by Al K. Line
He turned his back on me and a Path opened up before him. Guess he had places to be.
I swore multiple times, at least in my mind, as my throat no longer functioned, and cursed him and his damn fine rope. How was I going to get out of this? Who would save me in my moment of need? Sasha was lost to me, George was looking out for Vicky, and if I didn't come up with something in say, the next two seconds, the Hangman would be paying George, Vicky, and the girls a visit. I doubted that Juice would be of much help. This was all his fault anyway.
Magic may not have worked on the Hangman himself, but it worked on the rope, and that was my only chance.
With Wand still in my hand, I whipped him up and prayed he was up to the task as the life sped from me. A Wizard's wand is linked to his life force, and mine was fading fast. He didn't speak, hardly twitched, but nonetheless I shunted what little will remained into my friend's shaft and focused on lengthening the rope. I dropped a foot in an instant, hanging myself all over again, and I was somewhat surprised not to find myself looking up at my decapitated corpse. As it was, I just suffered from renewed strangulation, but at least my neck wasn't broken, so silver linings and all that.
Again, I raised Wand higher, and this time the rope extended more gently. I ignored the burning in my lungs, tried to focus my oxygen-starved brain, and gave it all I had. With the magic still there, if hard to access because death has a nasty habit of making this stuff awkward, I willed the rope to lengthen. Too slow and I'd be dead before I could escape, too fast and I'd be dead from the neck-snapping jolt.
The Hangman stepped forward into the portal without a backward glance, giving me the kick up the posterior I needed. Magic thrummed, the rope danced, swinging me around wildly, sending me spiraling in a mad spin, and then the power of the portal tugged at my boots and I was sucked in right behind the Hangman.
My body was ripped apart into whatever it is that makes up atoms. I would have screamed if I didn't have a noose around my neck as I stretched out into infinity, following in the Hangman's heavy steps.
And then I was out the other side, crashing to gravel with a crunch, gasping and clawing at my throat. As a cosmic joke, I poked myself in the eye with Wand as I tried to get myself out of the noose. I turned and watched the rope recede into a pinpoint that was the closing portal, and as it shrank so the rope grew tighter until I was being hanged all over again. Suffocated as air was cut off as the rope tried to return to where it belonged, taking me along with it.
I was dragged across the gravel towards the portal that was expanding once more as it couldn't close with a foreign object stuck between the Nolands and here. I was heading right back where I'd come from. It didn't matter, I'd be dead before I arrived.
I was spun so I was facing up, just in time to see a bloody big knife descend. Ah well, at least it was better than being strangled to death.
Frayed Nerves
A little bit of wee may have escaped as I screamed a silent "Eek," and watched the blade descend, but when I turned my head to the side all I saw was frayed rope, much like my nerves.
"Mate, you look like a tomato in a hat, your face is so red and puffy."
I held out my hand from my position on the ground and Steve hauled me up, smiling as he did so. He sheathed the very long, very sharp knife in a leather holster on his belt and let his jacket fall over it.
"Man, am I glad to see you," I rasped, wondering if I was stuck with the voice of a forty a day smoker for life.
"Just got here, and then you popped up and... well, guess you know the rest. What's with the noose? You been naughty?"
"Me, I'm a good boy. No, the dickhead in the car," I pointed at Juice who was just now emerging, "summoned him, and it's been a bit messy ever since. Lots going on."
"Dad, are you okay?" asked George, rushing over and hugging me.
"Fine. Just tired, and sore. Get this off me, will you?"
"I wouldn't if I was you," said Juice as he came over, grinning and wearing his own noose.
"Why not?" I asked suspiciously, wavering between punching him, kicking him in the knackers, or just killing him.
"Because if you wear the noose you're out of bounds. See?" Juice wandered up to the stationary Hangman and did a little jig in front of him. No reaction. "Now you try," he shouted over.
"I'll pass on that. But, yeah, leave it where it is, George. Just loosen it will you?"
