by Chris Lowry
The shotguns I mentioned?
They were literal.
While the salt circle was designed to contain the magic within, and I couldn't shoot a spell through the shimmering wall of glowing green, the witches must have pulled a reverse on it.
Which meant they could shoot out.
Shotguns.
Literally.
I watched three of them swing up from muscular WWE looking witches where the bridesmaids would have stood in a traditional wedding.
I flicked a shield spell up with a twitch of my fingers, almost like a soft snap and three rounds of birdshot bounced off like hurricane rain on a tin roof.
They were double barrels of fun stuff so I waited for the second blasts to echo through the clearing, then scooted a little closer to the salt line.
A quick swipe of my toe would disrupt the circle and give me access to sling a few spells into the group.
I didn't count on the familiars.
Some people have guard dogs, this coven had guard cats.
Enormous Maine Coon Cats, which made Rottweilers shiver in their chains.
One for each witch, which meant thirteen descendants of an amorous union of saber tooth tigers with woolly mammoths launched at me all at once.
I caught movement from the corner of one eye, saw a shadow in the corner of the other and did the only thing a human can do in a spot like that.
I ducked.
Two massive bodies slammed into each other with a roaring meow, and landed on top of my head just as a couple more two hundred pounds of cat flesh slammed into me.
We all tumbled across the clearing in a hissing, spitting, screaming jumble of limbs, claws and biting.
Mostly by me.
I had one cat by the tail when we stopped and came up swinging like a Olympian in a hammer throw event. It yowled as it plowed into the other cats when they came in swiping, eight inch claws dashing for my face.
The swing bought me time, at least a foot of breathing room and that was all I needed.
Marshals are like gunslingers of the old wild West, except where those folks used six guns, we used magic.
Thought made real.
Each magic user is unique in their ability. Some need time to cast a spell, construct the thought, bind the elements and send it forth into the world.
Others need to gather ingredients for potions and boil up some trouble.
I was a trained BattleMage, and the Judge instilled in us a discipline like no other on this planet.
We trained until our spells were ingrained so deeply, they were cast and complete before the thought was from one side of the brain to the fingers.
Magic at the speed of a synapse.
That meant the coven was in trouble.
Because they gave me time.
I snapped and froze the cats.
I snapped and melted the earth under a two foot section of the salt circle so it collapsed with a psychic plop.
I snapped and the witches were paralyzed where they stood.
And I was ready for anything else they might have planned.
Witches were notorious for booby traps and backups.
But the woods were quiet.
I sauntered up to the wedding alter, which was made up like a lace covered twin bed and noticed the trenches in the wood, stained with blood from previous weddings.
The groom was in for the night of his life.
The last one.
They were going to steal his life essence and sacrifice him.
"I bet you're glad I got here buddy."
His eyes screamed, but his mouth stayed shut tight.
"You ladies are coming with me," I prepared the spell to transport us all in front of the Judge.
"Marshal!" Elvis screamed.
It was a psychic scream, since he was a ghost and the only way you can hear a ghost is through your mind, not your ears.
Psychic screams were a migraine whammy that felt like someone took a baseball bat, jammed a bunch of ice picks through it, named it something sweet and innocent like Lucille and slammed it into your mind hole.
Hurt is an understatement.
Still I'm no geek off the street.
The Marshal is a world class magical bad ass, the toughest of the Battle Mage's, a true survivor. In a job where a lifespan is roughly eighteen months, I'd been doing it for a decade.
That's because some of my magic is pre-cog, which lets me see one second or two into the future.
Normally.
A vision that serves me really well unless I get a warning from my ghost partner that hits like a roundhouse from Ali after a rope a dope.
I thought I saw a shadow getting bigger.
Then it hit me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Now I don't know where the Coven got a sabre tooth tiger from and truth be told I didn't give a damn.
At least that's what I wanted to think as it gripped my battered leather bomber in the two teeth that was its namesake and shook me like a tiny little mouse.
I thought the Maine Coon Cats were big.
They looked little puppies compared to the extinct tiger.
Or kittens I guess I should say.
Getting swung around like a felt toy made the old brain pan mix up electrical signals.
Elvis was trying to help.
Though tied to me by a tether, it wasn't physical so he wasn’t flopping.
He was popping though, doing a little dance on the massive kitty head, or dry humping it, I couldn't be sure.
Either or the extinct cat was not impressed.
It dropped me from its jaws and swatted me like a ball of yarn through the air.
I smacked into a tree, crashed through some branches and landed sort of sideways at the base of the trunk.
I had just enough time to see the sabre tooth bounding across the clearing to get me and raise my hand.
No claws.
The cat could have shredded me in one eviscerating swipe.
But it didn’t.
