by Phil Gabriel
He stood a moment, breathing heavily, his glowing eyes undimmed. I held up the still manacled hand and said, “So, no surrender?”
“To the death,” he rasped as if that wasn’t his plan all along. He crouched to make his next leap.
“Are you sure?” I asked, putting one hand behind my back. I was beaten, burned, exhausted, discharged, and almost defeated. Only my unpowered teeth, weak jaws, and fingernails against one of the world’s most dangerous fighting machines.
Oh, yeah, and one other thing: a fucking magic sword.
I sent the tiniest trickle of magic down my unrestrained right arm, sending it running out through my fingers. Such a tiny amount, almost all I had left, but it was enough to open my satchel. Dipping into my invisible bag, I grabbed Princess Blade’s handle. For some strange reason, I had to fumble for her hilt, but I finally pulled her out and held her over my head.
At Frost’s surprised expression, I knew that Princess had made an impression.
It wasn’t until he roared with laughter and walked towards me with a confident stride, that I looked up at Princess. In my hand was a fringed lady’s parasol, red with white polka dots. Damn females will be the death of me. She was still holding a grudge over being put aside.
“Princess,” I whispered, even though all the weres could hear, “don’t do this now. I need your help!”
We all heard her zither-like response, “Hmmph, OK.” The drawn sword zing! sound Princess used as a warning rang through the glade.
Frost was upon us, and I desperately wrestled with time, one of my few tricks that didn’t require magic, only a disregard for my health. This slowed his attack down to human speed. I saw his claws headed towards my head, a killing stroke. The joy and bloodlust in his eyes turned to surprise as my parasol morphed into a razor-sharp rapier with copper colored flames racing up and down the blade.
Of her own volition, Princess moved to block Frost’s paw. Where a microsecond before he was swiping at a human magician, now he was about to impale his hand on a burning sword. He was able to twist his hand away, but Princess managed to sever his little finger.
Frost leaped backwards, holding his injured paw in his other hand. Exhausted, I let time slide back to normal speed. The severed pinky hung in the air for a long moment, then fell slowly to the ground.
The pinky bounced once; then time was flowing normally again. Frost looked down at his hand in horror—his finger was definitely not growing back. “Princess,” I said in awe, “you never told me you were worse than silver to werewolves.”
Princess answered with a strange sound, Hmmmm, hmmmm, hm. It took me a second to translate the sounds to Mmm, mmm, good. She liked the taste of werewolf blood.
Frost looked at us with his champion’s eyes, the eyes that had seen a thousand fights, cataloging each muscle twitch and movement. He could see I was exhausted, holding onto the hilt of the levitating Princess to keep from falling.
I saw calculation in his eyes as he looked at my condition, then his glance darted to the pack arrayed at the edge of the glade. He could either surrender, losing his ears and place in the pack, or try a desperate attack. He completed his calculations, then acted.
Of course, he attacked. Faster than I could react, he slid forward and feinted a head strike with his uninjured hand. Princess parried easily, leaving a burning streak on the fur of his arm, but I had to step back. Unbelievably, he managed to dodge Princess’ superhuman slashes and lunges. He always managed not to be where the blade was.
I took several claw slashes to my sword arm, and one to a leg. The inhuman bastard was bleeding me out one cut at a time.
Oh, I got several hits in too. Nothing as permanent as the pinky removal, but Frost was bleeding from several wounds. The problem was, he had supernatural stamina. I could see his wounds slowly start to heal. Only a mortal blow would stop him.
During one especially strenuous flurry of strikes and parries, I managed to slash his gut. He backed up to the edge of the glade, breathing heavily. I also backed up and found myself with my back to the tree. The look in his eyes told me he had been waiting for this.
Keeping my eyes on him, I slid Princess under my left manacle, her blade completing the cut that my teeth had started. I was now completely unencumbered and could use magic. The only problem was I had no magic left to use.