George fumbled with the rope, and as the strands scraped against my neck I yelped. It hurt like nobody's business and I knew I'd have some serious rope burns, maybe even scars until the magic sorted me out.
Vicky and the girls were where we'd left them by the car, the girls excited and scared, Vicky frightened for her children yet annoyed she was missing out. Damn but she was still wild, and this was the last thing she needed. Last thing I needed too.
"How long was I away?" I asked George.
"About ten seconds. No time at all. Why?"
"Because I just spent an eternity traipsing across a barren landscape with heavy gravity, had a big sleep, topped up the magic, and had a chat with the lone ranger over there. Now I'm back to exhausted all over again."
"That's magic for you," said George with a smile.
I caught Steve inhaling deeply as he stood next to George. I eyed him with a very suspicious look and said, "Don't even think about it. I'll castrate you myself if you even look at her."
Steve stepped away, hands held up, and laughed as he said, "We're mates. Wouldn't dream of it."
"Dad! I'm a grown woman, I can fancy who I like. Um, not that I fancy him anyway, no way. He's got a shiny beard and that's just wrong." George flushed from the neck up and glanced away. Steve just grinned broadly. He knew he was handsome, had no problems with the ladies.
"Just behave," I warned both of them.
Then we turned to the Hangman, and Juice, who was still dancing about in front of him, waving his arms.
"What's up with the cowboy?" asked Steve.
"It's the Hangman," I said. Steve stared at me blankly. "Trust me, you don't wanna know."
"Fine. Just came to see Vicky, see what she was up to."
"Is that right?" I asked, getting suspicious again.
"Yeah," he said, puffing his chest out. "You got a problem with that too?"
"No, guess not. At least, I don't think so. But I'm sure I'll think of one." I slapped Steve on the back, and smiled. "Thanks, buddy, you saved my life."
"No problem. Now, what're we gonna do about him?"
We all turned to stare at the Hangman, still immobile as though he was frozen in time.
And then he sprang into action, like he'd just been waiting for all the attention. Leaping high, he landed on Juice's car, denting the top. From nowhere, rope was in his hands, a large noose trailing slack. He spun it around and around like a lasso, then released one end. It disappeared away into the far distance, stretched taut, then he gave us the evil eye before being whisked away in a heartbeat.
"Shit, he's like Spiderman but without the cool costume," said Steve.
"Or the personality," I muttered.
Juice screamed about his car, my neck hurt, Vicky's house made strange noises as I assumed portals opened and closed within, and Steve kept glancing at Vicky whilst George kept glancing at Steve.
I sat on the gravel and wondered if I could make it to the kitchen to make a coffee.
"Arthur!" screamed the voice of Sasha.
I glanced up to see her face huge in the sky, like a hologram. She looked scared, and in pain, faery dust flying about her beautiful features as she concentrated on making a connection with me
"Don't worry, I'm coming," I shouted.
It was gonna be a long night.
I really needed that coffee.
Hitting the Wall
"We need to get you safe," I said to Vicky and the girls.
Vicky nodded in agreement, her stress levels soaring. She wasn't scared for herself, but for her children. We'd always kept them out of our busi
ness; this was unacceptable.
"I'll call Ivan," she said. She turned to the girls and crouched. "How about a sleepover with Uncle Ivan? That'll be nice, won't it?"
"Yippee," they screamed, dancing about and cajoling her to call their uncle right away.
Vicky and I exchanged a glance, then nodded to each other. What other way was there? They'd be safe with him, no matter that he was now a top vampire, the gangster numero uno, and a shifter once a month, just like Vicky. At least it meant the girls would have plenty of protection. Would they be safe from the Hangman? Yes. He was linked to us, because of Juice's idiotic actions, so wouldn't concern himself with them.
I wished I knew what the Hangman actually wanted. I wished I knew what had happened to Sasha. I wished I could go to bed.
Vicky made the call.
