by C. C. Mahon
“If I understand correctly,” interjected Britannicus, “we only have one weapon able to harm her?”
“We might have another one,” said Gertrude uncertainly. She took out the hammer from behind the bar and proudly showed it to the wizard.
“Thor’s hammer?” asked King. “You wouldn’t happen to have Iron Man’s armor?”
“It does look like Mjölnir, doesn’t it?” agreed Gertrude with a wide smile. “But it’s not the real one. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to lift it.”
Gertrude handed King the hammer, who took it before I could warn her. The weapon fell to the ground with the crash of a dented-in floor.
“It’s a little heavy,” apologized Gertrude.
The cop shot her a suspicious look. “Okay, let’s clear things up. Who in this room is human other than me?”
I raised my hand.
“St. Gilles, you don’t count,” said King. “You have a magic sword. And I saw you fight in the alley: you’re faster than any human should be.” She examined the other people in the room and said, “It might be time for some introductions. I’m Detective King, Las Vegas PD. My job is to catch the bad guys. My weapon is my trusty gun. And my superpower is my above average intelligence and my fabled modesty. Next.”
The others exchanged doubtful looks. In the supernatural community, secrets came as a second nature, and revealing their nature to a simple human went against all their instincts. I spoke again.
“This club is a little like a gay bar in the ’70s: no one forces anyone to reveal their nature or their preferences. It’s about respect and survival. Let’s just say my employees all have their own particularities; they’re generally stronger and faster than us—except you, Gertrude, I know: strong, but not very fast. To answer your initial question: against Goldilocks, I’ll wield the sword. Matteo will take the hammer, but we have no idea how effective it’ll be against our opponent. Barbie plans on fighting with her bare hands.”
King shot Barb a suspicious look. You had to admit that with her yellow smoker’s tint and her ironing board figure, she didn’t look too impressive. Her illusion hid her wings and her sharp claws.
“Martial arts?” asked the cop.
“Harpy,” answered Barb with a challenging look.
“Huh?”
“Half woman, half bird of prey creature native to the Greek peninsula,” explained Britannicus.
“Who are you calling a creature?” retorted Barbie.
“No offence!” added the wizard.
“Too late,” quipped Barbie.
Britannicus cleared his throat before speaking again. “As for me, I have a few attack spells in my repertoire, even if I haven’t had the opportunity to use them these past few years.”
“ ‘Spells?’ ” noted King.
Britannicus held his hand out to her. “Where are my manners? Britannicus Watson, first class wizard, deployed by the London Guild and, uh…more recently separated from the Nevada Guild. A free agent, we could say.”
King took his outstretched hand with a skeptical look, as if she expected there to be a buzzer like the ones sold in joke shops that gave you an electric shock with every hand shake.
But the wizard settled for warmly shaking the cop’s hand, and she eventually went along with it.
“So,” continued King when she’d gotten her hand back, “we have a harpy, a combat wizard, a…” She looked over Matteo from head to toe, several times, before continuing. “A supermodel with Thor’s hammer, a waitress—ripped but slow—and a nightclub owner with a magic sword. Do I have it right up to now?”
Everyone nodded. King ran her hand over her face, as if to wipe away the fatigue. “Would it be possible to get some coffee?” she asked. “I feel like this is going to be a long day.”
33
“Here’s what I’m suggesting,” declared King after her third coffee. “Finding Goldilocks is my job. I’m going to treat the case like any other: put out an APB for an armed and dangerous suspect, talk to my CIs, the whole shebang. While I’m doing this, you fortify the club. That way, if she attacks here before I find her hideout, you’ll be ready.”
“And if you find her before she attacks?” I asked.
“I learned my lesson, St. Gilles. I won’t go after her by myself, and I certainly won’t bring in innocent cops. As soon as I find her, I’ll call you, and you can join me on site—discreetly. Okay?” I nodded. Nate stirred on the booth, and King frowned. “Is there anything I can do for your friend?”
Matteo placed his hand on Nate’s forehead, and the vampire smiled. “Our big teddy bear is going to pull through,” he said. “A good nap and a few cookies and he’ll be as good as new.”
King leaned towards me and whispered, “He’s really a…well…”
“You remember the grizzlies in the alley? Three of them were illusions. The forth one was real.”
The cop’s eyes made their way back to Nate’s motionless silhouette, and she shook her head. “If I was hallucinating in a hospital bed, you’d tell me, right?”
“You wanted the truth,” I said. “Now you have to deal with it. And our coffee is much better than the hospital’s. You couldn’t mix them up.”
I accompanied King to her car, parked in front of the club. The cop turned around to take in the hangar with cinder block an metal sheet walls. “It won’t be easy keeping her out,” she said.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” I said. “She already failed to break through our fortifications.”
“Magic?”
“Magic.” I nodded.
She shook her head and got into her car.
“I’m Lola,” she said suddenly. “Can I call you Erica?”
“Yes. Thanks, Lola.”
She drove away under the Vegas sun, and I wondered if I hadn’t just made a huge mistake by throwing a good cop into a world she knew nothing about.
