Old Dogma New Tricks (The Elven Prophecy Book 2)

by Theophilus Monroe

  I exhaled a sigh of relief. Now, in addition to making my mind up about whether to help Brag’mok behind Layla’s back, I had to contact the Methodists, make our council’s proposal, and if they agreed, start organizing things at the soup kitchen.

  Then again, if I still needed a cover to help Brag’mok, working the soup kitchen would be ideal. It would give me a whole evening, not to mention since it was a church function and Layla and I still hadn’t gone public with our relationship, she wouldn’t be able to attend.

  Chapter Eight

  “I’m not doing anything called downward dog,” Agnus said. “That would be humiliating.”

  I smirked as I got on all fours and stuck my ass in the air. “It’s just what it’s called, Agnus.”

  “So, if I told you to get in a pose and called it pansy bitch, you’d do it?” Agnus asked.

  “Well, probably not.”

  “Why not? It’s just a name. Doesn’t mean you’d become a pansy bitch if you did it.”

  “Fair point,” I agreed.

  “Because you can’t become something you already are!” Agnus shot back.

  I cleared my throat, did my best to jump my feet back to my hands, and stood up slowly.

  Layla had gone for a jog, and I’d decided to take advantage of her absence to knock out my yoga routine before bed. Since I only had one television, and Agnus had nothing better to do, he’d decided he’d try to show me up. I mean, he’s a cat, and cats are more flexible by nature. Until now, I’d assumed he had better balance.

  “You’re seriously going to try tree pose?” I asked as I stood up and lifted one leg, pressing my foot into the thigh of the other and extended my arms toward the ceiling.

  “If you can do it, I can do it,” Agnus retorted before perching on his hind legs and trying to push himself up with just one. He collapsed in a pile of fur and hissed. I chuckled, which caused me to lose my balance. Thankfully, all I had to do to come out of the pose was lower one foot. “This is human yoga, Agnus. It’s fine if you can’t do every pose.”

  Agnus stared at me and burst into song. “Anything you can do, I can do better. I can do anything better than you.”

  “No, you can’t,” I replied

  “Yes, I can,” Agnus insisted.

  “No, you can’t. Besides, isn’t that from some musical?” I asked.

  “Sung by Ethel Merman,” Agnus informed me. “My love.”

  I cocked my head. “You think you’re in love with Ethel Merman?”

  “The way she moved across the stage, she was like a cat.”

  I shook my head. “You realize she died a long time before you were born?”

  “What!” Agnus exclaimed, placing one paw to his chest. “Say it ain’t so!”

  I paused the video and grabbed my phone. “Here it is. It says on her Wikipedia page that the musical you’re talking about was done in the forties. She died in the early eighties.”

  Agnus huffed and hopped onto the couch. “Probably for the best. I’m still holding out for my beloved Bengal. It’s a more appropriate match anyway.”

  I bit my lip. “You realize you’re neutered, right?”

  “All that means is I can’t knock her up. That doesn’t mean I can’t have my fun!”

  “First, I’m not sure a small tabby house cat can knock up a Bengal Tiger. And second, I somehow doubt it would be as much fun as you’re imagining unless getting eaten is your idea of a good time.”

  Agnus shook his head. “Once you go cat, you never go back.”

  I scrunched my brow. “That doesn’t even rhyme properly, and I can’t imagine that’s true.”

  I grabbed the remote and unpaused the video in time to see Tony Horton release his tree pose and go through another vinyasa sequence.

  I did my best to follow suit.

  “I’m just staying right here,” Agnus said.

  “Embarrassed about the last stumble?” I asked.

  “No,” Agnus said. “This exercise is beneath me.”

  “Because of downward dog?” I asked.

  “Amongst other things,” Agnus said, licking his paw, then dragging it across his head.

  I rolled my eyes and proceeded through my vinyasa before Tony introduced the next balance posture: crane.

