by Martha Carr
Sometimes your luck just runs out.
Madge looked up from the tiny magazine she was reading.
What the hell? They make pixie-sized magazines? I can barely find human-sized physical magazines anymore.
The pixie fluttered out her seat and sniffed a few times. “Something smells off and nasty. Did you not shower today?”
Shay rolled up her sleeve. “A healing potion didn’t work, so I’m guessing this is magical. I was hoping Tubal-Cain might know something or someone who could help.”
Madge paled and made a face. “Damn spectrals. You’re in luck. He’s just in the back room. I’ll go get him.”
The pixie fluttered toward the back door. She lifted her hand, and the door opened without her touching it. She flew in, and about thirty seconds later, Tubal-Cain and Madge both emerged.
The pixie flew back to her chair and magazine, but the gnome walked toward Shay, clucking his tongue and shaking his head.
Not like I planned this. Cut me a little slack.
Shay shuffled toward a chair and dropped down with a hiss.
“Impressive.” Tubal-Cain tilted his head back and forth. “And what, Miz Carson, were you doing to get this kind of wound?”
“Making sure Michael Galbraith didn’t get brought back to life and making a shitload of money.”
The gnome’s brow lifted. “He was a very annoying wizard. And, what? One of his minions did this to you? That would be odd, considering the nature of the wound. It’s definitely some sort of curse, but it feels much more like a spectral curse than a dark wizard’s curse. Wrong smell, too.
Shay wondered how the pixie and gnome could just smell the thing and understand so much.
Magic is so fucking weird.
The tomb raider shook her head. “Not a curse. I had to grab a golden resurrection coffin. It was guarded by this invisible army of soldiers. One of them got a hit on me with his sword.”
Tubal-Cain nodded. “Ah, I see. That explains it all. The festering of your wound is a result of the curse on those soldiers. I’ve heard of them. Not the poor bastards’ fault…entirely. They messed with the wrong people centuries ago, and ended up, as a result, as the victims of very nasty magic that split their existence between different planes. Very rare thing, actually. Impressive in a disturbing sort of way.”
Shay blew out a breath. If anything, her arm hurt more since she’d stepped into the shop. “Can’t afford an excess of sympathy for anyone swinging a sword at my head. Those assholes were trying to kill me.”
“Yes, swinging and almost landing a clean blow.” The gnome chuckled. “You fought forty invisible spectrals without dying right then and there. I have to say I’m impressed, Miz Carson. You do have a knack for survival.”
“I had a magic sword. It helped.” Shay didn’t feel the need to explain that Lily had also helped. She assumed that the gnome knew somehow, but there was no reason to give him the satisfaction.
“Don’t be so modest, Miz Carson. Even with a magic blade, most single warriors would have been felled by such an army.” He rubbed his chin. “I wonder if your blade was enough to truly destroy them, or if they’ll return. It’s an interesting thing to consider.”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Shay took a few deep breaths. “I got the coffin, and it’s in good, safe hands and well away from any dark wizard cultists. My question for you is if you can do anything about my arm, or if I need to go to the hospital and fucking have them amputate it. It hurts like a motherfucker.”
Tubal-Cain rolled his eyes. “It’s just a little curse, no reason to be so dramatic. I have just the thing. You’d be surprised how often I see this sort of thing.”
Shay let out a sigh of relief. “Good. How much do I owe you?”
“A favor. I’ll even say a minor one.” The gnome gave her an almost feral grin. “Or you could go and get it amputated. That would stop the pain and spread of the infection. It might be interesting to see how you deal with such adversity.”
Shay forced a smile on her face. “I’ve grown rather attached to my arm. You have a deal.”
Tubal-Cain clapped. “Excellent. One moment. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared into the back and reappeared a minute later with a plain-looking black cloth.
The gnome offered the cloth to Shay. “Put it on the wound and wait. It’ll only take a minute, but it’ll be excruciating, so prepare yourself.”
Shay shrugged. “Better than chopping my arm off.” She grabbed the cloth and draped it over the infected cut.
Nothing happened for about five seconds, then the cloth suddenly tightened around her wound. She hissed. Tendrils detached from the material and threaded deep into her arm.
Shay closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. The ache became an inferno of agony. She managed to make it twenty seconds before she screamed, the pain knocking any other thought out of her head.
Then it stopped.
The tomb raider sat, hunched over, sweat all over her face, and panting. No burning, no pain, and no discomfort remained. She yanked the cloth from her arm. There was no wound or scar or even blood. The cloth fluttered to the ground.
Shay sat up. “Well, that was about as fun as crawling naked through glass.”
Tubal-Cain grinned and shrugged. “I do try and keep things interesting.”
When Shay stepped out of her Fiat into Warehouse Three, a sweet scent reached her nose. She tilted her head and sniffed a few times, trying to place it.
Peyton stood in front of a table near the oven kneading dough and whistling to himself. Flour covered the table, his apron, the floor, and even a wall yards away
How the hell did he manage that? Does he throw flour grenades in here?
Shay walked toward him, sniffing a few more times. Whatever Peyton was making, it wasn’t pizza.
