by Al K. Line
"Hey, you should be thanking me. Nigel said the assignment was probably dangerous, but he didn't say nothing about people coming to blow his fucking head off. Bad news, innit?"
Steve was getting antsy, clearly keen to leave. Me too. I needed time to think not just about my current situation, and how the hell we were going to get away from here, but about the bag and whatever it contained.
How in Buster's name was I supposed to unload this now? Plus, and just as important if not more so, how was I supposed to get paid?
The back door to the bakery crashed open, making us both jump. On autopilot, without consciously thinking of it, my wand was in my hand, energy already spiraling through my system, gathering momentum as it funneled down my arm and the burnished sigils in the wood danced with life.
Beside me, Steve was making weird noises like when you rip the thigh off a chicken, bones and gristle crunching in all kinds of nasty ways. I could see the metamorphosis begin, as surprised as always at the speed, the ferocity, the intensity, the downright nastiness of the whole shifter thing.
Rather him than me. I'd stick to the wand, thank you very much.
Chased
Steve's brown canvas backpack fell from his shoulders and his clothes followed right after. His shirt split and his trousers the same, and it was obvious why he favored lightweight cotton over heavy denim or leather, same as all shifters. They weren't big bikers that's for sure. Can you imagine your body changing shape while you have to try to contend with a leather jacket or thick boots?
An obvious army type didn't even pause as he crashed through the door, gun raised and already firing. I dodged behind the large bin and shouted, "Hurry up," to Steve, but it was already too late.
I pulled back on the lid of the bin and dragged it back to cover me as I headed for the gates. Steve was no longer the smart, confident man I'd just met. He was a large, I mean way too large, and they're big buggers anyway, badger. I know, right?
"A badger? You've got to be kidding me!"
Steve the badger said nothing, but one thing I knew for sure, no way would Nigel have employed a Wild One if he'd thought he'd get a badger. You'd expect a dog or a tiger or something, but truth be told they were about as rare as, well, a shifter.
I soon changed my mind about Steve's birth curse as the pot-bellied badger, fur bristling, teeth bared, claws scraping against the flour-covered courtyard, dashed forward in a blur of black and white and the gunman went down. Steve snapped tight at his upper thigh and claws raked halfway up the spook's torso.
Jumping out to help, I ran toward them but the animal was overcome with bloodlust and it snarled, warning me to stay away from its prey. I held my hands up, backed off, and as the man screamed and his gun whipped around to the badger's head, his finger readied to fire, Steve raked deep into the man's neck, found purchase, then yanked hard, its body pulled forward as flesh gave way. The badger sank its teeth right into the poor guy's face.
With a grunt and a tug, the man's face was ripped clear away. He gurgled and twitched for a second before he was still.
The badger turned and stared at me with unbridled anger, almost like it was defending its offspring. Slowly, it advanced, fur rasping, oversized teeth stained with gore, small gobbets of flesh trailing from its mouth.
"Um, nice badger. Thanks for the help. Can we, er, go now?" I knew I wanted to, but the last thing I was about to do was turn my back on this powerful creature.
The badger growled as I took a step back, but then it halted and I understood the struggle it was going through. This was the drawback, or one of them anyway, to being a shifter. When the change was complete it was no easy thing to come back from it. I knew many shifters lost themselves to the animal inside and never returned. It took control and a strong will to force your human sensibilities back into the animal, to stop it from overwhelming you completely.
Strange sounds emanated from deep inside the creature's extended belly. The battle for supremacy; man vs beast. But Steve wouldn't be tasked with bodyguard duty if he wasn't an accomplished shifter and soon he began to transform. The change back to human was just as bad, if not worse, than the shift to animal. Bones cracked and flesh reconfigured, and although the metamorphosis took but a few seconds there was a world of hurt experienced in that short time.