  There was no way in hell I was pulling this one off. It was a miniature handstand with your knees tucked in and resting on your elbows.

  I just sat there and stared at the screen.

  “Pussy!” Agnus blurted. “You won’t even try?”

  “Look who’s talking!” I snapped.

  “When you call me that, it’s no insult. I’m immune to pussification.”

  I cocked my head. “Is that even a word?”

  “Maybe not according to the King’s English. But whoever decided the king gets to define what is or isn’t a word anyway?”

  I shrugged. “They do call our language ‘English.’”

  “And I’ve been known to call you an asshole, asshole. Does that make you the master of all things butthole?”

  I squinted. “Your analogy is flawed. Besides, I think it’s the Queen’s English as long as the reigning monarch is a queen, not a king.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Agnus said. “You aren’t in England, and even if you were, what kind of jerk thinks he’s so high and mighty that he can dictate proper grammar?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think the King or Queen of England has much governing power beyond that.”

  “And that’s no power at all,” Agnus said. “Besides, I don’t technically speak English. You just hear me in English because that’s how your mind processes what I’m telling you.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t care. How’d we even get on this topic to begin with?”

  “You were distracting yourself from doing yoga by challenging my use of the word pussification. Mostly because you’re a pussy.”

  I sighed. “Whatever. I can’t clear my mind enough to do this tonight anyway.”

  Agnus cocked his head. “Want to talk about it?”

  I sighed. I wasn’t sure I could trust Agnus not to blab about it. “No, not really.”

  “Good. Because only pussies talk about their feelings.”

  “That’s not true!” I objected. “It’s healthy to talk about your feelings. If you don’t talk about them, you just bottle them up until you blow up. It’s one of the benefits of my AA meetings. It’s a place to air my feelings without worrying about being judged.”

  “And you think I’d judge you?” Agnus asked.

  “All you ever do is judge me,” I replied.

  “True,” Agnus said. “But all I’m doing when I judge you is state the obvious.”

  “That I’m a pussy?” I asked.

  Agnus nodded. “I somehow doubt I’m the only one who has ever called you that.”

  I snorted. “Some dude at the gym said as much earlier today. But the way he said it, it didn’t come across as judge-y.”

  “Judge-y?” Agnus asked. “And you’re challenging the legitimacy of my word choices?”

  “How do you even know that’s not a word if I only hear you in English?” I asked.

  Agnus stared at me blankly, then slowly shook his head.

  “So, according to this prophecy, you’re supposed to be my familiar, right? A source of wisdom and guidance?” I asked.

  Agnus continued staring at me. “Obviously.”

  I snorted. “Can I trust you to keep a secret?”

  “A secret? There are only two people who can hear me speak, you and Layla.”

  “Right.” I pulled myself up on the couch. “Unless anyone else who wields magic shows up.”

  “Oh. My. God. You’re planning to propose!” Agnus exclaimed.

  I laughed. “Good guess, but no. Too soon for that.”

  Agnus cocked his head. “Then what could it possibly be?”

  I sighed. “B’iff’s brother is here on Earth. He thinks B’iff’s body is charged with magic and still in the sou
rce, and that what’s keeping the gate open.”

  “So we help him get it out. What’s the big deal? Why would that be a secret?”

  I bit my lip. “Because Brag’mok, B’iff’s brother, said that once we remove his corpse from the source and the gate closes, we cannot guarantee that it will ever open again.”

  “And Layla would be stuck here indefinitely,” Agnus said.

  I nodded. “Brag’mok cautioned that she might try to go back to say goodbye to people she loves and tie up loose ends. But if she does that, he said they’ll arrest her and probably execute her immediately.”

  “How can this orc be certain?” Agnus asked.

  “They don’t like the world ‘orc.’ They prefer ‘giant,’” I said, correcting my politically incorrect cat. “And I’m guessing he has keen intelligence on elven politics. Since she helped me by defying her father, even if the elf king wants to save her life on account of being her father, his hands might be tied if sentiment against her is too strong.”

