Death threw up his hands, and the room abruptly filled with a cold so deep that my joints ached, and then the scream of dying souls filled my ear canals, shaking my brain like a bowl of Jell-O. “Okay! Okay! Fine. No scythe! Jeezus, drama queen. A simple No would have sufficed.” He rolled his eyes, and took another sip of his drink with a pleased smile. “But I am going to borrow your keys. No more of that freaky death vibe. I get it, you’re a badass. But a man needs a ride. I can’t walk too well right now. And I refuse to show up in an Uber to my final battle.”
Death smirked, rubbing his chin. “Fine. Don’t scratch him. He won’t like it.” He tossed me a set of small keys.
I caught them with a frown. “Well, he can just bite me then.” Death burst out laughing. I frowned harder for good measure, not seeing the humor. I picked up the mask absently, mentally preparing for a scrap with… well, someone. I wasn’t sure exactly who yet. Eae? Sir Dreadsalot? The summoner? I didn’t rightly care.
I just wanted to hurt someone. Any port in a storm, right?
“Is there anything else you can do to help? I don’t think you want a summoner traipsing around any more than I do, and my power’s unreliable. He’s caused enough damage already. Hell, my own people want to skewer me to serve up on a platter, and I haven’t done a fraction of what he has.”
Death shook his head. “Your own people do seem to hold you in high esteem. But I believe you have everything you need to accomplish your task. Piece of advice, I was never involved. Other than the bar where we met. You must have stolen my keys. And made a shiny new mask… Maker.” He winked for some unknown reason. “I’ll watch over your body while you’re gone.” He added. Then a door closed in my mind and I found myself standing outside below a streetlamp. My body? What the hell did that mean? Had I died? Or had the mask done something to my physical body? I pinched myself for good measure. I felt corporeal. Which should tell you something about me, that I was relieved to find my body still squishy and fleshy after meeting one of the Four Horsemen. Priorities. Mine were obviously screwed up. I didn’t know exactly where I was, but I recognized the general area. I was near the church where the cop had me in ‘custody.’ I wondered what he would make of it when they opened the confessional booth and I was nowhere to be found.
I wasn’t sure exactly what I was supposed to be doing. My body was in a strange biker bar, I had death’s mask in my hand, and a Harley. It sounded like a bad action flick. I spotted the Harley and cheered up a bit. It had been a while since I had ridden a bike. Should be fun. I appraised the machine, admiring her almost glow-in-the-dark green hue with interest. Unique color. I wouldn’t have guessed at it in a million years. To each his own, I guess. I started the engine, and heard a horse neigh loudly down the street. I glanced around nervously, ready to see an army of SWAT raining down on me, but I was alone. No mounted patrol units. I released the breath I hadn’t known I had been holding. I was safe. The police were the last thing I needed. I had been given a second chance. Time to make the most of it.
Memento Mori indeed.
I put on Death’s mask and watched as the world morphed into a soothing green hue similar to the color from night vision goggles. Identical to the color of the bike, now that I thought about it. Glancing to a previously darkened patch between streetlights, I blinked. It really was night vision. I could see perfectly in all directions. Better than any night vision I had ever tested. I guess it made sense, thinking back on Hemmingway’s story of when he received the gifts in the first place. I shrugged with a smile plastered to my face beneath the mask, realizing that it fit perfectly. I could barely even tell it was there. And, now that I thought about it, nothing was holding it in place. I touched it curiously, but it merely stayed in place of it’s own accord. I tugged it off, suddenly fearful that it might be stuck to me, but it pulled away easily. I put it back on and I felt it latch onto my face like a second skin. Interesting…
I began thinking about how to duplicate it, and then began to laugh as I realized what I was doing. I wouldn’t have time to duplicate anything after tonight. This was my last run. Instead, I revved the engine, causing the unseen nearby horse to scream in response again. I smiled, imagining Kosage riding the beast as he scoured the city for me, and the horse bucking him off.
One could dream.