Down on all fours, Steve said, "A little help here?" so I held out a hand and hauled him to his feet. Tiny hairs still stuck from his body like a patchy coat, but as the shift completed I watched them recede and the open follicles close, leaving him just a man. Albeit a naked and muscular man with a lot of blood staining his beard and neck.
"Let's get out of here, there'll be more of them. We gotta go." As he spoke, Steve pulled an expensive and strong-smelling pack of wipes from a side pocket of the backpack, wiped himself down with deft strokes and even combed his beard. Satisfied, he drew clothes from his backpack and dressed with practiced efficiency.
"Never knew badgers were so vicious," I said.
"You better believe it," he warned, then pushed open the gates to the alley, checked the coast was clear, and said, "Come on, mate, let's go."
I didn't argue, didn't have time to think, so with nothing better in mind I followed Steve the badger out into the alley. Just before we closed the gates I took a deep breath in through my nose. Boy did the back of a bakery smell nice. My stomach rumbled, but I caught a glimpse of the dead spook and, strangely, the hunger pangs vanished.
New Friends
The Wild Ones were, by their very nature, good at goon work, especially for those in the magical community. Anyone who knows you can turn into a wolf, tiger, even an oversized badger, is gonna think twice before they give you any lip.
Problem being, it also made them volatile and unpredictable. The animal inside didn't care about niceties, about causing a scene, so when they changed you had better be sure there was nobody around to see. Over the years, they'd become adept at keeping their nature hidden, could learn control under the tutelage of the more experienced of their kind, and they stuck together.
They mastered their nature or died, looked out for each other, and weren't above using their violent side if the reward was high. There was no doubt Nigel would have paid them well for this job, and that begged the question, why? Why had Nigel felt the need to have backup goons in addition to his own? What was this all about and what the hell was in the bag?
I kept asking myself the same damn questions over and over, and it was getting on my nerves. I hated being in the dark, liked a mystery about as much as I liked poking myself in the face with sharp sticks, and if I could have kicked Nigel then I would have. Maybe poked him with said sticks, too.
We moved carefully down the alley and I focused on the now. Before we'd got halfway, Steve pulled me aside—which was becoming an annoying habit of his—and moments later I heard footsteps approaching. With our backs to a wall, we weren't exactly invisible, just less of a target, and we both peered down the alley at the same time to see a woman in smart casuals approaching. She was slim and curvy in all the right places, moved with a grace and fluidity of motion that marked her as a Wild One even to my often less than insightful eyes.
The woman stopped in front of us and observed us with hands on ample hips, frowning. "You know people will talk if you hang out in back alleys, right?" She had a lightness to her voice made more attractive by the slightly raw sound—definitely a smoker. Husky yet melodious at the same time.
I wondered what she shifted into. Her hips were wide, sweeping down to shapely legs under tailored trousers, and she wore a smart white blouse that showed off her curves delightfully yet still remained demure and understated. She had absolutely nothing to prove and made a point of showing it, which was kind of a contradiction but trust me, she pulled it off with real style. She had long, wavy blond hair and wore no make-up, which I liked immensely. The hair must have been a dye-job because she had the blackest eyes I'd ever seen on a human. Real spooky.
"Hey, Candy," said Steve.<
br />
"Hey, Candy," I said, giving her my best smile. "I'm Arthur."
"I know who you are. We were watching you and Nigel."
"Yeah, not well enough."
She scowled at me and anger flared, so she turned her attention to Steve. "What the fuck was that all about? Simple job, you said. Nice little earner. Just watching the posh twat while he did some nonsense with the wizard. You never said anything about guns and him getting his head blown off." Wow, she was intense. Scary.
I focused on a button on her blouse, just to calm myself, but then realized what I was doing and looked up. She caught my gaze and I knew she knew I knew I was acting like a naughty school kid. Damn, why did sexy women still make me feel like a prepubescent wizard in training?
Steve held his hands up in protest. "Hey, how was I supposed to know? I've done lots of work for Nigel over the years. It always goes to plan. I watch out for him when he doesn't want his spooks involved and there's hardly ever trouble. And never like this. Just the odd chancer, not nutters with sniper rifles."
