Fists of Iron_An Urban Fantasy Novel

by J. A. Cipriano

  As the trunk hatch popped open of its own accord, the swarm of angel-helmets clattered ever closer. I wasn’t even sure they “saw” us in any conventional sense, but they sure seemed to be attracted to the car. Maybe they were the cleaning crew, picking out the bits and pieces of monster that got stuck in the wall from the battle waging all around.

  What we needed was a minute to think, to do something smart instead of grabbing for weapons or playing with stick shifts. I craned my head toward Gabby as I put my pistol back in the holster. “Doc, can you throw up a shield of some kind? Anything that might hold ‘em off so we can figure something out.”

  Gabriela seemed to catch on and nodded. “I’ll do my best,” she said as her fingers began to weave a spell while Tyrone managed to cling on, half his barrel body hanging over Garuda’s left tail fin and rotted around for something with one big arm.

  Despite her combative nature, Molly backed off from where she was about to spring out onto one of Garuda’s trapped wings. “I can try to help too, boyo. I dinnae know if the wind here’ll listen but why not give it a spin, aye?” She turned in the seat, ducking Tyrone’s flailing feet, and slid neatly into the middle of Gabriela’s own spell, chanting Gaelic in counterpoint to the doc’s Latin incantation. Between the ladies behind me, the cries of battle all around, and Garuda’s engine screeches of frustration, it was a wonder I could even hear myself think.

  Krishna gave the pedals one last futile pump. “When did the One decide to get smart instead of cocky?” he growled, hefting his mace in one hand. “Frank, if the spiders break through or we attract more attention, I’ll try to beat them off, but I don’t think I can unwind Garuda out of this. Any ideas?”

  Yeah, great. Leave everything in my lap. Good going, major deity! Unless this was one of those situations where Krishna’s hands were tied, and we mere mortals were supposed to figure a way out. God, what fun would it be to be a god with ultimate power if you kept running into red tape?

  The outer spiral of the spider-helmets found the edge of Garuda’s wingtip and that got them excited. A resounding symphony of ringing bells sounded from the helmets and their formation changed as they bunched up around the wing. Crystal leg tips began to tear into the gold-painted steel and Garuda shook in pain, his engine shrieking.

  That cry, so very real despite coming from a weird divine car-bird, spurred my brain into high gear. An idea exploded into my brain and naturally it was stupid and dangerous. Considering my track record, that meant it likely was the right idea to try.

  I wasn’t the only one spurred into action by Garuda’s pain. The two sorceresses ended their incantation in unison and mystical energy pulsed outward. First, what passed for air in this sterile divine void roared to life, pushing most of the angelic horde off of the wing, closely followed by a geodesic sphere of emerald energy. It looked thicker and more, well, glowy than the doc’s usual wards, no doubt from the tag team action of Molly and Gabriela clasping their hands around the base of Molly’s wand and sending energy spiraling up and down it.

  Two of the little bastards clung on anyway, their legs plunged deep into the wing’s pinion. Tyrone finally managed to work free his rune-covered shotgun from the trunk as Krishna leapt onto the wing himself, brandishing his heavy mace as if it was as light as a feather. Tyrone rolled and sat up in one neat motion, betraying his true agility, and letting loose a barrage of molten shotgun slugs at the angels, dishing up a first course of pain that dented bronze and cracked crystal. That was almost immediately followed by the second course, a furious home run swing from Krishna’s mace that tore the spiders to bits, shattering the metal like frozen T-1000s.

  “I’ve got a plan,” I yelled as I began to focus, my golden blood pumping hard as I dug down deep into la Corazon’s power. “Keep them off the bird for a little bit longer and, big G, get ready to flap.”

  I don’t know what if any reply the others gave because that’s when I opened myself to the heart and the golden haze descended over my eyes. All of my senses were overwhelmed by what the heart showed me.

  So that whole tapestry of magic thing, you know how majestic and grand it is, or at least how I’ve tried to describe it. That’s nothing compared to opening up to the perfection, the absolute order of the weave of Heaven. The vibrancy of the colors, the purity of the whites, the intricate patterns of every woven thread, and the blinding intensity of the light, any single aspect of it would have been almost too much on its own. But put it all together and it was a wonder I didn’t go completely catatonic.