When I got back to the basement, I found Britannicus lost in the examination of Gertrude’s hammer. Leaning over the wizard’s shoulder, the young troll watched every move he made. I wondered if she was curious about what Brit could discover or nervous that he might damage her precious hammer.
I clapped my hands to get everyone’s attention. “Well, kids, not to stress you out or anything, but we have a club to fortify. Any suggestions?”
Britannicus raised his head, smiling widely. “There’s a few theories I’ve always wanted to test out,” he said. “I’m going to need a rope, an egg, and a pair of strong arms.”
“Will you give the arms back?” asked Gertrude skeptically.
The wizard reassured her, and they both left to scheme in the kitchen.
“Boss,” said Barbie, “when I was a little girl, I learned how to set up snares. Would you let me set a few on the first floor?”
“Barb, you have wings and claws,” I said. “Why did you need snares?”
“My father was strict about our education. It’s been a while since I’ve practiced, but apparently it’s like riding a bike.”
I watched her go off in search of iron wire, my mind filled with the image of a harpy on a bicycle. A whimper brought me back to reality, and I turned towards Nate.
He was still unconscious, and the mark from my sword crossed his chest with an angry red and swollen scar. I placed a hand on his forehead. He was clammy and feverish.
“Metamorphs give off a lot of heat when they’re healing,” said Matteo behind me.
He placed his hands on my shoulders, and I felt his breath on my hair. I closed my eyes and let myself fall against him. His arms closed around me.
“Remember that you’re not alone,” he whispered. “You’re strong, intelligent, and brave. That doesn’t mean you have to do everything by yourself. Let me help you. I know you’ve always looked at me as weak and a coward.”
I turned around. “You’re kidding? You left one of the most powerful families in Vegas because your convictions kept you from harming humans. You sacrifice your own wellbeing every day to st
ay true to your principles. That’s the opposite of weakness or cowardice.”
“But that means that I don’t have the strength, the resources, or the training that allows me to protect you,” he said.
“You know that I don’t want to be protected.”
His big hands framed my face, and he ran his thumbs along my cheeks. “Not even a little?”
I leaned into his caress and closed my eyes.
Yes, maybe a little bit.
“I can call my father,” he said. “He’ll help us if I ask.”
I opened my eyes and looked deep into Matteo’s eyes. “What will he ask for in exchange for his help?”
“Me,” he said simply. “His son, by his side, to rule his empire.”
“You never wanted to.”
His expression was guarded, and he shivered. “I hate what they are and the world in which they live.”
The vampire’s family owned two casinos on the Strip, a handful of renowned gentlemen’s clubs, and several brothels out of the county. They fed on human emotions, and they had set their sights on the excitement of the players, desire and carnal pleasure. I might as well say they were thriving.
“You’re not like them,” I said.
“You’d be surprised. If I decided to, I’d become just as cruel as my father and just as powerful as him. That’s what scares me.”
“So don’t call him. Your powers don’t have any effect on Goldilocks anyways, no more than a gun does. Your father and his mercenaries would be worthless to us.”
“Do you think we can beat her?”
I forced a smile, but I knew I wasn’t fooling him. “Of course. We have my sword and Thor’s hammer. Nothing can withstand us.”
He returned my smile.
“Who wants to help me make a love potion?” said Britannicus from the kitchen door. Faced with our lack of enthusiasm, he explained. “The Guild’s rules explicitly forbid the creation of potions, charms, or spells destined to meddle with the human mind. So I’m out of practice. But I checked: the Scandinavian texts mention at least one case where this kind of potion worked on a Valkyrie. Think about it: if our adversary falls in love with one of us, it would be easy for us to persuade her not to murder us. However, I need hairs, blood, and uh…other fluids from the person with who the Valkyrie is supposed to become infatuated. Any volunteers? Gertrude refused. Miss St. Gilles, I think it will have to be you. It would be more effective. Where do you keep your menstrual blood? Witches have an untold advantage over us poor wizards, and I’ve always found that rather unfair. Erica? Erica?”
Britannicus turned towards Matteo to ask, “Is she crying or laughing?”
“Both, I think.”
Gertrude came out of the kitchen now to see what was happening to me. I was caught in uncontrollable laughter that I wasn’t even trying to stop. I had to release a little pressure.
I would, however, have to set one or two things straight with Britannicus. Starting with this story of menstrual blood.
Barbie now came in, her hair a mess, a length of iron wire between her teeth, wire cutters in hand. “Wha’s goin’ on?” she asked.
“Miss St. Gilles is going to help me concoct a love potion,” explained Britannicus. “I need menstrual blood.”
The phone ringing nipped in the bud what promised to be a passionate conversation. I caught my breath and answered
“You can scrap the traps,” announced Detective King. “I found her, and she doesn’t seem to have any intention of going out tonight.”
She gave me an address that I wrote down on the notepad hanging next to the phone.
“Brit, you won’t have time to test your love potion today,” I said. “We’re heading out.”
Britannicus disappeared into the kitchen. Barbie put away the rest of the iron wire and her wire cutters. Matteo grabbed the magic hammer. When Britannicus reappeared, his doctor’s bag in hand, I gave the signal to leave.