  “If you do this but don’t tell her, she might not ever forgive you.”

  “But she’ll be alive. As much as I hate to think about her being angry with me, that’s something we can get past. Her being executed, though…”

  “Layla is smart,” Agnus said. “But she’s also overly confident about her skills. This Brag’mok is right. She will likely return to New Albion no matter what you say. She’ll think she has the skill to avoid capture.”

  “So I can’t tell her.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Agnus replied. “She could be right. You don’t know for sure that she will be captured.”

  “But if there’s a chance, even the slightest chance that she’d get caught and killed…” I took a deep breath and leaned over, my elbows on my knees and my face in my palms.

  “Despite what the orc said—”

  “Giant,” I coughed into my hand.

  “Whatever,” Agnus said, licking his chops. “Despite what he said, if you start making choices for her, even if you’re afraid she’ll make the wrong ones, she might never forgive you. You aren’t her owner any more than you are mine.”

  I wasn’t about to correct Agnus about being his owner. I suspected he figured he was my owner. I mean, don’t all cats think that way? I scratched my scalp and took a deep breath. “I don’t like this. Not at all. I have the perfect out. I need to spend time at the soup kitchen. What harm is there in at least checking first to see if it’s even viable? I mean, if we can’t even get B’iff’s body from the source like Brag’mok suggests, the point would be moot.”

  Agnus nodded. “Very well. But I’d suggest before you do anything that can’t be undone, you tell Layla the truth. She’s given up everything for you. Her family. Her world. Everything she’s ever known. You owe her the truth.”

  I pressed my lips together. “I’ll tell her once I know for certain what the plan is, then. Part of me hopes it’s a moot point and we won’t be able to get B’iff out of there, but another part says if we can, we might be able to prevent any chance of an elven invasion.”

  “Isn’t that life?” Agnus asked. “It’s not often that we are confronted with cut and dried decisions. I mean, consider the conundrum of bathing myself before versus after using the litter box.”

  “I’d think after would make more sense,” I said. “You know, sort of like washing your hands after going to the bathroom.”

  “Ew!” Agnus protested. “After digging through litter with my paws?”

  “Fair point,” I agreed. “Hadn’t thought of that.”

  “But at the same time, I feel dirty after using my box. I have an urge to clean myself.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “The point is, there isn’t an easy answer,” Agnus said. “But if you do decide to go through with it, you should tell her.”

  “But won’t she be pissed that I didn’t tell her from the start?” I asked.

  “Probably,” Agnus said. “But she’ll get over that. If you are going to potentially close the gate to her home without telling her, though, that would be unforgivable.”

  The door clicked and Layla walked in, still breathing heavily from her jog. I don’t know why, but I do the slightest amount of work, and I sweat like a pig. Layla goes for a long run, probably several miles, and has just a touch of sweat on her temples.

  “What are you two up to?” Layla asked.

  “Just talking about things,” I said.

  “Things like what?” Layla asked.

  I shrugged. “Discussing the meaning of life.”

  “When you have nine lives,” Agnus piped up, “you can try out a few different meanings.”

  I cocked my head. “Cats don’t literally have nine lives. That’s just something people say because of how cats seem always to live on the edge, narrowly escaping major disasters.”

  “How do you know that?” Agnus asked.

  “Have you ever died?” Layla asked. “Even once?”

  “Well, no. I don’t want to waste any of my lives.”

  “Because you only have one,” I said. “You won’t test it because deep down, you know I’m right.”

  Agnus meowed before he turned, jumped off the couch, and walked away, displaying his hindquarters. “Silly mortals.”

  Chapter Nine

  “How’d the meeting with the council go?” Layla asked.

  “Better than I expected,” I said. “They agreed to allow me to explore an arrangement for working the soup kitchen on alternate evenings with the Methodists.”

  Layla nodded. “Well, I suppose that’s progress.”