We were both breathing heavily, but he was recovering much faster than me. The fight would soon be over. I held Princess up in my trembling right hand and stepped forward. “Drake,” I said, using his first name as we were now on intimate terms, “do you know why I call this sword ‘Princess Blade?’”
“No, and I don’t give a shit,” he spat and moved forward to finish me off.
“She’s named after my favorite movie, The Princess Bride,” I said, stepping forward with my left foot and changing my stance. Princess was now in my left hand, my dominant hand, much faster and better trained than my right.
Drake’s eyes flashed as he evaluated this change in posture, balance, and confidence. The supreme fighter’s calculations that had assured him of victory against his right-handed opponent told him that against this left-handed opponent, he would lose.
He attacked anyway, being long past the point of no return. The combination of my skill and Princess’ magic was too much for him. His strikes were parried with ease, and I was able to open a set of cuts over much of his body. He was losing blood faster than he could heal. After that, he weakened quickly, leaving a trail of blood over the glade.
It happened swiftly, Drake slipping in his own blood, flailing his arms for the merest tenth of a second. Princess augered in, hitting him in the chest and penetrating to within an inch of his heart. As he fell, I followed, keeping pressure on the blade, determined to pierce his black heart.
Incredibly, his chest muscles resisted the pressure of my magic fae sword, which was forged of a metal much stronger than diamond, with a point that could pierce atoms. As I bore down, his body regenerated, over and over, pushing Princess away, drawing out a losing battle.
Still, he was finished, arms and legs fumbling at the dirt as his life’s blood seeped away. “Will you yield, Drake?” I whispered so low that even his pack couldn’t hear. “Will you live to spend your days following the monkey’s commands, bringing my slippers, playing fetch, and wearing the collar?”
With one last snarl, he brought his hand up and grabbed my blade, ignoring the burning of his flesh. “Stupid monkey,” he said, “too weak to finish the job.” With that, he pulled the blade into himself, finally piercing his heart. The light went out of his eyes as his head lolled back on the ground.
Princess’ victory squeal, high pitched and grating, forced the pack back.
Only one thing left to do now. Grasping Princess—my sword, my wand, my channeling device—in both hands, I sucked the life energy of the alpha werewolf into myself. I shuddered at the feeling, much more intense than sex. Fifty years’ worth of apex predator energy filled my reserves to bursting.
Considering upcoming trials, I decided to use his energy to heal myself. What would have taken weeks at my normal speed was accomplished in seconds with the defeated alpha’s energy. My wounds healed with the speed of a were, gashes closing and bruises fading away. The ringing in my ears went away, and I could hear all the sounds of the forest around us.
I pulled Princess from the desiccated corpse of my vanquished enemy and strode over to the pack. The death of their alpha had forced them all to their human forms. Nine men, looking like Chippendale dancers, and four women, looking like the Swedish Olympic Volleyball team, all stood before me. No shame in their nakedness, but cowed into submission by my defeat of their alpha.
Twenty-Seven
Making a Pact with the Pack
With all the new energy, I knew I could kill them all. The question was, should I kill them all? Princess thrummed in my hand; I knew which way she would vote.
“The alpha of the Wolves of Wall Street is dead. With him died my c
ontract with Selene Select Partners, as well as the Oath of nonviolence.” I held Princess up in my right hand; her copper colored flames reflected in the eyes of the pack. “The question is, will your new alpha swear the same Oath?”
They looked amongst themselves, exchanging looks of surprise. One moment, they were all sentenced to death; the next, they had a possibility of surviving.
Finally, a were spoke up. “How do we know we can trust you?” The speaker was a stocky man, shorter than Frost had been, with black hair and intense black eyes.
At my laugh, they all took a step back. “The bastard who subverted an Oath lies dead by my hand, and you question if you can trust me? Tell me, have you ever heard of a magician who broke an Oath?”
“Well,” said a brown-haired woman, “Frost didn’t technically...”
“Bullshit!” I screamed as Princess flared up, shooting flames ten feet in the air. Then in a calmer voice, I said, “Are you by any chance a member of the legal profession?”