“Coming,” Nate mumbled.
Everyone turned towards him.
The metamorph attempted to raise himself onto his elbows. He failed, let himself fall back, and grimaced.
“I doubt that,” I said.
“Just give me…five minutes…”
Matteo disappeared into the kitchen and came back carrying a large frying pan. He gave it to Gertrude. “If big teddy bear here gives you trouble,” he said, “knock him out.”
Gertrude looked over the item skeptically.
“It’s for his own good,” said Matteo.
The young troll took the pan and turned towards Nate. “It’s for your own good,” she said apologetically.
“Boss!” cried Nate.
“You heard the lady,” I said. “And if it goes badly and we don’t come back, you should run the club together. Nate, you can handle the management. Gertrude, you’ll assure consistency at the bar.”
“You’ll come back,” affirmed Gertrude.
“Obviously,” I said.
Obviously.
34
King was waiting for us in her old car, the one I’d mistaken for a wreck, and clearly the one that the cop normally used for stakeouts. She was parked on a deserted street, near the airport runways. On the other side of a tall chain link fence topped with barbed wire, the planes were coming and going, accompanied by the roaring of their engines.
I opened the passenger side door and got in next to King.
“Hey! shouted the cop. “What the…?”
She shoved the barrel of her gun in my ribs. I raised my hands, slowly, and dropped the illusion that I’d crafted around me. As to not attract attention, I’d opted for the appearance of an old woman, a homeless woman perpetually hunched over under the weight of the years, that dumpster dived around the club every Monday.
“How do you do that?” sighed King.
“It’s an illusion,” I explained. “We call it a ‘glamour.’ I didn’t want Goldilocks to recognize me.”
The cop holstered her gun. “Are you alone?”
“Do you see that couple on the street corner?” I pointed towards the man and woman coming towards us, arm in arm. They were also hunched over by the passage of time. She was holding herself up with a cane; he was holding a shopping bag from which leeks were sticking out.
King slowly nodded. She scrutinized the couple, and I figured she was trying to see through their current disguises.
“Matteo and Barbie,” I said. “Gertrude stayed at the club to watch over Nate.”
“The wounded one? Did he regain consciousness?”
I nodded.
“And the Brit?” asked the cop.
“Britannicus is nearby, under an invisibility spell.”
“I hope he took a shower beforehand. That guy reeks of ginger.”
“You can smell his magic?”
“I smell his cologne.”
“No,” I said. “Ginger is the smell of magic. Each type of magic gives off a different smell. For example, Nate’s smells like pine sap. For Britannicus, it’s ginger.”
“And you?”
“I only have a very small amount of magic—barely enough to create an illusion here and there,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s enough to give off a smell. And I’d guess it’s like perfume: we rarely smell our own.”
King nodded slowly as she absorbed this new information. “Your sword,” she said, pointing to the tube sticking out behind my shoulder. “What does it smell like?”
“Ozone,” I said after thinking about it for a second.
Barb and Matteo had covered half the distance to us. It was time to move.
“So, where’s Goldilocks?” I asked.
King handed me a pair of binoculars and pointed between two buildings. “Do you see the warehouse, two streets over?”
“The big rusted one?”
“One of my CIs has been squatting there for a few months. Two days ago, an ‘absolutely insane blonde’, his words, kicked him out while threatening him with a machete.”
“He
’s lucky she left him alive.”
“He doesn’t look too great, the poor old man,” she said. “She probably didn’t think he could hurt her.”
“Is she there now?” I asked.
“Do you see the upper right corner of the building? There’s a window…”
And in this window, the yellow hue of a camping lamp.
Bingo.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
“There are two ways in,” said the cop. “The loading docks on this side and the door to the offices on the other side of the building. I suggest that three people go in through the loading docks while the others take the door to the offices.”
“You and me?” I asked.
“That works. Do you have a way of communicating with your friends?”
“Matteo,” I said without raising my voice, “did you catch that?”
On the sidewalk, fifty feet from the car, the old man nodded and tapped his companion’s hand. King raised an eyebrow.
“Mic or magic?” she asked.
“The, um, people like Matteo have exceptionally good hearing,” I said.
“And the ginger-smelling Brit?”
“I’m positive Britannicus knows how to stay up to date.”
“Perfect. Your friends should give us ten minutes to get into position. After which we’ll go into the building, we’ll clear the first floor, and we’ll converge on the southern office where the light is. No one tries to be a hero, and whatever you do, check who you’re shooting at before you fire. I don’t feel like going back to the hospital.”
“You’re the only one carrying a gun,” I said.
“You didn’t bring yours?”
“Why would I? I can’t wield the sword and the gun at the same time. And anyways, bullets seem useless.”
She let out a grumble and turned the key in the ignition. The car started almost without a sound.
A few minutes later, King cut the lights and backed into a alleyway.
“If things turn south,” she said, “we can meet here.”
I followed her towards the entry to the warehouse, trying to hug the walls as discreetly as she was. The detective didn’t have any glamours to make her invisible, but she was managing pretty well without it. For my part, I hadn’t bothered to conjure another illusion. I needed all my energy to defeat Goldilocks.
