by Ken Lange
Out of good options, I holster the weapon and wrap lightning around my shields before storming toward the nearest bunch of wraiths. As I approach, I focus my will to create a long blade of charged plasma. The nearest one flashes out with its talons in an attempt to eviscerate me, but I block it with the makeshift sword. Its hands turn to ash and it stumbles back, letting out an agonized scream that hurts my ears. The ground at my feet shakes, and the others step back to give the massive worm room to work.
I pull the LP-12 but wait till it breaks through the soggy grass at my feet before firing a single shot into its face. The Jörmungandr stops on a dime, pauses for a second then retreats into the earth. Of course, the ensuing ruckus lands me on my ass, but that’s a whole lot better than getting torn apart and eaten.
Three of the largest wraiths I’ve ever seen are on me in an instant. Duckwalking backward, I fire three rounds. Their forward movement stops as if someone pressed pause then they turn to ash. One round left.
Oh, this is going to suck.
More wraiths pour out of the building and two more Jörmungandr charge me. So, this is how things end. Good to know. I fire my last round at the nearest armored beast, who stops and burrows quickly out of sight. I eject the cartridge, and it falls to the ground just as the first wraith reaches me.
It moves to tear out my throat, forcing me to bend back out of the way of its claws. The movement causes me to lose my grip on the LP-12, and I drop it. Shit. Desperate to stay amongst the living, I wrap lightning around myself an instant later and shove the blade through the wraith’s chest. It doesn’t even have time to scream before it explodes into ash that’s carried away on the wind.
That worked out well. Even though it puts a strain on my systems, I do my best impression of Zeus, pull my hand back, and let loose with a bolt of electricity. It strikes the next wraith in the face. The slick black outer coating turns to ash as the bolt tears through the gooey flesh underneath to reveal a charred skull. Then, as if someone’s cut the strings on a marionette, it drops to the ground.
If I’m not careful, I’ll be right behind the guy.
I slip my hand inside my vest, pull one of the modified bullets out of the spare clip and throw it at the massive worm heading for me. The moment it hits the outer shell, I hurl a massive spike of ice at it, forcing it through its armored coating. The thing howls, rears back, and slams its tail against my chest. One of my ribs breaks and I’m sent skidding back a good dozen feet.
The energy signature of the massive creature flickers from black and purple to something more golden then it dives face-first into the earth and vanishes. My rib is forcibly moved back into place and I nearly crumple to the ground but remain upright—barely.
Then pain shoots through me as something slices through my shields and down my spine. I try to roll out of harm’s way. Instead, my knees buckle and my muscles spasm…which leaves me facedown, eating dirt. In spite of everything, I’m quick to spit out the mud, twist myself around, and throw a bolt of electricity into the face of the wraith standing there.
He’s dead, but all his buddies want their piece of the prize…which, in this scenario, is me. Of course, being sliced and diced into tiny little pieces or even swallowed whole by the Jörmungandr would surely feel better than this.
My strength gives out momentarily, sending me to the ground again with a squishy thud and my recently repaired ribs enthusiastically object to the abuse. Staggering to my feet, I let out a wet sigh as two more speed toward me, and the best I can manage is to produce another blade of lightning. The Idunn are doing what they can to put me back together, but they’re having a hell of a time since I’m not staying still long enough for them to do their job properly.
The first one reaches me, feints to the right but catches me with a left across my face and I shove my blade through its chest. While my wounds won’t kill me, the same can’t be said for the other guy, who disintegrates in front of me. Its friend slashes me across my ribs with its talons, and I fall to my knees. Sweeping the sword back, I cut its legs out from under it then drive the blade through its skull as it falls back onto the ground.
When I glance up, there are four more Jörmungandr and a wall of wraiths. Through sheer force of will, I get to my feet and grip the blade with both hands. “You’re going to have to earn the right to take my life. I’m not going down without a fight.”