“Why yes,” she said with a smug smile, “I am a member of the bar in New York.”
“Shut up,” I said, “I hate lawyers.”
With a firm sneer, she continued, “I most certainly will not shut up!”
Suddenly, I was in front of her, the tip of Princess an inch from her eyeball. “You know,” I said conversationally, “if I cut your tongue out with this sword, it may never grow back.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw some glances exchanged between members of the pack. Would they attack me for threatening one of their pack? Finally, the black-haired were said, “Ally, try not to anger the insane magician with the werewolf killing sword.”
I slowly pulled the blade back, lowering Princess to my side. Ally opened her mouth, and of her own volition, Princess rose up like a rattlesnake preparing to strike, eagerness visible in her quivering tip.
Ally closed her mouth. Then crossed her arms in anger, giving me the stink-eye.
Turning to the black-haired were, I said, “You spoke up. Does that make you the new alpha?”
He looked around at his group, and each gave a nod of assent, even the venomous Ally. As quick as that, the pack had a new alpha. “Yes, I’m Brock.”
Another damn soap opera name; these kids were making me feel old. “Well, Brock,” I said, “are you willing to bind the pack to an Oath of nonviolence against my pack? The Oath is reciprocal. No loopholes, no geographic restrictions”—I looked directly at Ally— “no lawyerly bullshit.”
“I swear,” said Brock, “we will offer no harm to you or your pack.” With a zither sigh of disappointment, the flames on Princess’ blade dropped down to a dim glow.
“And I will reciprocate,” I said. Then had a thought. “But if you”—I waved Princess at the entire pack— “take up human hunting again, I will kill you all.”
In the back of the pack, someone muttered, “You were the first.”
“And the last,” I responded.
“Now Brock,” I said, “since we’re no longer at each other’s throats, it’s time to discuss my data link.”
Ally jumped in quickly. “Bullshit; we paid a ton for that equipment, and the contract is still valid!” I had to give her credit; she had quickly figured out that our nonaggression pact meant I couldn’t cut her tongue out now.
“Unfortunately, counselor,” I said, “the previous contract was with the defunct Drake Frost. Magicians only make person-to-person Deals. My contract was with Frost. That contract is as dead as he is.”
She raised a finger to object, producing interesting jiggling of her bare breasts, then stopped with her mouth open. She had just realized she had no recourse. Her mouth clamped shut, and she resumed the stink-eye. I just smiled at her.
“So, Brick—” I said in my friendliest voice, only to be interrupted.
“It’s Brock,” he said patiently, ignoring my jibe. Good, he was a lot harder to provoke than Frost had been.
“Yes, Brock,” I said. “Now I was thinking that my essential participation in the firm could best be remunerated by a percentage of ownership, instead of a fixed fee.” The pack’s collective eyes opened wide at this display of arrogance.
“But, that’s not possible—” stammered Brock.
I spoke over him, saying, “So I think twenty-five percent ownership would be fair.”
“Twenty-five percent!” shouted Ally. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have no idea how much money that would be and what we would have to give up.” Crossing her arms again, she finished, “No fucking way!”
Actually, I did have a pretty good idea of how much money that represented, since I had seen the displays in Frost’s office.
“Yes. Way,” I said, then continued, glancing at her waistline, where not an ounce of excess fat was displayed, “You might have to tighten your belt, but that might not be a bad thing.” From the look in her eyes, I was happy the nonaggression pact was in place.
“Twenty-five percent of the company would cripple the firm,” said Brock. “We could give you Frost’s ten percent without cutting anyone else in the pack out.” I heard muttering in the background.
“Ten percent seems awfully low,” I ruminated. “I’d really like to make this Deal work, but I just don’t...” I trailed off. Then continued, “But while visiting your offices to install the equipment that is the foundation for all of your income, I did take a shine to Frost’s office and those pictures on the walls.”
“Tell you what,” I continued, as if regretfully passing a great deal, “throw in Frost’s old office, including all the artwork, as a place for me or my representatives to work, and I’ll take the ten percent.”
