by J. P. Rice
“Hello, old friend,” I said as we wrapped our arms around each other.
He broke the embrace and staggered backward, grabbing my shoulder for balance. “We thought you were dead. Where you been?”
“I’ve been staying away from it all.”
“Everyone thinks you’re dead.” He laughed and his chins jiggled. “Have you been to Clara Spiritus to see the Gods?”
“Fook them. What, have you gone to the dark side?” I asked in an ominous tone. Retirement had afforded me the ability to watch an abundance of movies like Star Wars and the Marvel Universe.
He squinted, and the bridge of his nose wrinkled in confusion. I’d forgotten I was talking to someone secluded on a secret island. He said, “I don’t get the reference, but I get the point. I still hate the Gods as much as you. Just praying for the day when they ask me to join so that I can tell them to piss right off.”
Goibniu and I felt like the Celtic Gods had overlooked us for membership in the pantheon. The secretive selection process had no rhyme or reason and none of the deities ever talked about it. We’d seen several members admitted that were well below our standard. It had caused us to resent the Celtic Gods and we developed an unbreakable bond.
“Did you come here for some pleasure?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
“You know damn well what I came for. Look at my old ass.” I held my arms out to my sides, skin sagging.
“Follow me to the bar.” He gestured with a swipe of two fingers. “I don’t want to say too much, but you look old. Really old. How’d that happen?”
“You know how I went undercover in the Red Cavern, right?”
Goibniu went behind the bar and primed a golden pump on the wooden cask. “Of course. I heard they lost complete contact with you. They said you died down there.”
I put my forearms on the bar and leaned forward to watch Goibniu. “Technically, I suppose I did. But somehow, I rose out of the liquid fire and escaped that pit. Unfortunately, the ordeal jacked me up physically and mentally. Before that, I’d barely had any aches or pains and I thought immortals never got old.”
Goibniu chuckled and snagged a golden chalice from the bar. “Common misconception. Most people think immortals can’t die either. But we can. And so can the Gods or there would never be openings for the pantheon. Luckily, I have the remedy right here.”
I massaged my neck. “Good because I’ve been having a lot of pain for the past decade and when I use my magic, I grow old. Fast. Like warp speed. I’m not going to lie, it scares the shit out of me. Don’t tell anyone, of course.”
He stopped pumping and set the chalice under the spout at the bottom. He slid a lever to the side and the elixir of youth gushed out. “I would never destroy your reputation as a stone-hearted, vindictive she-bitch.”
He handed me the half-full drink that looked like ginger ale. “And I thank you kindly. Cheers.” I held the goblet out to him and chugged the carbonated drink that tasted like cherry coke with a shitload of lime. Not bad. After a few seconds of angst, I stepped to the right and looked in the mirror.
I breathed a sigh of relief. The thirty-year-old version had returned. My long auburn hair had regained its gloss and my vibrant eyes had returned. The saggy skin and wrinkles had disappeared. The true test. I turned to both sides and the nasty crow’s feet had vanished. Success.
Something surged inside me, a rush of energy recharging my body, stealing away the aches and pains. But how long would it last?
I turned back to the bar and smiled at my gracious host. Now I could return to Hilton Head and relax.
“There she is. I’m shocked this is the first time you’ve ever needed it. Most don’t get to live for over five hundred years before their first visit.” Goibniu leaned on the bar, and as if nothing had happened, he asked casually, “Have you been lying low in Pittsburgh?”
I sat down on a stool at the bar. “No. I went south for a while, literally and figuratively. The warm weather is nice. I need to get back and see my father, though. Has anything new been going on there?”
“Interestingly enough, yes.” He searched around the bar for a few moments and grabbed a wine glass full of red. Spilling it liberally, he took a big gulp. He belched and continued, “Apparently, the Celtic Gods have a new Golden Boy, who they are all fawning all over. He’s taken care of a few problems in Pittsburgh and Mabon tells me they can’t stop gushing about him. He’s stealing our thunder is what he is doing. I bet this island that they make him a God before either of us. Maeve’s vacated spot is still open, mind you.”