Chapter 34
I was getting closer to the crowds of humanity celebrating Mardi Gras. It was now evening, and the debauchery was in full swing. I couldn’t count the number of times I had seen breasts, every size, shape, color, and age under the rainbow, and I didn’t even have beads. They were everywhere. It was an adolescent’s fantasy. All a boy had to do was simply walk the streets tonight and he would have a veritable buffet of visual stimuli to catalog for years. Revving the Harley helped clear the crowds when they got in my way. And watching breasts, er, people jump back in surprised fright at the sudden sound soothed me.
Another perk of the night was that almost everyone was wearing Le Carnevale masks. This eased my primary concern, that I would be recognized prior to finding Sir Dreadsalot. I had already tried ‘calling’ him with the Tarot card, but since Death had hijacked that phone call I wasn’t sure if the Demon had ever heard it. As I was riding through a particularly dense crowd on the street — the sidewalks were at a standstill — my heart suddenly froze. Two Justices stood on a set of steps leading up to a building on the side of the street, eyes scanning the crowd like birds of prey. I had figured that they would be out in force searching for me. Unless Gavin had given me a little help and led them astray. Maybe the fact that he was my parole officer allowed him to find me, but none of the other Justices seemed to be able to do so. In fact… even this close, they didn’t seem able to sense me. I carefully rode directly through the crowd, never attracting the Justices’ attention. I wasn’t the only bike in the crowd — there was even a unicycle wheeling around — but I was definitely the only neon green motorcycle. Possibly in the entire world. I let out a sigh of relief as I drove a safe distance away unmolested. I had no idea what I would have done if they had attacked. I didn’t know how to use the Maker ability effectively yet. It had just happened.
It was day three, and the Academy had shown up — like a schoolyard bully waiting to accept his lunch money from his smaller classmates — to collect their prize.
But they weren’t getting their grubby hands on the Armory on my watch. I ate bullies for their lunch money.
As long as I remained vertical long enough to stop them, that was.
Death’s comment about Pandora’s Box threatened to worry my thoughts, but I shut it down quickly. I didn’t have time to think about that. I had enough on my plate. Othello needed me. Right now. I had a murder to deliver to the summoner, courtesy of your friendly neighborhood wiz… Maker. I grinned wider as another thought hit me. Not just a Maker, but also a temporary Horseman. Maybe I could just scare him to death by pretending to be a Rider.
All these thoughts flew through my mind as I frantically struggled to find a way to stop the impending carnage. I glanced to the side, spotting a silver blur, assuming it was a Justice. But as my eyes focused, I realized that it was just a woman. Staring at me. Really staring. The silver glow had no doubt been caused by the streetlight shining down upon her.
I slowed down, glanced behind me to see if she was actually staring at someone behind me. But no one was there. I turned back and jolted. She was half the distance closer, despite the crowds and the impossible speed that such movement would require. Then I noticed something odd.
She was floating. A foot off the ground, and the wind didn’t seem to touch her. She also had no coat on. Then a creepy sensation came over me. She was a spirit. A ghost. A lost soul. And she was staring at her savior.
Death.
I waved guiltily. I spoke in a whisper, more to myself, drawing on the power of Death’s mask. “I’m only a temp-worker. Finish up any last minute business you may have. The real reaper will help you tomorrow.”
She could a
pparently either read lips or had uncanny hearing for a dead chic. She smiled with a nod of acceptance, waved a frail hand, and faded away to nothingness. I realized that my shoulders were locked up with tension. I hoped I wasn’t messing up some cosmic balance by making her wait. Or whether I even had the authority to choose to send her on her way to the afterlife or to allow her to stay behind for an extra day. I didn’t want to mess anything up, so I figured erring on the side of caution was the safest bet. I would just tell any more wandering spirits that business would resume as usual tomorrow. Our apologies for the delay — Management. After all, Death hadn’t given me a job description, so it would be his fault.
I continued on, but not before picking up a handful of discarded beads from the street, because, you know, Mardi Gras. When in Rome… it would help me fit in better if I seemed to be enjoying the various flavors of ample bosom. I spotted another Justice a few minutes later, and although confident she wouldn’t pick me out from the crowd, I grew a bit anxious as I crept closer. Despite her silver mask resembling a laughing face, she was obviously a woman, and was completely ignoring the cheers and roars of the crowd. And the boobs. No hetero male would have been able to maintain such a stoic countenance. Justice or not. I crossed her line of sight with a wave of trepidation resting heavily on my shoulders. I was about to be made. Surely they could at least sense me from this close. But as I passed she looked right through me. I blinked in both relief and disbelief. How blind was she?
