’s a harpy,” declared a male voice.
35
My eyes adjusted to the light, and I lifted my head just enough to look around me.
We were in a giant room in the concrete basement. On my right, there were metal shipping containers. On top of the containers were multiple light sources, probably construction spotlights. No way of knowing what was hiding behind them.
The man holding me down kept me from seeing what was going on to my left. In front of me, I made out King’s silhouette. She was also being held down to the ground. The man who’d positioned himself on the cop’s back straightened out, and I recognized his profile.
“Max!” I growled. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Max, the meta-coyote beer connoisseur, turned towards me. “Barbie? I could ask you the same thing. What’s a waitress doing in mixed up in all of this?”
When I’d figured out we weren’t alone in the warehouse—when I’d smelled the odor of fresh grass specific to the meta-coyotes’ magic—I’d conjured an illusion to hide myself. Pressed for time, I’d taken on the appearance of my favorite harpy. If I kept my voice in the register of grunts, I could pass as her for a few more minutes. After that, I’d have to improvise—again.
Stuck under Max, King looked at me with wide eyes. I should point out that by taking on Barb’s appearance, I’d conjured up the image of the harpy’s two red wings. The wings that she never hid when she was working at the club but that she’d been careful to hide under a glamour when King had showed up earlier in the day.
My new wings were not the only source of confusion for the cop: she looked from left to right, probably trying to see where Erica St. Gilles had gone with her magical sword.
“I found two more!” shouted a feminine voice from the other side of the warehouse.
Shit. They’re going to see that there’s two Barbies.
Footsteps were getting closer, and Matteo enter my field of vision. Hands raised above his opulent brown curls, he walked forward as laidback as a playboy by the pool. Behind him, Barb wasn’t as blasé. She was swearing copiously at the meta-coyote escorting her, automatic weapon in hand, and flapped her wings when the girl moved to touch her.
Max looked at her and turned back to me.
The smell of ginger tickled my nose.
“Nox!” said an unemotional British voice.
The lights disappeared.
All the lights disappeared.
I seized the opportunity to rear back. The back of my skull hit a hard object, a nose if the crack and the roar of pain that followed were to be believed. A few elbow jabs later, I freed myself and rolled several feet on the concrete. I got back up, slowly. I couldn’t see any more than in a ghouls’ nest on a moonless night. And when you couldn’t see anything, you quickly lost your balance.
Around me, bodies were clashing, fighters grunting, some shouting.
“Over here,” whispered a voice in my ear.
The voice smelled of ginger.
The voice took my hand and led my into the darkness. I followed it, an arm raised in front of my face in case I ran into an obstacle. But Britannicus must have known where he was going, because I didn’t hit a wall, container, or coyote.
I bumped into the wizard when he stopped moving.
“Keep going straight,” he breathed. “I’ll catch up in a second.”
He murmured something, and the darkness lifted. It was still very dark, but a little bit of light reached me from an opening a few feet away. I recognized the entryway through which we’d come in.
Shots were fired.
I turned to the right, convinced I’d find King there. Instead, I discovered Barbie.
Behind us we heard a coyote’s howl, to which another responded. More shots were fired. Barbie grabbed my hand, and we headed towards the light and the exit.
The coyotes’ howls echoed in this large empty space, punctuated by gunshots and the occasional swear. Yet I clearly heard the click of the mine when Barbie stepped on it. And so did she. The harpy swore, and the world exploded.
I found myself suspended—in time and space—and in this state, detached from everything, my mind contemplated our situation.
I wasn’t afraid to die—the fear was waiting for me on the other side.
I wasn’t even sad.
I was mad, mad that we were going to die at the hands of a clan of metamorph truckers and mercenaries in their free time.
What could Goldilocks have possibly promised them?
Did they know to whom they’d just sold their soul?
When Nate finds out about it, he’ll attack them and they’ll need to kill him too.
Then my body hit the ground, and the shock pulled my mind from its contemplative state.
I rolled several feet, stopped, and started taking account of the state of things.
I was still alive.
I hurt everywhere, but mainly my shoulder and hip that had hit the ground first.
I didn’t appear to be injured.
The reason for which became apparent to me once I thought to reopen my eyes: Barbie had surrounded me with her wings, and the harpy had taken on the brunt of the explosion. She was laying in the middle of a puddle of blood, and she whimpered softly.
I couldn’t lose another member of my team. I needed help for Barb’. I turned around, but Britannicus’ spell still kept the warehouse in impenetrable darkness. I couldn’t see anything or anyone, and I didn’t dare call out for fear of attracting the attention of the coyotes.
Where were the others? Were they still alive?
36
Barbie was in too much of bad shape for me to carry her, but the gunshots and the coyotes’ yelps were getting closer, and we couldn’t stay here.