“And they put him in Pittsburgh? My city?” I asked as irritation started building inside me.
Goibniu swirled his drink around the glass, spilling more of the burgundy liquid on the bar. “You left it vacated. And now it might cost us from getting into the pantheon,” he added, sounding agitated as he walked around beside me.
He acted as if I’d been sitting on an island, partying for the last three decades. “Sorry, I was recovering from being covered in lava. And before that I was trying to rescue the Dagda’s Harp. What have you done, exactly?” I pinched his love handles, and he squirmed away.
He set his drink on the bar, licked the wine off his fingertips and faced me. He lowered his head, his drunken eyes almost covered by his prominent brow. Making sure no eavesdroppers heard him, he spoke in almost a whisper, “Let’s just work together to take this prick out. Then you can have your city back.”
I turned away. I couldn’t get caught up in this nonsense. “I don’t need to take this guy out.” I faced Goibniu again. “In fact, I don’t even care anymore. Sure, being a Goddess would have been nice, but I won’t let it drive me to madness anymore. I’m getting too old for this shit. Let the...what did you call him? Pony Boy. Fook it. Let him have it.” I used fook instead of fuck. I’d picked up the habit from my father a long time ago.
I didn’t really have an accent. A slight Pittsburgh one perhaps. I’d moved around and worked undercover so much that I’d never really developed a thick accent.
Goibniu lifted his head and his eyes widened. “It’s Golden Boy, by the way.” He rubbed one index finger over the other. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. I did not expect to hear that defeatist attitude. At least, not from you. What if I told you the cross winds of rumors are telling me that Lugh’s Spear has been seen in Pittsburgh? Gale force winds.”
“That’s bull. Don’t play around like that.” He knew what those two words meant to me.
He smirked and swiped his drink off the bar, taking a few sips and staring at me mysteriously. “It’s easy to look around here and realize that I like to play, but I am serious right now. Nothing concrete, but lots of whispers. I knew you’d want to know about it.”
Damn right I wanted to know. My husband had gone missing hunting that cursed thing. The spear constantly gnawed away at me. I could go on for hours about the spear, but for everyone’s benefit, brevity would be best.
King Nuada had gifted the enchanted spear to Lugh, the great warrior from the Tuatha Dé Danann. The spear was charged with lightning and never missed in battle. Whoever possessed the spear always won. Lugh had lost it—nobody had pinpointed an accurate date when it had gone missing—and it had made its rounds over history.
Many accounts claimed the Romans had lost it right before they were sacked by King Alaric and the Visigoths. It went missing for a long time before ending up in the hands of a French peasant. Then Napoleon took control of the spear in his attempt at world domination but couldn’t keep it.
I still vividly remembered the day I’d gotten the call about the Nazis gaining control of the spear. The man from the Not Normal Agency had sounded so frantic. As a master shifter and illusion specialist, I went undercover and raided the ranks of the Nazis. I found the spear and took it out of Europe the day before D-Day.
Fed up with the destruction it had almost caused, I dropped it into the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I thought no one would find it. But it appeared somebody had. And Lugh
’s Spear had returned to my old stomping grounds.
The itch I used to get when starting a case popped up again and begged to be scratched. I had to ignore the feeling, or it would get worse. Like poison ivy.
In an “I vant to suck your blood” vampire accent, Goibniu said, “But since you’re retired, I guess you’ll be going back into hibernation.” Chuckling, he steepled his fingers in front of his jiggling chins.
This put me in an awkward position. “I might go to Pittsburgh, but I’m not chasing the spear anymore. I’m just going to stop by and say hi to all my friends.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You have friends besides me?”
I laughed internally. “Surprisingly, yes. Thanks for letting me sip from your chalice. I’ll probably be seeing you much more often now that I’m aging like this.”
“You should go see Dian Cécht,” Goibniu suggested. “Take a quick soak in his healing cauldron. That should take care of those weary bones. Or you could take some magic from someone with strong healing powers.”