Peyton looked up from his dough. “Hey, Shay.”
She searched around for a moment, spotting even more flour on walls, and a trail of floury cat footprints that led into the office.
“What are you doing?” Shay asked.
“Making cronuts. It’s like a croissant and a donut had a baby.”
“I know what they are.” Shay snorted and rolled her eyes. “I used to live in New York. That’s where they were invented.”
She blinked, realizing that several crates across the room were coated with flour. Some of the physics involved didn’t seem possible.
Okay, I don’t want to know. I’ll just ignore it and hope he has it cleaned up by the next time I come.
Shay spun on her heel and marched back toward her car.
“Where you going?” Peyton called.
“I’ve got research to do.”
Failure was the fire in the crucible of greatness. Every time a woman made a mistake, she should just think back, examine it, and figure out how to avoid making that mistake again.
Shay wanted to believe that, but her heart wouldn’t let her.
No. Mistakes burned in her soul, reminders of her failure and the fact that she wasn’t the best in the world at something. The best in the world wouldn’t have screwed up and failed to recover an artifact twice.
At least in Antarctica she’d had the excuse of being outclassed by Yulia, but her first real failure as a tomb raider hadn’t involved any witches, or even any enemies. Austria. Lake Toplitz.
Shay settled into a chair in front of a Warehouse Four table and set a book in front of her, The Lost Treasures of the Third Reich.
She’d gone for gold and a magical persuasion pin. She’d escaped with her life and diamonds. At the time she’d convinced itself it had been a good trade, but any tomb raid that ended without the artifact in hand couldn’t be excused as anything other than a pathetic failure.
What? I think I’m okay to go back at some point because that trapped-log maze collapsed? What if some super-powerful water witch goes over and just parts the lake like she’s Moses?
The job hadn’t been finished. Even if she didn’t care ab
out the gold, she needed to go back someday and get that pin for her own sanity.
I don’t fail. I only retreat temporarily.
Shay grinned. She’d make her mistakes part of her way going forward. The students might like to hear about Lake Toplitz. She wouldn’t tell them, of course, about how she’d gone there to acquire the pin, but it’d be a nice entry point into the magical aspects of the Nazi regime and how their dangerous artifacts were now spread all over the world.
The tomb raider opened the book to Chapter Four, The Lost Gold of the Third Reich, and smiled.
Past failures might burn, but there was only one direction to go: forward.
“I’m doing pretty damned well so far,” Shay mumbled.
17
Shay yawned and stretched her hands over her head as she stared at her bedroom computer. She missed James. He’d headed out of town for some stupid barbeque thing the same day she’d returned from England. They just kept missing each other lately.
She chuckled. Guess this is what it means to be a busy couple with independent careers.
The tomb raider tapped away, delving into the nastier and seedier corners of the dark web. Although Peyton’s assistance had freed up her time so she could concentrate on artifact recovery, she didn’t want to get too lazy and forget how to find information herself.
Peyton wasn’t a piece of equipment, but a man. He couldn’t guarantee he’d be with her forever, either by choice or tragedy. To that end, it was good to spend time during the week checking into her old online haunts for information and figure out what was new and hot in the world of murder and assassination.
Her phone rang with a call from Peyton.
“Huh, he’s up late.” Shay picked up the phone. “What’s up? Trouble?”
“His heart didn’t grow three sizes that night,” Peyton answered. Panic was evident in his voice.
“What are you talking? Whose heart?”
He sighed. “My brother. I was just following up on Randy, and I found some people poking around looking for me, and I’ve traced them back to you. He hasn’t given up completely. Like I said, his heart didn’t grow three sizes. He’s never going to give up.”
“We did the Christmas Carol, not The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.” Shay adjusted the phone so she could hold it with her neck.
She started tapping at her own computer. She wanted to verify what Peyton was telling her and make sure he hadn’t imagined things in a fit of paranoia. After all, she’d spent months trying to instill paranoia in him.
“Same difference,” Peyton replied. “The point is, he’s still coming. He’s just hired guys who are a little more careful and subtle this time. What are we going to do? Shit, shit, shit.”
“The way I see it, you’ve got two options here.” Shay frowned at a window that popped up. Peyton was right. His brother was still poking around.
You stupid dumbass. You’re really trying to push me into killing you, aren’t you?
“What are the options?”
“Option one: I become Old Shay and handle him in a very final and bloody manner. I can do it in such a way that it won’t be linked back to you, which is easy anyway because you’re officially dead, even if the authorities are still poking around.”
Peyton groaned. “I…I don’t think I can do that.”
“You wouldn’t have to do it, and he tried to do it to you.” Shay clicked back to her previous screen. “I would do it. A threat to you is ultimately a threat to me. Even though the cartel is gone, it’s still in my best interests for the assholes of the world to think Killer Shay is dead.”
“But he’s my brother, Shay.”
Shay snorted. “Are you fucking kidding me? The guy paid to have you killed. This isn’t like you two had a falling out during Thanksgiving dinner over which candidate you supported in the last election. The fucker wanted you dead because even though he was already rich, he was a greedy son of a bitch who wanted even more money he didn’t have to earn. If it were me, I would have gone and stabbed his ass already.”