It could have punched through my tender head with twelve-inch teeth.
But it didn’t.
The damn cat looked like it was smiling.
I held back and regretted it cause the super-sized kitty popped me up in the air with a twist and sent me sailing again.
“Don't hurt Harold,” someone called out.
I plopped down and wondered who the hell was Harold.
Then the defense took the field.
I wish I could tell you it was glorious. That the witches trembled in fear and there was lots of cowering.
There was.
Of me under a shield as kitty tried to get to its new toy.
I froze everyone and everything again and crawled out of my protective half dome like a turtle out of a shell.
Elvis floated down as I stood up.
“Thanks for the help,” I groaned and meant it.
“Would you look at the size of that thing.”
I felt it.
“They're extinct,” he spun around and stared at me.
“That you remember,” I stretched and listened to cracks, pops and crackles as stuff inside me fell back in place.
“Laser tooth Tigers and cavemen, right?”
“Close,” I told him.
“Yeah that didn't sound right.”
He studied the massive frozen beast in front of us, focused on the sharp pointy teeth.
“Sword tooth? Knife tooth?” He guessed then grinned in victory as he snapped his ghost fingers.
They didn't make a sound.
“Razor tooth.”
I nodded.
“You got it dude.”
The ghost puffed up, confident in the win over his failing memory. Who was I to take it from him.
The bride and groom were stuck on the alter, the Coven leader in front of them.
I walked up, waved my hand around his head and thought release.
He staggered and stared in wide eyed wonder at the frozen tableau around h
im
“This your plan?” I asked.
“Not my plan, no.”
His voice had a Cajun accent and a hint of something else. North maybe.
“You want it to happen?”
I kept one eye on the cats. Familiars are magical too and sometimes stronger than the witch or warlock they partner with. If one of them got loose, it could hurt.
“Not like this,” the groom stuttered.
“Then go,” I told him.
He was off like a sprinter at the Olympics and leaped the fence back into the cemetery.
“You know what's happening here?” I asked my ghost and realized with a start that he was sort of my familiar now.
I would have liked a bad ass Saber tooth tiger or a grizzly bear, but when life gives you melons you might be dyslexic.
“It's a ritual,” he answered.
“I got that,” I said wishing for my giant spirit animals. “What kind?”
He shrugged.
“A union.”
“It is a wedding”
“Yes,” he explained and for a moment there was the hint of my watcher there. “A union of power. These symbols are a trade, protection for power and the protection of power. This Coven has a weakness and it looks like the guy you let go was their key out of it.”
Crap.
Was he a warlock?
“No,” shrieked the witch behind me. “You ruined everything!”
And pop, just like that she broke my spell and let loose the cats of war.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Harold the Saber tooth was smarter than his partner.
As soon as the unfreezing thawed him out, he took two large leaps, knocked me down and covered me with his massive form.
The other cats bounced off his magical hide and plopped on their feet.
Waiting.
Harold bared his teeth, leaned in and licked me with his sandpaper tongue.
“Gross,” I said. Cat kisses.
“I think he likes you,” Elvis sang. “You ain't nothing but a cat though, licking all the time.”
“Save it for karaoke,” I pushed the cat back and sat up.
He inserted his head under my hand and allowed me to scratch him.
“Did you call him Harold?”
The Coven Leader stepped forward and tried to keep my attention.
“I am Beth,” she introduced herself. “We are unfamiliar with you as the Marshal. We overreacted.”
“Beth I hear you calling, but I can't come home right now,” Elvis crooned.
“Wrong band,” I stood up.
“What?” The witch and the ghost said at the same time.
He must have lost some memories of the Kings songs and was mixing them up with Kiss. The mind works in weird ways, just electrical impulses really, and when the wires get crossed or you go ghost, I guessed we were in uncharted waters.
“Nothing,” I told her.
The rest of her Coven drifted in even lines behind her, six on each side, prepared to offer power if she needed it.
The shotguns were still pointed in my general direction though.
“I'm the Marshal of the East,” I pulled aside the jacket to show the badge again. “And you should answer to the shield, not to the man.”
She nodded and chewed on pouty lips.
Beth was a knockout in a girl next door way. Brunette hair pulled back in loose waves, beautiful face and not that I noticed, a really nice body under the flowing white gown. No bra.
“You're right,” she agreed. “We're sorry. Things have been somewhat strained since the Marshal left town.”
Left?
I kept that to myself. I guess I was expecting some back up, or at least a run in to let him know I was operating West of the river.
“But him being out of town shouldn't be that surprising,” I told her. “He covers all of the territory on this side.”
She nodded in a way that was cute and demure at the same time and I sent out feelers to see if she was trying a spell on me.
Turned out no.