I turned around, just in time to see the spotlights up top turn back on one by one. The powerful lights revealed everyone’s whereabouts. The coyotes had positioned themselves around the large room, surrounding Matteo and King.
The vampire had dropped to one knee and held one of his arms against his abdomen. Beside him, the detective was also kneeling. But in her case, it was to have a more stable shooting position and be less exposed. If I was to go by the metamorphs’ state, she’d already inflicted damage with her gun. I counted three men and two canines out of commission.
The cop protected her eyes momentarily when a spotlight shone directly on her. Then she aimed away from the metamorphs and directly at the light source. Bang, bang, bang: each shot took out a spotlight. Darkness shrouded the warehouse once again.
“Barb,” I whispered. “Can you hear me?”
“Yep,” grumbled the harpy.
“Can you move?”
A rustle of feathers, a cry of pain, then, “Sorry, boss, that’s not happening.”
“Don’t apologize. You saved my life.”
“Mmm…”
“Barb?”
No answer. Shit.
A danci
ng glow revealed Barbie’s profile to me, covered in dark red blood.
I turned around again to find Goldilocks standing on a container. She had lit a good old fashioned torch and was yelling orders like a general energized by the smell of blood.
Coyotes didn’t need much light to see clearly. I couldn’t say the same. And I had to get Barb to safety.
I concentrated on the texture of concrete beneath my fingers. In the dim light of the torch, my illusion didn’t need to be perfect to be effective. It would be enough to hide Barb and me from our enemies. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t protect us from the coyotes’ sense of smell. Nor stray bullets, like the ones I could hear whistling above our heads.
I flattened myself over Barb’s body and looked behind me.
“Hold your fire!” yelled Max.
The guns stopped going off.
“No!” bellowed Goldilocks. “They’re here somewhere.”
Max ignored her. I was too far to make out the metamorph’s expression, but his body language was clear: he listened and raised his nose in search of an odor.
Matteo and King had disappeared. If I had to guess, I’d say Britannicus had hidden them from sight with one of his invisibility spells. It was about time.
Goldilocks was pacing on her container. “Don’t let them escape! Fire!”
“All the exits are blocked off,” said Max in a calm voice. “They couldn’t have left. They’re here. I can smell them. They have a wizard with them, hiding them from view.”
“It’s that girl,” spat Goldilocks. “She’s a witch. Kill her. That’s why I’m paying you.”
I knew Max and his gang did more than legal road transport. We were talking contraband, and even offering passage to illegal immigrants—it wasn’t a coincidence that the runners who worked the Mexican border were nicknamed “coyotes.” But murder? The metamorph and his pack had fallen lower in my book.
Somehow I didn’t think they were going to lose sleep over this. But it proved to me, once again, that you couldn’t trust anyone. Max and a few other coyotes had frequented Club 66 since its opening. We saw them several nights a week. They joked with the employees. I’d opened them a tab. And while Agatha was serving them beers on credit, those traitors were plotting with her murderer?
I raised myself up. The anger spread through my gut, my chest, and along my arm. My sword ignited with renewed vigor.
37
“She’s there!” shouted Goldilocks from her pedestal.
The Valkyrie was pointing, but she didn’t need to. The moment my weapon had caught fire, the illusion hiding me had lifted. I was hoping no one would pay any attention to Barb, unconscious at my feet. Yet another victim of these deceitful coyotes.
“Hey, Goldilocks!” I yelled. “You want this sword? Come take it from me yourself instead of paying these scavengers to do it for you.”
The insult didn’t get overlooked, and the dozen of metamorphs surrounding us roared in anger.
They advanced on me, and several of them who were still on two legs transformed and bared their teeth. Goldilocks hadn’t moved.
“I’ve heard a few things about Valkyries,” I said. “I’m disappointed. What would Odin say if he learned that his maiden was hiding behind a pack of dogs? Oh, that’s right, you’re no longer a maiden, either. He must be so disappointed.”
She let out a cry of rage and jumped down from the container. Machete in one hand and torch in the other, she ran towards me.
With a gesture, Max ordered to his troops to back off. Several protested, but a metamorph on four legs made them fall in line by snapping its teeth.
The Valkyrie’s machete strike was predictable, and I easily avoided it. What I hadn’t seen coming was the torch that she was waving in my face.
I danced a few steps back and sectioned the torch with one swing of the sword. The flaming part of the torch fell on the concrete, and I kicked it away.
“Is it true that you were a goddess?” I said.
“I still am.”
“Are you sure? Where are your wings?”
“Shut up, miserable mortal!”
“Your insults are stale,” I said.
She replied in a language that I didn’t understand and swung the machete at me again, as if to cut me in two at the waist. I dodged and shortened her blade as I did so.
“So, your wings? Did Odin take them from you?”
This time she tried to skewer me on the stump of her blade. I shortened the blade once again.