"Yeah, well, this isn't what I signed up for. Anyway, we dealt with it." Candy flicked her golden locks over her shoulders and I caught a hint of flesh between the gaps in her blouse.
"Dealt with it?" I asked.
"Yes, dealt with it. Meaning, the sniper's dead, and there are two others who are also dead that were after you guys. Plus all Nigel's men are dead, killed by whoever these guys are. Were."
"Damn, you're good," said Steve, smiling and clearly trying to win Candy back over. If he'd begun panting and sniffing her crotch it would have made it no more obvious he had a thing for her.
"Dick," muttered Candy.
"So that's it, then?" I asked. "All the bad guys are dead and the very bad guys, too. No spooks, no people after the spooks?"
"They weren't after the spooks, were they? They were after you and Nigel," said Candy, her focus way too intense.
"Look, your guess is as good as mine why this has gone to shit, but one thing I do know is where there are people trying to kill you there will always be more. It's time for me to go. You guys should leave as well. It's not safe here. The place will be crawling with police as this wasn't exactly done on the quiet."
They knew I was right. The streets would be teeming with all manner of people none of us wished to talk to, and besides, it was obvious that whoever had ordered Nigel shot and had been after me all day wasn't about to stop now.
"What's in the bag?" asked Candy, face turning hard.
"I have no idea, and I don't want to know. Nigel was supposed to take it, but there was something up. Something wrong. A lot of bad people want this, and I wish I'd never set eyes on it."
"So, give it to me," she said. Steve went to speak but she stopped him with a raised palm. No prizes for guessing who was in charge here.
"That a request or an order? Because I can tell you this for free, Candy. You are not getting this bag and I'm doing you a favor. I need to think about this, decide what to do, but I will not hand this over to anyone unless I'm sure that's the right thing to do. Understand?" Much as she was trying to bully and intimidate me, I still didn't wish her or Steve dead, and apart from that I wasn't about to let an unknown magical item loose in the world. That way lay disaster, for all concerned.
Candy shifted her hips slightly, but still dominated with her presence. She was powerful, no doubt, and although I knew the Wild Ones had no leader as such, I was sure that at least in these parts she was someone that called the shots if the need arose. Shifters never took kindly to rules and being bossed about, but they did respect the powerful, and those with intelligence. Steve was clearly in for a considerable backlash for getting them involved in something he would have told his buddies was relatively safe.
"Okay, how many people have you lost?" I asked, trying to convince Candy this was a bad idea.
"None, we aren't amateurs."
She blinked twice and I knew she was lying. "But some got hurt, right?"
"A little," she conceded. "The sniper was well hidden and one of ours got rather bashed about before he brought the guy down."
"And you want to take the bag and remain involved in this? Why not just walk away and forget it ever happened?"
"Because they hurt us, and we don't let that happen," she said.
"Come on, Candy, The Hat's right. This is out of our league. Whatever's in the bag is bad news. We don't need this crap." Steve turned to me. "Arthur, you need to get rid of that and quick."
"Tell me about it. But I can't just throw it in the river. I need time to figure this out."
"When you guys have quite finished?" Damn but she was one bossy lady. "Okay, we're done. But we'll see you home safely, Arthur. Our performance this afternoon was lackluster. Nigel's dead and our pride took a dent. Can we make it up to you?"
I didn't trust her one bit. Either she was fishing for a way to get the bag without causing a scene, or she wanted to hang around to gather more information. Either way, it was not best for me. "That's a kind offer, but unnecessary. I'm used to this kinda thing, it's what I do."
"We know. We know all about The Hat." She cocked her head to the side, and I caught a whiff of her perfume as a breeze ruffled her hair. Damn but she smelled fine.
"Then you know this is nothing you can just go sell to the nearest criminal. This is high end stuff, strictly niche, and all it's brought is death. I'll deal with it, but thanks."