  I looked at the wall. When there’s something I know but can’t share, I get uneasy. I’m a horrible liar, and I don’t keep secrets well. “Yeah. Going to take a lot of work, though.”

  “Are you going to be able to handle it all?” Layla asked. “You really can’t afford to cut back on your training.”

  I sighed. “I know. I guess something will have to give.”

  “The bartending gig?” Layla asked.

  I nodded. “Probably, but I need it this month. I won’t get my first paycheck from the church in time to pay rent, which I’ll have to do if I quit that job.”

  “How are you going to get everything in?” Layla asked.

  I shrugged. “Just the same for now, only two or three evenings each week I won’t be here. I’ll have to work in the kitchen. Presuming, of course, the Methodists agree to our proposal.”

  “Do you expect they will?” Layla asked.

  I nodded. “Most likely. They’ll probably think it’s a little silly to divide the evenings by denomination, but their goal when asking us to participate was to offer dinners seven days a week. This arrangement would accomplish that.”

  “I suppose we’ll just have to make the most of our time at the gym, then,” Layla said. “It isn’t like this is going to be forever.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, because the way things are going, I’ll end up slaughtered by your father.”

  “Don’t say shit like that,” Layla snapped, rolling her eyes. “You are coming along well. You might not notice, but you’re getting leaner, you’re getting stronger, and the flexibility will come eventually. You just have to stick to that yoga, which should also help you focus and get a better handle on your magic.”

  “Layla,” I said. “We’re talking about me taking on a whole legion of magic-wielding elves. A legion that is strong enough to defeat every human army on Earth.”

  “Only because they can use their magic to control nature,” Layla said. “But once you’re in full control of your power, you should be able to neutralize anything they do.”

  I shook my head. “Which means that killing me will be their number one priority.”

  Layla sighed. “Most likely. Which, as you know, is why we’re trying to get you into fighting shape. Even if you don’t fight, at least to give you a chance if you have to run.”

  I bit my lip. “What if there was a way to close the gate?�
��

  Layla shook her head. “I don’t know how we could do that.”

  “But say there was a way. What would that mean?” I asked.

  Layla scratched her head. “I’d be afraid we couldn’t open it again. I love you, Caspar, but I am still holding out hope that you will find a way to unite the people. All people—elves, giants, and humans. Maybe even fairies.”

  I bit my lip. This was the first time Layla had mentioned fairies. I’d only just learned of them from Brag’mok, but Layla didn’t know that. “Fairies? Are you serious?”

  Layla nodded. “They mostly stay to themselves. They don’t like elves much. Or giants or humans, for that matter. But now that you’re wielding Earth magic, there’s a good chance they’ll make an appearance eventually. They believe themselves to be the protectors of magic.”

  “How do they protect magic?” I asked.

  “They used to wage massive assaults. Swarms of them would overwhelm a practitioner and strip him of his power. But for the most part, they’re tricksters. They don’t have the numbers they used to, so they’ll do what they can without you noticing it to make it seem like every spell you cast has consequences.”

  “Like the idea that magic comes with a price in the Once Upon A Time series?” I asked.

  Layla chuckled. “Binged a few episodes of that on Netflix while you were working. Funny you’d say that, but yes, that’s sort of what the fairies do. Not that there is a natural price that comes with magic, but if you think there is, they believe you’ll be more careful about how you use it.”

  “And these fairies are on New Albion, too?” I asked.

  Layla nodded. “Not many, but yes. Their numbers on both planets have dwindled over the centuries. That’s probably why we haven’t encountered them yet. They surely know you’ve tapped into Earth’s magic, but they’re likely observing from afar, making sure you aren’t doing anything too foolish, not risking their lives by getting involved until they feel like they have no other choice.”

  “Well,” I said, “I guess I’ll look forward to it.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Layla said. “I’ve only had a handful of encounters with them, but in my experience, such confrontations are never pleasant. They don’t trust that anyone who isn’t a fairy will use magic properly.”