Not that I’ve got a ton of that left in me. But I’ll damn sure take a few more of these bastards with me on my way out because fuck them.
They’re about twenty feet away when several flashes of black lightning slam into the earth all around me. There’s a massive howl as Fenrir tears through the line of wraiths, turning a dozen of them to dust with a massive swipe of his glowing claws. To my immediate right, Loki’s holding twin LP-12s that he fires at the remaining Jörmungandr, who quickly disappear.
I don’t have a clue what changed his mind, and I don’t care. Whatever the reason, I’m eternally grateful for his timely arrival.
Seconds later, a massive fireball slams into the nearest group of wraiths. Loki points at Fenrir and they vanish as two more bolts of black lightning envelop them. I glance over my shoulder to see the first of the Ulfr Hunn break through the tree line. Immediately after that, thunder sounds through the basin as dozens of weapons fire at once.
The blade dies in my hands, and I fall to my knees. I’m not going to pass out, but I won’t be doing anymore fighting today either.
My people rush past me, forcing the wraiths back. It takes a matter of seconds for the ones out in the open to die. Several six-man teams split off and disappear into the brush in pursuit of what’s left of the Baron’s forces.
Rick strides up next to me and pats me on the back. “I could’ve sworn my text said not to do anything stupid.”
I roll over onto my ass and breathe a sigh of relief. “You know me. I just can’t seem to help myself some days.” Glancing up at him, I ask, “How did you guys get here so quickly?”
His expression falters. “Once we broke through the trees about a mile back, there was a massive trail that led us straight here.”
I blink. “What?”
He places his hand over his heart. “Swear to god.”
Loki.
I nod. “Glad you showed up.”
He cocks his head to the side. “You going to be all right?”
“Should be. Just need some time to heal.”
I hope the same can’t be said for the Baron.
Chapter 22
June 7th
The stars in the night sky are bright this far out of town, which has been rather helpful since we’ve been working on sorting through the damage for the last nine hours. Rick wants to set fire to the place and be done with it. I, however, want to see if there are any clues that’ll lead us to Ethan. Barring that, I’d like to know if the Baron is dead or not. If he isn’t, and that’s looking more and more likely, we’ve got unfinished business to tend to. The way I see it, he owes me a debt, and I plan on collecting.
The only positive so far this evening is that the Idunn have staunched the bleeding caused by the wraiths. This normally wouldn’t be that big a deal, but considering the ass kicking I’ve been taking lately, they’re running on fumes. So while I’ve stopped leaking, everything still hurts like hell. What I need right now is a good hot shower and a few hours to myself.
Rick meanders over. “You able to walk?”
I shrug. “Probably, but I really don’t want to.”
He grins. “Well, none of us are carrying your dumb ass out of here.” Thumbing over his shoulder, he sighs. “The Baron’s body isn’t here. There’s plenty of blood splashed around that weird-ass throne, but no sign of the guy himself. From what you’ve told me about him, he probably did that teleport thing.”
I really hadn’t expected them to find him in here but given how susceptible the loa are to the irradiated rounds, I was sort of hoping I’d killed the douchebag.
Leaning against
the side of the shanty, I say, “Figures. Guess I’ll need to track the asshole down again.”
He gestures at the trees. “Come on. I’ll drive you back to the office. You look like absolute shit.”
“Feel like it too.” Clapping him on the shoulder, I say, “Can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
Maybe there is a god after all. I might be able to get that shower before dawn.
He chuckles. “Don’t thank me yet.”
I cock my head to the side. “Why?”
He sighs. “Because it’s my job to chew you an entire new asshole for being an idiot.”
I laugh. “Can we just skip to the part where I say it wasn’t my fault?”
Rick motions for me to follow. “Come on, you can make your excuses on the way.”
Thankfully, he’d made it through most of his lecture by the time we got to the car, which meant the ride home was relatively quiet. I kept sucking down bottles of water like they were shots at happy hour. What can I say? The stuff makes me feel better. But it’s a testament to how much abuse I took that even a dozen of them didn’t quench my thirst.