“A penthouse office and millions of dollars of artwork?” screeched Ally. “Are you insane?”
“Yeah,” I said, “you’re right. It’s a crazy idea. I’ll stick with the thirty percent. I can buy my own skyscraper and artwork.” I turned away, safe now that we had the nonaggression pact, and walked over to the rapidly cooling body of Frost, picking up the broken manacles on my way. No way was I going to leave an object like that lying around. I stored them in my satchel.
It took Ally a few seconds to digest my statement. “Thirty percent?” she screeched. “It was twenty-five percent five minutes ago.”
“Yeah, Ally-cat,” I said. “That was before I knew I’d have to deal with you. An extra five percent is the least it would take to put up with your antics.”
The rest of the pack stared at Ally, mentally counting how much she had just cost them. Several growls and mutters indicated that she was not the pack’s favorite anymore.
The pack huddled together to work out their differences. I stood over the body of Drake Frost, now a prematurely aged werewolf corpse.
A silent query of Princess revealed she considered this task beneath her, so I leaned her against the dead tree, reached into my satchel, and pulled out a KA-BAR knife and a plastic bag. It was worn, but razor-sharp. However, even this well-honed blade made slow going as I sawed through Frost’s ears. The bastard was tough in every cell.
“He’s desecrating Drake’s body,” screeched Ally.
“Magicians always keep their promises,” I said, pulling free one ear and putting it in the plastic bag. “‘I’ll wear your ears on my belt,’” I quoted myself.
As I started sawing on the other ear, I continued, “Anyway, bitch, weren’t you planning on eating me?” The second ear finally came free and I turned and faced her. “I guess chewing me up and shitting me out was not desecration, but chopping off parts of your alpha is?”
Ally’s eyes turned yellow as her inner wolf fought to come out, and she took a step towards me. I raised one hand, and Princess flew across the glade to smack into my palm. Ally stopped, swallowed, then forced the wolf back down. Her eyes returned to normal.
Someone in the huddle pushed at Ally, bringing her closer to me. I looked at her levelly, waiting for her to speak first. Licking her dry lips, Ally said, “We would be happy to give you Frost’s old office, all of
the artwork, and anything else of his you wish. And…and ten percent ownership represented by Frost’s equity.”
Strangely, the fact that she hated me so much made her even more attractive to me. I sniffed suspiciously to see if she was using pheromones. No, just the scent of a woman crossed with a wolf. Could the alpha’s life force be affecting me? Making me attracted to were bitches? I shook off the question and walked past Ally, back to the pack.
I turned to Brock. “Is this the Deal you wish?” At his puzzled look, I continued, “Magician’s Deals are all person-to-person. No corporations, no evading responsibility, no lawyerly bullshit.” I had been about to say “man-to-man,” but that would have set Ally off to no profit. “This Deal is between me and Brock, the alpha of the pack,” I finished.
“I accept the Deal,” said Brock.
“Great!” I said. “Only a couple of more administrative items to discuss.”
Brock walked away from the pack with me; he was smart enough to know it would be easier to negotiate without Ally interjecting. “What other items?”
“The fate of Red,” I said with a flat face, “the bitch who trussed me up like a Christmas turkey and delivered me to Frost.”
“No problem,” said Brock. “She’s been cast out of the pack. If she’s still in New York tomorrow, she’ll be torn to pieces.”
“That sounds good,” I mused, rubbing my chin, “but I was hoping to get my hands on her myself.”
“Pack rules are clear,” said Brock. “She’s been declared a ‘lone wolf.’ Any member who sees her after the deadline is bound to attack her.”
“Who among your group hates her the most?” I asked.
“No contest,” said Brock, “Ally and she have never gotten along.” He chuckled. “They were roommates in college.”
“Doesn’t seem like Ally gets along with anybody,” I said.
Brock’s shoulders rose in a shrug, but he remained silent. He wasn’t about to get caught up in slandering one of his own. My estimation of him as the pack’s leader increased.