Five minutes later, a sleek black sedan with tinted windows pulled up. The girls were given a kiss by everyone except Juice who I grabbed hold of the moment he went near them, then hustled into the car by a woman I'd never seen before. She was slim verging on skinny, tall, serious, with a blond ponytail tied tighter than Vicky's, which I hadn't thought possible.
Her and Vicky spoke for a minute before embracing briefly, then with a nod to me the woman closed the door on the girls, got in the passenger seat, and they were driven away.
"Who's the new face?" I asked Vicky, for some reason caring.
"She's Ivan's new right-hand man. Um, right-hand woman. His aide, I suppose you'd call her."
"Since when did he have an aide?" Ivan had his guys, but he never had a single person he relied on, probably because of the fact he'd been that person once upon a time.
"A few months," said Vicky with a shrug. "Since he, you know, became more important."
"But he passed most of the work onto the council he formed, didn't he?"
"For the vampire stuff, and their business, but for all the other work," Vicky got close and whispered, "you know, the illegal things, he still runs all that and said he needed someone to help him out. Keep everything running smoothly."
"And he chose her?"
"Arthur, a woman can do the job just as well as a man." Vicky pouted as she put her hands on her hips.
"Yeah, not cool, dude." Steve winked at me and edged closer to Vicky. Traitor.
"Whoa! I know that, Vicky. I meant, he chose someone in their early thirties. She won't have the experience."
"Oh, right. Dunno, he said she knew what she was doing."
It clearly wasn't important to Vicky, as she trusted her brother, but I wondered what the deal was. Ivan and I hadn't had much time to talk about things since the previous year; everyone was busy, except me. I was busy being moody and depressed. Or spending time with Vicky and the girls, and George when she had the time. I was getting out of the loop and that wasn't good. Once this was over, I made a mental note to get up to speed on all things gangster and magical. You had to stay in the know if you wanted to stay alive.
"Hello? Dad? Can we please get back to the business of insane lunatics, Hangmen, and the fact Sasha is missing and just sent us on a trip down memory lane?"
"No, not now," I said, rubbing at my face. My skin was crawling like ants were marching over it with a mission to enter my ears and slowly chew my brain out. "I have to sleep."
"What about him?" asked Vicky, pointing at Juice who was standing there like he was part of this and looking too damn pleased about the whole bloody thing.
"Juice, my psychotic acquaintance, I need a word with you." I stepped forward, hands out, smiling.
Juice looked worried, saw my hands were empty, and smiled. "All right. So, what's the plan?"
"The plan," I said, as I smacked him so hard he fell on his ass and was out cold, "is to go and sleep and then go get Sasha in the morning." I turned to George. "Grab his feet. We'll throw him in the car, and take him home with us. Vicky, get what you need for a night at ours. Um, maybe not," I said, glancing at the house as lights strobed and who knew what madness went on inside. "You've got spare clothes at ours. Just meet us at the house and we'll go through the gate."
"You sure?" asked Vicky looking unconvinced. "What about Sasha? What about the Hangman?"
"They'll both have to wait. I'm exhausted, you too. Now we have Juice's crap to deal with, and Sasha, wherever she is, will need us on top form."
We got our things together and stowed Juice's body like the bag of bones it was. I raced through the slowly quieting city to my semi-detached that housed a very special gate.
Looked like I was truly back in the game whether I wanted to be or not.
Sleepover From Hell
I loved my gates. They made life just about bearable. The Gates of Bakaudif were some of the rarest artifacts in existence and beyond merely magical. They were fucking awesome. And hardly anyone knew I had them, which made them even more special.
Able to transport you from one to the other merely by stepping through, they were a shortcut through space via the Nolands. Like a Path, but with fixed entry and exit points, they were the closest thing a human could get to ever opening a Path, apart from a Teleron, which I also owned one of. But the Teleron was more unstable and always freaked me out, so I didn't abuse it. Too many things could go wrong, like using the small handheld device to jump to a familiar destination or person only to find yourself standing inside a wall or maybe someone else. Then it would be curtains, so I used it sparingly.