Then I thought about it. Death had said he would watch over my body. Was I not physically here? No, that wasn’t true, because I had picked up those beads. Maybe they just couldn’t sense me because of Death’s mask. But then, shouldn’t they have at least sensed a Rider of the Apocalypse among them? Then I thought about that a little bit. I hadn’t ever noticed a Rider or an Angel in my years of existence. Maybe they were immune from that sort of thing.
Interrupting my reverie, several young drunks stumbled up to the Justice and waggled beads in front of her to get her attention, noticing that she didn’t have any beads. That was nice of them. They wanted to share. Poor girl. What kind of woman deserves to walk around on Mardi Gras without any beads? It just wouldn’t be right.
She pointedly ignored them, still studiously scanning the street. I heard a loud bark of a voice and spotted another Justice not too far away. The woman turned to him slowly, body tight. The man motioned for her to participate. I could imagine the words. “We must fit in. Do as they ask.” I grinned wider. Her head hung in resignation, and she quickly flipped up her top, displaying an impressive rack, but just as quickly dropped it back down. The drunks seemed disappointed at the brief glimpse of heaven, but still fed the woman her beads so that she wouldn’t starve tonight. Very generous. I pelted her with my whole wad of beads. Neither of the Justices paid me any notice. This was awesome! One enemy out of the picture! Now I didn’t have to worry about any surprise visits from my own wizardly police force. The ones who had taken my power. I very seriously entertained teaching them a lesson, right here, right now. A breath later, I very responsibly chose not to do so. It was a tough choice. They deserved it. Well, Jafar did. The others were just doing their jobs, as Gavin had taught me. He actually hadn’t been half bad after getting to know him a bit, and showing him the error of his ways.
I continued on, spotting several more souls hanging out, watching me expectantly. I motioned for them to come back later. They didn’t seem too upset. Several of them nodded at me with gratitude, even bowing. It was enough to make a guy realize just whom he was impersonating.
Then I spotted an Angel on a rooftop. His heavenly glare assessed the streets with disgust, but he was vigilant, eyes darting back and forth like a falcon, taking everything in like a gargoyle. Then his gaze met mine, and his jaw dropped in alarm. He began to lift a horn to his lips. I couldn’t have that. With a thought, and the rapidly becoming familiar blue haze to my vision, I held up a hand and clenched my fist. The horn instantly crumbled to ash. I opened my hand and imagined claws as I mocked grabbing a throat in front of me. I saw a large spirit hand grip the Angel by the throat and slam him to the ground. Not enough to hurt him, just shock him
“Fuck off, Feathers. I’m here on business that doesn’t concern you.” I muttered under my breath. The look of alarm on his face told me he had heard me just fine. As good as it felt to shut down an Angel with such ease, I didn’t have time for petty vengeance against the pigeon. It seemed ironic that now that I had enough power to take revenge on all the parties against me, I had no time to do so. Specifically, Othello didn’t have time for me to do so.
As if in answer to my blasphemous disrespect of the Angel, it began to rain. Fat, icy drops crashed down from the sky, drenching everyone. I was simply surprised that it wasn’t snow. I found myself murmuring under my breath. “It’s a good day to die. True rain washes the soul.” The last sentence was something my father had always said at the first sign of rain.
Scanning my surroundings, I was surprised to see that the rain hadn’t diminished the crowd in the slightest. But of course, the excessive amounts of alcohol in their veins convinced them that they were immortal and not already close to frostbite. They cheered in excitement instead. I rolled my eyes. The Angel had vanished, but I didn’t hear any horns or other sounds of pursuit. Which made me feel better.
One perk from the rain was that it would make using magic almost impossible for the Justices. Cold rain was worse, as cold rain caused a sense of panic in your mind, and magic was all about mental clarity. But really, any type of rain would nullify magic to some extent. Running water was anathema to wizards. I wondered if it would affect my ability as a Maker. Then shrugged. I would just resort to the power of the freaking Horseman, Death, if that were the case. I was kind of nervous and anxious to test that out.