  To check out, to let the perfection overwhelm me and drop into a blissful trip that would never end, would have been easy. It would have been nice too, because doing what I did, resisting that clarion call to give in, hurt. Think about what it might feel like to resist every urge of your mind, your heart, and your body all at once. To see the true inner glory of Paradise was like taking a hit of the most powerful, most addictive narcotic ever conceived and then amplified a million times.

  I felt like my mind was tearing itself apart to think about anything other than staring at that beauty. Fuck knows how I managed to not give in, to be honest. I’ve got no answers other than I had to. Sappy as shit, but it’s true.

  Through that roaring pain, that throb of absolute need in every nerve, I saw what I was looking for. See, I realized from our little encounter with Zeus that even the gods used magic. Sure, it was ultimate badass magic with almost none of the downsides or needs of mortal magic, but it was still magic. Magic was the one thing I could deal with, and I could make out through the blinding glow the threads of the divine web that had snared us.

  I reached out, every movement feeling like it’d be the one to shred the muscle from my bones, and hooked my hands around the threads closest to Garuda’s beak-hood. In a moment that felt like it took a century, I twisted my wrists, pulling the divine strings of magic taut in my grip, then tore.

  La Corazon beat a triumphant staccato in my chest and gold fire sang in my veins. Maybe my senses were already in hyper drive from the tapestry of Heaven, but I could have sworn my body was nothing but a flesh sack of molten metal at that point. I thought that maybe this wasn’t going to work, that this had been as stupid of an idea as it seemed, but then the threads unraveled and tore in one tremendous snap. The sound reverberated in my skull like thunder and blew my focus right out of the water.

  The ice-cold water bucket of reality was dumped over my head and my throbbing eyes only saw the surface perfection of the alabaster-and-crystal city before me, filtered through the cracked panes of the green-tinted ward around the car. I had no idea how long I had been under the spell of the divine weave and I had no time to ponder that as the air was split by a violent beat of metal wings.

  Garuda rocketed through the glowing field that had trapped him, all that pent-up force from his struggles turning a high-speed approach into an out-of-control arc. Cries of surprise and fear echoed around the sphere as Molly and Tyrone were flung around by the sudden movement. Hopefully they were caught inside the damaged ward, but who the fuck could tell, especially yours truly, bouncing around in the painful clutch of the lap belt.

  Somehow, Krishna managed to get a handhold on the car door, his hand visibly deforming the metal under his grip as he tried to pull himself to the wheel. The big car-bird tried to right himself, but the screech of fatigued metal from his damaged wing only proceeded a total failure of said wing. What had been a “mere” crash landing turned into a death spiral as people, shorn metal, and oily blood from Garuda’s mangled wing flew around inside the sphere.

  I tried to get some kind of bearing, tried to reach across the front seats to grab Krishna and pull him to the wheel, but it was too late. There was a violent impact as we hit a building of some kind and that devastated the ward surrounding us. It absorbed enough of the crash to bounce us off that building and sent Garuda beak-first toward the gold-plated street below.

  My last conscious thought as the souls walking the streets scattered from
the impending disaster was we really were going to go out with a bang after all.

  16

  “I have no idea what happened, sir,” someone said.

  I’d have stayed unconscious through those words normally. They weren’t particularly loud and the tone was respectful. There was one thing though that echoed in my mind, forced my eyes open, and that was the voice itself.

  It was insane, but that voice belonged to Robert Butcher Junior, my younger brother. My dead younger brother.

  The only reason I didn’t jump straight out of the hard, square bed I was laid out on was the body-wide bruise I had made it incredibly painful to blink much less leap to my feet. My neck and waist in particular were throbbing, not a real surprise considering what had happened. Car accidents are a bitch, but car-bird crash landings are a double bitch.

  Even still, I had the bright idea to swivel my head toward the voice. Big mistake there. The shooting pain from the sudden movement made me squeeze my eyes shut.