But the gates were different. Stable, safe, and they allowed me to have a pit-stop in the city that led directly to the other gate in a barn in the Cornish countryside. Then it was just a short drive to my new house.
Much as I could have done with being alone, my dysfunctional posse and I manhandled Juice through the gate, loaded him up into a car in the barn, and I drove us all to mine and George's newly converted country home.
It was awesome, better than the last place, especially now the kitchen was finished along with the rest of the house.
Security lights flooded the rough concrete courtyard, left exactly as it was when we moved in. This was an old dairy so the area was huge, and it led to a series of large milking barns now used to overnight chickens, for a new pig and piglets we'd purchased, and for George's equestrian business to store what the horses needed. In an adjacent field we'd had new stables constructed, the originals not in as good condition as we'd believed, so we splashed out and got sweet, huge, and bloody expensive ones constructed to house George's horses and her livery business.
The house was comfortable if quite large, but we hardly used any rooms apart from the bedrooms. A barn from the sixteen hundreds adjacent to the house had been completely overhauled and renovated, leaving exposed beams everywhere. Then it was connected to the main building using stone taken from demolished interior walls to construct a wide corridor linking the two. Very cool.
The barn was converted into a kitchen to beat all kitchens, so huge and awesome and sparkly and yet homely because of the original features that every time I entered I couldn't believe how lucky I was.
Black polished porcelain imported from Spain made the floor darker than Death's shadow, the island-cum-breakfast bar was bigger than most living rooms, the work surface ran down the entire length, although there still weren't enough cupboards, and I had an oven, coffee maker, microwave, fridge, and other gadgets so high-tech they were close to transcending and becoming independently sentient.
I spent three grand on a tap just because I wanted to, I had everything so organized that it was like a laboratory, and a hoard of tea towels and cloths that would make any five-star hotel chef jealous.
We had a new table, a small TV that flipped out from a cupboard so I could watch Buster Keaton shorts while I cooked, and just like the last place, the far wall was all floor-to-ceiling glass doors so I could slide them back after dinner and go have my one smoke of the day, the deal I'd made with George when she first moved in with me.
As the lights came on, all directional, all energy saving LEDs, all controlla
ble by an app if you can believe such a thing, not that I ever used it as I had fingers so could flick a switch without getting too tired, I dropped Juice onto the tiles, cracking his head a little, and stood expectantly in front of George.
"What?" she asked.
"I wiggled an eyebrow."
"Oh, thought you had a tic. You know you haven't had dinner, right?"
"It's been one of those days. I know we always try to have dinner together. I'm sorry."
"Hey, sometimes things happen."
"Yes, things," I said, thinking that was the understatement of the year. "Um, my smoke?"
George sighed and fished out a rollie for me. It looked suspiciously thin but I didn't cause a fuss. She handed it over and I practically skipped to the far end of my awesome kitchen and slid the doors open, pleased to find the hardcore wards fixed into place by George and Sasha were as robust as ever.
I pulled the doors closed behind me and for a moment I stood there savoring the peace, the fresh air, and wallowing in the smugness a man is allowed to feel when he knows he's done all right for himself.
After all, I was only here because a super-secret organization had used a drone to bomb my old home. I was allowed to be a little pleased I'd come through that and got my act together.
Giggling, which was probably a little weird, I lit up and inhaled the smoke deeply, feeling my head buzz and my lungs burn in utter awesomeness. I didn't have to worry about the effects, perks of being a wizard and all.
I let the smoke last as long as possible, knowing this was the only peace I'd have. The night beckoned, and it made my stomach flip. Another night spent lying in my bed alone, trying to hold it together, not be haunted by what happened last year. Attempting not to worry about George, and now Sasha, knowing I had to rest, that I couldn't function without sleep, but it eluding me as it always did, making me a walking zombie, dangerous to myself and others.
Finally, I hurt my fingers as the smoke burned down to the filter, so I stubbed it out and went back inside.