“Well, I’m not you, or him,” Peyton snapped. “All right?”
Shay pulled the phone away for a minute, surprised at the man’s vehemence, even if she wasn’t surprised at his reticence. “Yeah, you aren’t, which is why I mentioned a second option. This one doesn’t involve shooting, stabbing, or blowing Randy up.”
“And what’s that?”
“Your brother isn’t some sort of super-resourceful badass, and he doesn’t have any magic. His power comes from one thing: money.”
“Yeah, so? What’s your point?”
Shay chuckled. “Come on, Peyton. In this day and age, money is mostly just bits on a computer. We make his money go away. It’s not like you’re ever going to need it, and your other relatives have separate accounts. I doubt they’re going to loan him piles of money so he can chase down the ghost of his dead brother. From what I can see, he’s not talking to anyone else anymore.”
Peyton sighed. “Yeah, when I looked into it, that’s what I saw, too. Without my dad as the glue, the family died when I did.”
“Then we should do it. Hey, Lily and I presented a dark future of poverty. Scrooge had his fucking chance to reform, now the future’s gonna come barreling down at him. He should have listened to Marley.”
“I guess.”
Shay snorted. “It’s either that or I kill him. Understand?” She inserted an extra edge into her voice. “This is a loose end we need to tie up, one way or another, and I can’t continue looking the other way.”
“I’ll start tracking down all the necessary account information,” Peyton murmured. “I’ll set it all up for a single script. A decapitation strike.”
“Good. We don’t need to do this right away. If anything, we want to take him off-guard. Observe and report. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Shay took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I know this shit is hard, but it’s also necessary. Not for me, but for you.”
“I know. Talk to you later.” Peyton hung up.
I should have fucking killed Randy for real right after I fake-killed Peyton.
Shay shrugged. She felt no pity for a man who brought on trouble himself.
The tomb raider returned to her dark web searches, once again more interested in the future than the past.
A few minutes later, her eyes widened at an entry on a hitman forum.
“Son of a bitch.” Shay groaned and stood. She had someone she needed to talk to, but first, a quick trip to Warehouse Five was in order.
Shay marched up the street in the middle of the night with her hands in her pockets. She hoped that when she ran into her targets, they’d be reasonable. The whole point of this little trip was intelligence-gathering, not ass-kicking, even if that would be fun.
I could have killed all you assholes the last time we tangled.
Someone shouted something in Cantonese from an alley, and several men laughed.
Shay sighed and turned the corner to confront a half-dozen men from the 25K Triad. They stood around smoking foul-smelling cigarettes.
She recognized each from the previous encounter, and more than a few still bore bruises from that last meeting.
The man she’d tagged as their leader pushed off from the wall. She’d later identified him as Johnny Lee.
“Oh, fuck,” Johnny uttered. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “This is bullshit. Total bullshit.”
The men exchanged nervous glances. A few swallowed and slowly inched their hands toward their guns.
Shay gave them a thin smile. “Let me make one thing really fucking clear. I didn’t kill any of you last time because I was trying to keep the peace, but if any of you go for a gun, I will end you right here. Also keep in mind, last time I managed all that shit without even using my gun, so do you really want to see what I can do in a shoot-out?”
Johnny lifted his arm to stop his men. “Okay, fine. What the fuck is this about?”
“I need some
info from you.”
He laughed. “Are you for real?”
The other men just stared at her like she’d lost her mind.
Shay nodded. “Oh, I’m real. A real nightmare if you piss me off, but I’m also fair.”
Johnny narrowed his eyes. “Fair?”
“You guys are businessmen, right? Criminal businessmen, but still businessmen, and a businessman should never do something for free. I’m not here to ask for a favor. I’m here to pay for a service.”
The gangster stood up straighter and adjusted his jacket. “Yeah, that’s true. We were only after that one bitch because she stole from us, but you paid us back. We can appreciate that.”
“I’m gonna reach into my pocket and pull something out. Don’t do anything stupid, and keep in mind if I’d wanted to gun your asses down, I would have already done it.”
Johnny nodded to Shay, then his men.
The tomb raider pulled out a small music box. “This is a minor artifact. Can play any song you think of. Just hold it and think. I figure it’s a fair trade. You give me info, and I give you the artifact.”
“Why us?”
“Because little suspicious birdies have told me you are in contact with the Phoenix Gang.”
Johnny tensed. “Yeah, we know them. Not saying we’re friends or enemies. Just that we know them.”
Shay tossed the music box toward the gangster, and he snatched it out of the air. He stared at it for a moment, and a few seconds later it chimed out what sounded like a sad attempt at a hip-hop melody sans bass line. The gangster’s face brightened.
Johnny looked up from the music box as it continued its melodic hip-hop demonstration. “What do you need from the Phoenix Gang?”
“I haven’t heard of them before in LA, and they’re interested in James Brownstone. That makes me interested in them.”
All the men winced, and Johnny looked down. “I don’t know if we want to get involved in this shit, not if it involves Brownstone. We don’t need him thinking we’re with the Phoenix Gang and grinding us into dust like he did the Harriken.”