“I get why you had to hire mercenaries,” I said. “Without Odin, you’re worthless, so you found other protectors. Do you always need a man to solve your problems?”
She raised the stump of her machete with both hands and threw herself at me, yelling. I sidestepped and ducked to avoid her attack then plunged my sword into her stomach.
She staggered back several steps and lowered one knee to the ground.
In the glow of my sword, I saw that my blade had cut and burnt her blouse, revealing a Kevlar vest.
If even the goddesses were wearing bulletproof vests, where were we headed?
The Kevlar wasn’t made to stop magical swords, but it had still protected the Valkyrie, and what should have sliced open her stomach and spilt her guts on the ground was limited to a nasty cut.
I attacked again, hoping to catch my enemy off guard. She blocked my wrist and refused to let go, joining us in a weird arm wrestle.
“I made a mistake,” growled the Valkyrie. “One single mistake over the last millennia. Odin is not a compassionate god when it comes to idiots and the weak. So if you think he’s going to accept you…”
I was too focused on our physical confrontation to answer. I would have had to choose which part of her declaration to react to. Did I reply to the insult, or did I ask her why Odin would need to accept me?
She continued without waiting for an answer. “On the battlefield, I decide who lives and who dies. I decide who will win. And tonight, it will not be you.”
The flames of my sword lit up the Valkyrie’s crazy face. Thanks to that I caught the look she shot over my shoulder and the evil smile that twisted her lips.
I threw myself to the ground.
The spray of bullets passed just above my head. Goldilocks had also dodged.
I rolled to move out of the line of fire, and I turned towards the new threat: Max, machine gun in hand.
“What did I do to you to deserve this?” I asked.
He shrugged, without lowering his weapon. “Don’t take it personally. We have a contract, that’s all. If I’d known that you were the thief in question, I would’ve come talk to you before it came to this.”
“That’s all? Do you at least know who you’re working for?”
“Silence, witch!” yelled Goldilocks. “And you, dog, kill her!”
“Chill,” retorted Max without acknowledging the insult. “We talked about getting your property back, not murdering Erica.”
Goldilocks lost her patience and threw herself at me. Max stayed back, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Do you remember Agatha?” I yelled over the noise of the clashing blades. “The pretty bartender who always listened to your manly man stories? The one who ended up burnt in the fountain of a casino? Do you know who killed her? Your client!”
I pushed back the Valkyrie with a kick to the stomach, but the Kevlar lessened the blow.
“Is that true?” Max asked.
Goldilocks turned away from me for a moment to shoot a nasty look at Max. “I don’t need to justify myself. Kill this girl and shut up.”
But he made no move to obey.
“Hey, Jenny,” he yelled over his shoulder. “You had a crush on the dryad, didn’t you?”
A coyote’s howl answered the question. You didn’t need to be an animal to understand the response. Yes, Jenny, Max’s right hand, held a torch for Agatha.
“How do you feel about working for her murderer?”
This time Jenny’s answer came in
the form of a growl, so deep that it was almost imperceptible to me.
“And what about you guys?” asked Max. “What do you think about it?”
The concert of animal cries echoing in the warehouse were incomprehensible to me, but they were obviously very clear to Max. The man turned his automatic weapon from little old me and aimed it at Goldilocks’ torso. “Change of plans,” he said.
She spit out a string of swears in her harsh-toned language. I didn’t have to understand the Scandinavian language to know that they weren’t compliments. But for good measure, she added in English, “You bunch of scavengers. Wolves would’ve never gone back on their word.”
A unanimous roar of anger greeted this declaration. Coyotes had a bad reputation, but they had their pride.
“I don’t think you’ve read the contract thoroughly,” said Max. “Article 3, paragraph 2: ‘Any withholding of pertinent information during the execution of said contract will render it null and void.’ In other words: you lie to us, we’re done. You hide something from us, we’re done. You don’t tell us that you murdered a nice waitress…”
Goldilocks executed a magnificent backflip towards the container on which she had been standing earlier. The coyotes threw themselves at her. She dodged some of them, caught one in the chin with a kick, jumped over two others…
She was going to get away.
I ran after her. She had a head start, but I didn’t need to worry. Out of nowhere, the magical hammer struck her dead in the chest. She stopped abruptly, swayed for a moment, and tumbled backwards to fall flat on her back. Her head hit the concrete, and the sound echoed throughout the warehouse. The coyotes surrounded her.
Just outside the coyotes’ circle, the air undulated. I raised my sword so the flames could better light up the scene, and I saw Matteo and King appear. A heartbeat later, Britannicus materialized.
Matteo held the hammer, a cheerful look on his face. All traces of his shoulder wound had disappeared. Behind him, Britannicus was sitting on the ground. King was hunched over in front of the wizard.