After he parks the car, he glances over at me. “You going to be all right getting upstairs?”
I nod. “Should be.”
“I can walk you up if you’d like?”
I snicker. “Nah, I think this is where our date should end.”
He dusts off his shoulder. “You wish this were a date. Now get your narrow ass upstairs and get some rest. I’d rather not see you again until you’ve had some sleep.”
I give him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”
He rolls his eyes. “Get out before I throw you out.”
We laugh and walk into the lobby together. Inside, he heads off to the armory and I make for the stairs. Forty-five minutes later, I’m clean, dressed, and ready for bed. The shower did wonders for my wellbeing but without a few hours’ downtime, I’m going to be a complete and utter asshole.
I pull back the covers, slip into bed, and close my eyes. Which is when my phone chooses to ring. Seriously, I haven’t even been in bed sixty seconds and someone’s decided that a quarter to three is a wonderful time for a chat.
Damn it to hell.
I pick it up. “Hello.”
Loki’s voice comes across the line. “Ah, good, you’re alive. You weren’t looking so great when I saw you last.”
Sitting up, I nod. “Yeah, things were kind of going off the rails. But thanks to you, I’m still in one piece. I really appreciate the assist.”
He clears his throat. “You’re welcome. We thought it best to buy you a few minutes until your people could get there.”
I scratch the top of my head and smile. “Seems I owe you one for that as well.”
“Think nothing of it.” He takes a deep breath. “Now onto the reason we called. You injured the Barron pretty badly, but the fragment lodged in his cheek doesn’t appear to be enough to kill him.”
I swing my feet off the side of the bed and sit up straight. “You’ve seen him?”
His tone lightens. “We have. We’ve even got a current location if you’re interested.”
That news wakes me up completely. “I’m listening.”
Something creaks in the background. “He’s on Royal Street in the apartment above a place called Curious George’s Antiques and Unusual Memorabilia.” He pauses. “It’s my understanding you’re familiar with the place.”
He isn’t wrong. The owner of the shop, Creepy George, was one of Gullveig’s minions and I’d had the displeasure of meeting him last December. Not only that but he’d proceeded to beat my ass and nearly curb stomp me. The best part is it was mostly caught on video so the entire MCC got to watch me get smacked so hard I literally skipped across the street. Oh, joy.
“You could say that.”
A door closes. “Good, then I won’t need to provide directions. Happy hunting.”
Curious, I ask, “While I’m grateful, why are you telling me?”
He sighs. “You seem like a man who likes to finish his work. And as I’ve said, we’re doing our best not to directly involve ourselves whenever possible.”
I get to my feet and nod. “Thank you again for your help.”
“Anytime. Take care.”
Before I get a chance to say anything else, the call ends.
I return the phone to the nightstand, clamp my hands over my face and rub. A part of me wants to scream at the absurdity of the news. Is it possible the Baron and Ethan worked so closely with Gullveig that they’d know where George lived? Even if they did, why would the Baron want to hole up there?
Well, that’s simple to figure out. It’d literally be the last place in the city I’d look for him. But come on, Creepy George’s, who could’ve called that?
While I appreciate the Loki sharing this information with me, I’m starting to feel like their wetwork man. Don’t get me wrong, I planned on killing the guy with or without their help, but this somehow makes me feel a bit off about it. Not enough to change my mind, but still… Working for someone in this capacity again is a little off-putting. My last such engagement was with a man named Seth, and it didn’t exactly turn out well for me…or him, for that matter. Then again, from what I’ve learned recently, there’s a chance he survived our final encounter. Which would be extremely unfortunate for everyone.
I give my bed a longing look and frown. Sleep is going to have to wait. I’ve got work to do.