  There were indistinct sounds backed by the ringing of angelic chimes, to which Bobby replied, “Of course, sir. If I find any living souls, I’ll contact Ridwan immediately. Have a blessed cycle!”

  I managed to get my pain under control enough to crack my eyes open again. Instead of pushing myself this time, I took a moment to take in the room I was in, slowly turning my head to examine things as the sound of stone on stone echoed from where the conversation had been taking place.

  The chamber was a perfectly symmetrical cube of shining alabaster. The walls and ceiling were plain save for strange fittings in all the corners and edges of the room, smooth pieces that rounded off the hard edges. The only exit seemed to be an open archway on the far side of the room from the bed. Though the mattress below me was almost as hard and flat as the floor, it wasn’t actually rock and a much softer cushion was propped up under my head.

  There was some simple furniture: a dresser, a wardrobe, a nightstand, and a wash basin with a couple of pitchers set on it. Made from polished hardwood with brass fittings, it wasn’t nearly as fancy as I had been expecting for being, well, in Heaven.

  Light seemed to emanate from the very stone itself, giving the room an even, white glow that was only slightly diminished by a purple rug with an intricate geometric design sewn into it.

  I finally mustered the strength to sit up, groaning despite my horrible case of dry mouth. The constant angelic choir was finally starting to recede into the white noise category, letting me hear footsteps coming this way. I took a deep, painful breath and steeled myself for what I was about to see.

  Yeah, it wasn’t enough.

  Bobby walked through the archway. He looked every bit the same as when I had last seen him before we went out on patrol that night in Afghanistan. There was a strong family resemblance for sure as he had the same eyes (at least my eyes before la Corazon worked its magic), and the same nose. A couple of inches shorter than me, his chin was less pronounced and his overall features were a shade softer. Mom always said he had a baby face and it was true.

  There were two big differences though. First, he was certainly not dressed in Army desert BDUs. Instead, he was dressed very simply in a white linen tunic that came down to just above the knees, bound with a leather belt at the waist. His feet were stuffed in some kind of shapeless shoe that looked quite soft and comfortable.

  The second difference was the big one though. I could see through him. Well, mostly. His form was translucent, with slightly washed out colors. In fact, in some of the brighter parts of the room, I had a hard time tracking him at all.

  I guess it shouldn’t have been so shocking, seeing him in the same state as the other dead souls I had seen before the crash. We were in Heaven after all. Still, the sight of him was enough for my eyes to well up with tears and my throat to choke up.

  “Hi, Frank,” Bobby said, his expression torn between joy and worry. “I never guessed we’d get back together like this.”

  I wiped away the tears as they came. I’d never expected to see my brother again, and yet, here he was. “Never thought I’d make it to Heaven, huh?”

  Bobby, dead soul or not, was starting to cry too. “What makes you think that, you big ass? I knew I’d see you someday, but who would expect you to crash a flying car right down the street from me and somehow live through it?”

  Despite my legs feeling weak from shock, I swung off the bed and stood up. It hurt, but I gritted my teeth and bore it. Bobby was right there, looping my arm over his shoulders to steady me. Dead or not, he felt solid enough, if a bit, well, spongy.

  “Bobby, man, I’m so sorry.” I put my arm around his waist, not for support but to hug him. My emotions were on a roller coaster and I was expecting to wake up from this dream any second, so I was going to milk it for all it was worth.

  “Just stop right there.” I swear you could hear his eyes roll in his head. “I know where you’re going here so put on the brakes, big guy. No apology necessary.”

  I managed to do just that, cutting the waterworks enough to straighten up and give him a good, long look. “What, don't you get to watch over your family from Heaven? That is one of the perks of being in Heaven, right? You’ve seen me do this with Mom enough times then.”

  Bobby let out a bark of a laugh. “Oh boy, there’s a lot for you to learn about Heaven. No, we don’t get to do that, not one bit.” Seeing I didn’t need the support, he stepped back and clapped me on the shoulder. “If anyone should be sorry for how I died, it’s me. I was dumb enough to follow your sorry ass off to war!” His hand stayed on my shoulder and there was warmth and a strange sense of life in that ghostly form. “But I know you, Frank. Mom gave us both a very well developed sense of guilt.”