They were good suggestions, but my magic stealing days were over. “No. In fact, don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me. I’m not ready to see the Gods right now. I don’t know if I ever want to see them again for that matter.”
He agreed, “I understand that more than most. You flying out of here yourself, or do you need a lift?”
“I’d love to fly myself, but that distance would make me use a lot of magic and age greatly. I have to be careful now. I can’t be reckless.” A frown formed on my face at the harsh realization.
“Too bad for you. But don’t worry, we’ll get you where you need to go.” He waved his hand around in the air and a few seconds later, Theodoro stood next to us. Goibniu gave me a hug goodbye, and said, “Just tell him where you’re going, and he’ll find you a flight.”
Nodding, Theodoro said, “The peryton named Red Streak is ready to go. What is your destination, Junipher?”
Pittsburgh or Hilton Head?
The choice had seemed easy less than an hour ago. I’d planned to go right back to Hilton Head and stay away from all the nonsense waiting for me up north.
Why had Goibniu uttered those two words?
Lugh’s Spear.
Chapter 4
As I opened the door to the Not Normal Agency, something across the street caught my eye. A mother and daughter were walking down the street, holding hands. I stared longingly, chewing the inside of my left cheek and contemplating how cruel life could be.
That was all I’d ever wanted. A simple life with a husband and kids. How had everything spiraled out of control? I’d done my best with the hand the Gods had dealt me. At least, I’d convinced myself of that.
In the distance, I heard a train leaving the station capped with a ceremonious woo-hoo and a hearty smokestack blast. People embarking on different chapters of their lives. A chance at a new start. And here I was, back to the same old chapter I’d always gotten stuck on and never finished.
I took in some frosty Pittsburgh air, exhaled a breath cloud and stepped inside the door. The simple one room office had two desks facing the door and the smell of fast food fries hit me instantly. I recognized the man and woman behind each desk. Barely.
It was as if I’d traveled thirty years ahead in a time machine. As an immortal, I sometimes forgot how cruel Father Time could be. Lauren and Randall had worked here when I walked out that door over thirty years ago.
“Oh, shit,” Randall exclaimed.
My trusty friends set aside their lunches, got up and walked over to hug me. I didn’t mind hugging humans. They wouldn’t sap your powers. I took my coat off, set it on the back of a chair and took a good look at my employees.
The last time I’d seen Lauren Underhill, she was as skinny as a rail. Now, she appeared plump and grandmotherly. She wore her blond hair—highlighted with notes of gray—up in a bun with two pencils holding it together.
Randall Lawton was around thirty the last time I’d seen him. The plump man was dressed in black and gold Steelers gear from head to toe. He wore his winter hat inside, but he wore it high enough so that I could see some of his hair. His jet-black hair had gone white except for a few remaining dark streaks.
We spent a few minutes catching up on the past. I told them the same things I’d told Zeus and Goibniu and respected that they didn’t ask about my time at the Red Cavern. I still wasn’t ready to talk about that dark period that had only created one faint ray of hope.
Randall put his hand on my shoulder and spoke with a thick Pittsburgh accent, “’Fore you even ask, like I know yinz was gonna, we ain’t heard nothin’ ‘bout Darabond. Sorry.”
I looked at him with a strained smile. “Am I that easy to read?”
Lauren put her hand on my arm and tickled my elbow. Apparently, she hadn’t kicked that creepy habit over the past three decades. “We know you, June. Nobody’s pulling for you more than us. I still can’t believe it’s you. How the hell have you gotten younger, by the way?”
I smirked shyly and turned away. “A lady never tells her secrets.”
“Well luckily, you’re not a lady,” Lauren joked, but there was thorned truth to her words.
Randall laughed and limped over to his desk. The Not Normal Agency had been set up in the mid-70s mainly to gather intelligence about the supernatural happenings in Pittsburgh. Jonathan Rickleshaw—one of the top vampires in Pittsburgh—and I had started the Agency to keep our fingers on the pulse of the undead.