It was like test-driving a Ferrari. Of course you said you wanted to drive it, but once you sat behind the wheel a sense of profound respect and fear often made you realize just how dangerous your desire could actually be. Did you really want to drive close to 200 miles an hour? Probably not. With only a strip of fabric holding back your body and a thin sheet of glass to protect your face from bugs going triple digits? No thanks.
I sat there, revving the engine slightly, wondering where to go. I really had no game plan, having thought that burning the Tarot card would call the Greater Demon and I would die shortly after. The rumbling engine caused several mounted police officers’ horses to rear back in alarm, but the cops themselves apparently couldn’t see me either. Just the horses. They eyed me with wide, panicked eyes. Not me. The bike. That was weird. Surely they weren’t scared of a motorcycle. They must see them all the time, and the place wasn’t exactly quiet anyway. It wasn’t like I had suddenly revved the engine on an empty street in the middle of the night. As my gaze swept past their hooves, I spotted something odd. Twin, quivering cords of energy trailed off into the night at ground level, piercing the crowds in different directions. One black, and one white. They glowed with untapped power.
Unlike Robert Frost, I chose the path most traveled, knowing it was easier for people to commit sin rather than adhere to righteousness. And I was Demon hunting after all. As I began to idle after the black cord of power I began to hum to myself. Back in Black, I hit the sack…
In my mind, I was nailing it, on key and everything. Even the voice was spot on.
I fist-bumped one time, and roared off into the night, chasing the cord of power much faster than was advisable. But since the cops couldn’t see me, and I might very well be dead already, I didn’t rightly care. I cackled loudly into the rainy night, relishing the icy drops of rain striking the bone mask with little puffs of steam.
I bet I looked really cool right now. Even in sweats and my Touchdown tee.
Chapter 35
I had left the celebrations behind a while ago and now found myself at the entrance of a gated scrap yard in a commercial district. The gate was wide open. Barely hesitating, I drove the H
arley inside, following the black cord of pulsing energy to the center of the area, towers of salvage vehicles rising above me on either side, several stories high. I briefly remembered Greta one time saying something about salvaging my sinful soul and chuckled. If she only knew. I gently pressed the kickstand, and double-checked that the bike wasn’t about to fall over if I climbed off. Then I sat there, studying my surroundings and the black cord of power thoughtfully. The pulsating cord led to a nearby tower of vehicles that was taller than the rest. More towers continued on in the distance, creating a giant sized labyrinth built of the corpses of the once great auto industry. I rolled my gaze to scan the rest of my surroundings. Whoever I had followed must know I was here. The Harley wasn’t exactly quiet, and I was just sitting there. I hoped I hadn’t accidentally followed a completely different bad guy’s icky slug trail, and that it indeed belonged to either the Demon or the summoner. I didn’t even question what the cord was, assuming it had something to do with Death’s mask. His vision of the world, as he called it. He had said it would affect me.
Weak floodlights attempted to illuminate the scrap yard, but it was still dark. Well, it would have been dark to anyone else. It was light enough for me, but dark enough to earn an ick factor of 10 for any Regular person’s eyes.
A crackling, basso voice cooed from the darkness, making me reassess the ick factor to a 12. “You don’t call, you don’t write, you don’t make deals, and you don’t burn the card. It’s enough to hurt a Demon’s feelings.” The unseen Sir Dreadsalot launched himself from the top of the tower of broken vehicles and landed before me, back facing me. The knotted dreadlocks of broken teeth and bones even covered his back, making me decide that it truly was an armor of sorts. His mane of longer dreads hung low on his back, darker, thicker dreads than the rest of his body. He was still missing an arm, and as he slowly turned to face me, I was pleased to see that the aftermath of the horrific steam burn I had thrown at his face during our first encounter still remained. Lifting his glowing red eyes to assess his prey, he instantly took a reflexive step back as he truly saw me for the first time. “No! You cannot be here. No laws have been broken, Rider.”
Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) Page 31