  I couldn’t help but join in on the laugh. “Yeah, I think just so she can look all wise when she tells us not to feel so guilty.” My nose was stuffy and my eyes sore. Staring into the perfection of Paradise’s magic and then getting on a good cry do not do wonders for your vision, let me tell you. “We miss you, ya know?”

  Bobby smiled. Unlike yours truly, he was scrupulously honest, so I believed him with every fiber of my being when he simply said, “Thanks, man. I knew you guys would, but it means so much to actually hear it, ya know?” He shook his head. “Heaven isn’t good about getting letters from home. Give the Army that much, they got you the mail!”

  I smirked. Death is supposed to change you, but Bobby was the same, same jokes, same smile. I threw my arms around him and gave him a proper hug this time.

  We embraced for a good, long moment. Maybe it was the emotional high, maybe it was la Corazon’s recuperative powers working on me, or maybe people just got better quick in Heaven. Hell, maybe it was all of the three, but I was already starting to feel better as we pulled apart.

  “Now, seriously, what the fuck are you doing here, Frank?” Bobby frowned with the classic “what did you do now, Frank” voice.

  I started the story in the bedroom, but we ended it sitting at a small table in an equally small, square front chamber. Bobby’s “kingdom in Heaven” consisted of these two Spartan chambers and that was it. It was beautiful in its simplicity and evidently he didn’t need most of the utilities we living folks needed. Don’t need to eat when you’re dead, ya know?

  “If it wasn’t for the fact I’m dead as a doornail, residing in Heaven, and knowing they’ve sealed the Pearly Gates, I’d never believe you,” Bobby smirked. He copied that from me, when he was just getting into high school and I was the cool guy on campus. Yeah, that whole “cool guy” bit sure didn’t last.

  “Trust me, I’m still wrapping my mind around the fact I’m telling this story to my dead brother in his Heavenly living room,” I said. It had been hours, but I didn’t feel tired, hungry, thirsty, or anything other than vaguely comfortable. While I wanted to know how exactly Bobby had gotten involved, how he had gotten me here, and what had happened to the others, I just as badly wanted to know everything that had happened since Bobby had died. “Now, I don't wan
t to seem like a total ass now that we've just now gotten back together but, as I just said, there's some serious shit going on and I need to get back to work.”

  Bobby was up before I was, reaching over to put a hand on my shoulder. "Cool your jets, Frank. I understand why you're in a rush, but there's way too many souls and angels looking for disturbances right now. If you're going to help anybody, we need a plan and we need the heat to die down a little bit."

  I grumbled and considered pushing up anyway. "But, Bobby--"

  "Don't 'Bobby' me. You know I'm right this time. Besides, you need to know the lay of the land anyway." There was certainly one more thing that had changed during Bobby's time in Heaven. He had finally figured out that he could say no to me.

  I relented, sitting back down. “Fine, all right then. So how exactly is life in the, uh, afterlife?”

  “Honestly, it’s pretty dull. It’s not bad by any stretch, don’t get me wrong!” He smiled and shrugged. “But it’s very, well, even here, ya know? Imagine a world run by really orderly hippies or actual, honest-to-God communism.” He laughed a bit. “Oh, and I’ve never met God, let’s get that out of the way.”

  I shared the chuckle before growing a bit serious. “What about the guy or angel or whoever at the door? Not often that hippies have cops.”

  “Well, that’s the orderly part.” Bobby rocked back and forth, balancing his chair on the front or back set of legs like he used to do. “Look at it like this: There’s no actual laws here or any actual police or the like, but there are folks that keep the peace and make everything run smoothly, like Ridwan, the big angel in charge of internal order. They rely on the good souls here to voluntarily supply information or, heck, turn themselves in when they fuck up.”

  “And that works?” Yeah, I was in Heaven and still found it incredible such a system could ever work. "Sounds like a sure recipe for a fucking mess."