The operation was simple. We sent out detectives to gather information and they called it into the office. It was a great gig for Normals who wanted to be part of the supernatural life. I was glad to see Jonathan hadn’t shuttered the agency after I’d disappeared. It was a great resource after all.
“So what has been going on in Pittsburgh lately?” I asked casually as I turned around a picture on Randall’s desk of him and his family on the beach. It was ironic that I’d felt sorry for Randall’s aging earlier because this picture made me jealous of his life. I’d trade my immortality in a second for a family to call my own.
Randall cocked his head to the side. “Come on, June. Is it just a crazy co-winky-dink that you show up right when rumors of Lugh’s Spear are running rampant?”
“Maybe. There have been stranger coincidences,” I mumbled. “I have heard a word or two about the Spear. What do you two know?”
Lauren leaned over her desk and scooped up a pack of Nicorette. Good for her. She was a ‘two packs a day’ gal the last time I’d seen her. She shoved the gum into her mouth, and as she chewed it, she said, “Nothing good. He said this. But she said this. It’s all just hot air now. Bunch of different stories with no similar pattern to follow. No real bites. With that said, there’s a hell of a lot of barking going on around the city.”
Good. I didn’t need to be chasing that cursed object again. “Hasn’t that happened a hundred times before only to end up being blown out of proportion?”
“Not wit’ the amount of chatter we hearin’ right now. I don’t want to say nothin’ that could turn out to be bullshit. Even if it does turn up around here, yinz ain’t got nothin’ to worry about with Mike Merlino around.”
“What the fook is a Mike Merlino?” I asked, confused.
Lauren stuffed her gum in her cheek. She giggled as she said, “No. His name’s Mike Merlino. He seems to have a lot of titles, but he’s been dubbed the magical guardian of Pittsburgh, sent by the Celtic Gods to protect the city.”
The words felt like a dagger being plunged into my chest. Pittsburgh was my city. And the Gods had just twisted the blade. “I’ve heard a few things about this kid.”
Lauren shook her head, eyes wide. “Oh, he’s no kid.” She counted on her fingers as she continued, “He’s already defeated the Jersey Devil, the Sendal Spirits, saved the city from the dragons of Sleepy Willow, liberated Sleepy Willow of the tyrannical King Ballistar and rescued Cyclone Woman so that the tornadoes would stop.”
Hearing it all la
id out made for a proper resume. I had to figure out how to use this kid to my advantage. “How long has he been the guardian for? Ten? Fifteen years?”
Randall stated bluntly, “Less than two.” He waved two fingers, unnecessarily reinforcing his words.
Holy shit. That meant he had a great deal of magical power that would only grow with time. Much as I’d like to write him off and go about my business, I couldn’t underestimate this little shit. “Is there anything else going on around here?”
Randall held two long fingers horizontally in front of his chest. “Two of the four horsemen was spotted a few weeks back.” He thought for a moment, tapping his chin with his fingers. “Nah. Spotted is an understatement. Them mufuggers caused a damn ruckus down at the strip club on 31st Street.”
“Which two?” I asked.
“Arn and Ole. They started wrestling each other and the bouncers tried to break it up and it just went haywire from there,” Lauren said and spit her gum into the wastebasket next to her desk.
I couldn’t believe it. Something big was brewing in my city. “War and Famine are in Pittsburgh. What else do you know?”
Randall shrugged his shoulders. “That’s it. None of our sources spoke directly to either of them. So we ain’t sure what their purpose is.”
Their purpose was always clear. Wherever they went, death followed. Was it connected to Lugh’s Spear? The Horsemen were an ominous precursor to say the least.
Lauren handed me a small, rectangular object. I asked, “What’s this?”
She narrowed her eyes and appeared confused. “It’s a cell phone.”
“I see that. I thought it had something crazy worked into it like a James Bond gadget.” Being out of the mythical relic hunting game had provided a lot of time to binge read a lot of books and watch plenty of television shows and movies. I missed having access to the Celtic Library and the Sacred Pages of magic secrets, so I had entertained myself mostly with Netflix and my Kindle.