For a moment, I wondered if they'd try to kill me right there and then, but I held myself in check, made no move to wave the old wand at them, and waited it out. If they tried to take the bag then they were a lot more stupid than they looked, and I didn't think they were stupid at all. The Wild Ones may have been a breed apart from average humans but they were smarter, and they had a large community of others they could call on in time of need, but with that came increased responsibility.
They'd already put others in danger by becoming involved in this. If the bad guys felt shifters were in the way then the whole community was at risk, and if that happened there would be severe consequences for Candy and Steve and anyone else involved. Risking bringing down the wrath of an unknown adversary who was obviously unconcerned about killing in public was a big commitment, and I felt confident enough that she wouldn't take that chance.
"Okay, you can go," she said, like she was the boss of me. She wasn't, but I just smiled and said, "Thanks." No point causing more trouble than I already had.
I held out my hand to Steve and we shook. "Thanks for the help, I appreciate it."
"And thanks for not making too many crap jokes about my shift," said Steve, locking eyes, meaning what he said.
"If I caused any offense then I apologize. I run my mouth off when I'm stressed, but thank you for your thanks."
"When you two man-bitches have quite finished with the male bonding can we get out of here?" said Candy with zero interest in our manly ritual.
"Nice to meet you, Steve," I said, sure to say it so he knew I meant it.
"You too, Arthur. Be seeing you."
Steve took off after Candy and she waved over her shoulder, not bothering to turn around.
Nice folks, especially by shifter standards.
Right, time to get home. I had a date and I would not miss it, not for anything. Not even when I had people trying to kill me and steal stuff I didn't even want. Some things were more important, and I didn't miss dinner dates unless things were dire. Or more dire than this, anyway.
Okay, I had no idea what else to do, but I really hated skipping my evening ritual.
Home for Dinner
"It's getting dangerous out there," I said as I dumped the blasted bag in the hallway and took off my boots.
"You look like crap," said George, coming out of the kitchen and heading my way with something so perfect I could have kissed her.
"Ah, what the hell..." I tugged my boot, dropped it, dashed to my daughter and scooped her up in my arms. "Give Daddy a hug." I squeezed her tight, never want
ing to let go.
"Geddof me! Put me down, you muppet!" She wriggled and shrieked but I held her tight and made "Mmm," noises as I felt myself more restored than any magic could ever provide. This was the true magic in the world, the true life-giver. Closeness, human affection. Hugs.
There is nothing like wrapping your arms around somebody you care about and them doing likewise. Which was exactly what George was now doing, knowing it was useless to resist, that she'd be stuck there for eternity if she didn't give her old dad a cuddle.
The stress of the day vanished and the worry concerning the night to come faded away as we held each other in the hallway, everything quiet apart from the hum of the extractor in the kitchen and my breathing.
"Okay, old man, time to let go of your hostage and go get your nasty habit over with."
"Thank you, oh darling daughter of mine." I took the lung dart, a hand-rolled delight she now made for me so I didn't use excessive amounts of tobacco, she pulled from behind her ear and winked.
"Idiot."
Holding hands, even though she grumbled, we wandered into the kitchen. She let go and watched from the breakfast bar as I slid the doors into their cleverly designed recesses, allowing cooling air to fill the room. I found my Zippo in a pocket after some nervous, downright frightening searching, then lit up the rollie with excited fingers, lungs already burning with anticipation.
Just outside the kitchen, I took my first drag of the day and held it before exhaling deeply. Smoke drifted away across the garden and I relaxed a little.
"So gross," said George, waving away non-existent smoke from the other side of the kitchen. I was outdoors so she was overreacting a little, but it was for the best, made me be good.
I poked my tongue out at her and coughed happily.
When she moved in, I stopped smoking inside, but she kept on and on at me to stop entirely until I got so fed up with the incessant nagging that I blurted out a promise I regretted as soon as I made it but stuck to more often that not.