Turned out she was just a natural looker.
“He has been gone for some time,” she said. “Long enough that others are starting to explore inroads into our fair city. You interrupted an alliance that would have saved a good many people.”
“That's something for the Marshal to handle,” I said.
“But he is not.”
She watched me with golden brown eyes that shimmered in the flickering candlelight, waiting to see how I would react.
My partner, the one from the West was a hothead. A reputation for flying off the handle at the slightest provocations and using a hammer response when a scalpel was needed.
He would have blasted the witch, maybe all of them.
Some might not have survived.
It was in our right to do so because we chased, fought and captured the worst in the world.
Black magic is no joke.
But witches making an alliance was not a kill worthy offense.
Barely deserved a second glance from a Marshal of Magic, unless this union had disastrous consequences downstream.
And to find that answer, I'd need to visit the Gnome.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Harold let me go after a few more head scratches. He dismissed me in that feline way of turning up his nose and turning his back on me.
The Coven didn't though.
They watched me walk away, eyes tracking every step as if they expected me to turn and blast them at any moment.
I kind of liked the look of surprise on their faces when I didn't.
Elvis tagged along, but kept quiet.
I think he realized the mix up was a mess up, or he was trying to do a multiplication table. Something kept him occupied as we marched toward the fringe of the French Quarter and the little Shop of predictions therein.
The Gnome’s home hadn't changed since our last visit. Maybe a few different veils on the wall and new candles added to the sconces, but it had a sense of eternal familiarity.
The crystal ball was in the same spot on the same stand, the chairs around the plush cushion top table a little more worn and faded
But the same.
She sat waiting in expectation as I pushed through the door.
“Did you figure it out?”
I shook my head.
“Not the witches I want.”
“I know,” she said. “But another problem to be dealt with.”
“Not mine,” I said.
Her keen eyes studied me as she crunched her caterpillar eyebrows together.
“He has not told you?”
“He who told me what?”
“Damn him to hell if he wasn't already cursed,” her accent made the words sound elegant.
“Are we talking about the guy who ran away? He just told me it wasn't his plan,” I explained.
She waved away the thought of him like an annoying gnat on a summertime eve.
“Digby Richmond,” she sneered. “Mafia son is no matter to the things we are to discuss.”
“Then I don't know who you're talking about.”
She took a deep breath and said it slow, like she was explaining it to a child.
Which I suppose she was, at least to her. I was ninety something and didn't look it. She had been around a lot longer, but never gave me anything exact.
Gnomes were Sidhe and practically immortal beyond the veil. Here they could be different though.
I just didn't know how much.
“The Judge failed to tell you the Marshal of the West has fallen, a victim of one of the monsters you created.”
I felt like a horse kicked me in the chest, then stomped my jibbly bits for good measure.
“Fallen?” I asked.
She could mean coma, or broken ankle. Heck, he could be down a well waiting on Tommie to show up with a posse and a rope to rescue him. Or turned warlock.
That thought sent a shiver up my spine.
She reached under the
table and set a Stetson on it.
The brim was crusty with dust and blood, the shape a little ragged.
“No well, huh?”
She shook her tiny head.
“I do not know why he wouldn't share it with you.”
I did.
Magic is about faith. And confidence.
And if a guy you thought was way tougher than you was taken out by a demon witch monster you set on the loose, it could shake the foundation of that confidence. A crack in the faith armor.
Doubt like that could be deadly.
It could affect the spell, the casting and the person behind it.
The answer was simple.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We returned to Hannah’s place if not quite conquering victors, then at least a small tick in the W column. A win for the home team.
She didn’t let the feeling last two steps past the door.
“I’ve got news,” she stated.
Her voice was flat, her expression neutral.
I guess what she found out wasn’t good.
“Those symbols you described for the ritual. They’re a protection spell.”
“I told you. A Union protection,” Elvis snorted.
“A union protection spell,” said Hannah.
I waved off the ghost so she could finish.
“Is it a gnat?” she asked. “I hate gnats. They get in all the time.”
She glanced around for the flying phantom menace until I could redirect her back to the thought on track.
“A Union protection spell?”
“The Coven you met is the weakest in New Orleans. Their Leader has only been in charge for a short while, less than a year. But her heart’s in the right place.”
“Nothing I enjoy more than an anatomically correct good witch.”
“Right,” Hannah rolled her eyes. “And Eww.”
“It’s the Big Easy, right. Got to let your freak flag fly.”
“Keep it at half mast, okay? Her Coven made some enemies in the past few months.”
“How?”
Hannah shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s the question behind the question that is sometimes important,” I told her. Let her hang that with my freak flag. I’m like a mullet, business up front, but party in the back.
“I’ll find out,” she answered and moved on.