Twenty minutes later, I pull out of the garage on my way to the Quarter. Considering how badly I got my ass beat earlier, you’re probably thinking I’m out of my mind right about now, but the Baron won’t have any of the Jörmungandr with him since they’re far too large to fit inside the shop or George’s tiny apartment.
At most, he’ll have a few guards, and they’re not going to be an issue since I’m packing plenty of ammunition and more than one gun. And from what the Loki just said, the Baron’s not in any shape to put up much of a fight.
Finding parking a few blocks away at this time of the morning is surprisingly easy considering Bourbon Street is still going strong. I feed the meter and walk down to the shop. It’s odd that no one’s bothered to take down the sign for the place. No worries, though; it’s barely hanging on by a single chain link on the front. Some tourist will either steal it or it’ll fall and get swept up with the rest of the refuse. I’d do it myself, but the thought of touching that freaky-ass clown gives me the heebie-jeebies.
After checking my weapons, I scale the wrought iron to the second floor. My previous trip up to this ledge provided me with a view of the living room that included a set of genitals that had a rather nasty rash and a sphincter with multiple angry hemorrhoids. While that wasn’t pleasant, I’m currently wanting it back in the worst sort of way.
The Baron is sitting limply in a broken recliner with his head lolled to the side. That may not sound bad, but trust me, it really is. His face—or what’s left of it—is covered in boils. The cheek where the fragment entered is mostly green-ish. But as you get closer to the entry point, it turns to a red that becomes purple and finally ends in black. His aura is full of off yellows, whites, and oranges that dart in and out of his natural energy, almost like fighter jets going in for the kill. Every time an orange piece connects with the purple or black, there’s a flare of something burning up. It’s all quite dizzying to watch.
If that’s where things stopped, it wouldn’t be so bad, but the boils are leaking. Sickly green pus streaks down his face onto his shirt where it’s caking into thick pools.
I’m not sure if it’s the energetic battle or the horrific flesh show that’s making me sick to my stomach. The only thing I do know is that everything about the scene is utterly revolting. And something tells me he’s going to smell. Especially if his two human helpers’ expressions are to be believed. Unfortunately, I have to find out for myself. It’s tempting to just put him out of his misery right here and now…but that won’t tell me where Ethan’s hidin
g.
I jump over to the wrecked balcony and fire two shots through the open window—one for each of his helpers, who cooperate nicely by dropping dead.
Giving the man a curt wave, I say, “Evening, Baron. You don’t look so g—”
The words catch in my throat as the stench of rotting flesh hits me. Goddamn it, I knew it. Fuck this guy.
With enormous effort, he lifts his head. “Viktor…have you come to finish what you’ve started?”
I shrug. “Actually, I have a cure for what’s wrong with you.”
His eyes go wide. “You do?”
I nod. “Yes, but there’s a price.”
He wipes his sleeve over his jaw, smearing the godawful gooey stuff across his face. “Name it.”
“Where’s Ethan?”
His voice hardens. “I don’t know.”
I pat my pocket. “That’s a shame. I wonder how long it’ll take you to die? Hours? Days? Hell, I bet if we hooked you up to an IV with some good drugs, I could keep you alive for weeks, maybe even a month, while this stuff slowly eats away everything you are.”
Panic flashes in his eyes. “You wouldn’t do that to me…would you?”
Sitting on the dusty sofa across from him, I say, “You know who I am, and the things I’ve done. Do you really think for a single second that I’d have mercy on you after what you did to Geanann?”
Blinking, he asks, “Who?”
I sigh. “The man killed in the cemetery the night we met.”
He sneers. “That wasn’t me. Ethan and his fucking little half breed are responsible for his death.”
I kick the edge of the recliner hard enough to jar the man half out of his seat. “Don’t give me that shit. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been there. You’re no less responsible.”
The Baron claws at the arm of the chair to pull himself upright. “It’s not my fault.”
I aim the pistol at his knee. “Deny it again, and I’ll blow out your knees.”
