Wanderers: Ragnarök

by Richard A Bamberg

  “Ain’t going to happen in five years or fifty years, Rowle.”

  The bastard coughed out a laugh as his dragon leapt into the air.

  CHAPTER 32

  Flapping wings announced Beast as he landed at my side. He eyed the street for a few seconds without speaking. I holstered my pistol in its jacket pocket and pushed away from the tree. I staggered toward where Biers lay.

  “Not a bad fight, Raphael,” Beast said. “How’d you manage to live through it?”

  I coughed and everything in my chest clenched in agony. I reached for the ley line running above Abigail’s store and sucked in energy. It flowed into me and gave me hope. I activated my healing tat before answering Beast. “He’s too damn confident. He doesn’t think I can get stronger, better, in time to defeat him. I think he likes the sport of whipping my butt.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right about that. Walt used to say he was the most arrogant bastard he’d ever come up against.”

  I stopped and turned to Beast. “That’s right. Walt had to face him more than once. How’d Walt manage to survive?”

  “Probably the same way you did both times you’ve fought him. As you said, he’s arrogant and thinks it’s sporting to beat lesser powers.”

  “Yeah, could be, but still it makes me wonder if there’s something else going on that I haven’t identified yet.”

  “Something other than the end of the world?” Beast asked.

  “Sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud.”

  I completed my original goal of reaching Biers and knelt beside her. Except for a small burn mark between her breasts, she appeared uninjured. I placed two fingers against the side of her neck and felt for a pulse.

  Warm metal touched my temple. Biers opened her eyes and started at me.

  “You mind putting that away?” I asked.

  The steel left my temple. “Did we win?”

  I shrugged. “I think it was a draw.”

  I stood and held out a hand. She took it and I pulled her to her feet. For a moment, she just stared at the destroyed street; she slipped her pistol into a kidney holster.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Thanks? I should be thanking you. You helped.”

  “Really? I thought I was just making noise for all the damage I did, but you shielded me from his lightning. I’d have fried if not for you.”

  “All right, have it your way, you’re welcome.” I looked toward the Nuevo Retro and saw that the black mass still covered what had been the witches’ circle. “I should see if I can get them out of there. They may be alive.”

  Biers walked beside me, catching me once when I stumbled over a fissure in the pavement. “By the way, why are we alive?”

  “I think we hurt Rowle enough to remind him that even Wanderers are mortal. He chose to display the better part of valor.”

  “Really? Hell, I thought we’d had it when he knocked you ass over teakettle.”

  “Yeah, me too. But Rowle seems to get a kick out of kicking my ass whenever we meet. He thought he’d won and got over confident and I got lucky. Or maybe he’s making book in Vegas on how long I’ll survive.”

  “What? You mean like a death list where people place bets on celebrities’ demise?”

  “Except for the celebrities’ part. No, there was a period where he could have finished me and he didn’t. I don’t have any idea why.” All right, I was still lying, but who wants to admit that the villain sees something in you that makes him think you’ll join him to bring about the destruction of the world. I had enough trouble and did not care to invite the mistrust that the confession would engender.

  We reached the black mass covering Abigail and her coven. Whatever it had been, it now was inanimate and had the appearance and odor of burned flesh.

  “What is that crap?” Biers asked.

  “Beats me. I’ve never come across anything like it.”

  I rapped on its surface with a fist and a small chunk broke off. We both watched it fall to the ground and shatter.

  “I don’t guess you have a hammer on you?” I asked.

  Biers patted her jacket pockets. “Must have left it in my other suit.”

  I bent and drew my knife out of my boot. Reversing the blade, I slammed the pommel into the black mass. A bigger section shattered.

  “Can’t you snap your fingers and make it go away?” Biers asked as I continued hammering.

  “Yes and no. I could shatter it, but if the witches’ circle has fallen, I could hurt them. Besides, I’m close to tapped out. It’ll take me a little time to put any real effort into it and there’s no point in wasting the power just now.”

  “Really? You don’t have limitless magic?”

  I stopped hammering and turned to her. “Are you kidding me? Didn’t you just see the fight?”

  “Oh, yeah, right.”

  I turned back to my task and in another minute, I had a hole through to the inside. I stopped and listened. Voices reached me.

  I yelled into the hole. “Abigail? Are you all right?”

  “Raphael? Yes, we’re all right. Can you get us out of here?” For the first time since I’d met her, she sounded like a tired old woman.

  “Raphael, if you’ll step back a bit I can open that up for you,” Beast said.

  I turned to look at him. He’d been quiet since Biers joined me and I thought he was pulling the stoic act. I stepped back, pulling Biers with me, and waved a hand toward the witches’ prison.

  Beast stepped past us; his tail flicked out and struck the area just below the hole I’d hammered. Debris shot out across the street. A hole as large as an oil drum was torn in the front of the witches’ prison. Beast’s tail swept back and the hole doubled in size.

  “Whoa there; that should be enough. You don’t want to accidentally hit one of the witches,” I said.

  Beast gazed at me for a moment and I thought he was going to disagree, but then he stepped back out of the way.

  Biers pulled a mini-mag flashlight from somewhere, twisted it on, and shone it about the inside of the dome. Past her shoulder, I could see Abigail standing in front of the rest of her coven. Biers offered a hand and Abigail emerged. The ancient witch looked tired but unharmed. She stepped past the opening, stopped, and stared at the destruction around the block. Then she moved out of the way while Biers helped another of the witches out of the dome.

  Abigail turned to me, “You survived. I assume you won?”

  I shook my head and regretted it as the throbbing intensified. “No, it was a draw. He destroyed your grimoire, but I think he lost the spell he was after. I’ll have to find it before he does.”

  “He’s the one.”

  “The one?” I repeated.

  “The one who murdered my mother. He came here for the grimoire forty some odd years ago. He tried to force her to open the portal where she hid the grimoire and killed her when she wouldn’t. I didn’t understand why he didn’t kill me then.”

  “He said he realized he needed someone special to open the portal to fetch the grimoire. I guess it took him this long to corrupt Marian and Carl enough to get them to summon Surgat.”

  “Surgat? That demon was Surgat?” Abigail asked.

  “Apparently, Rowle called him the Keymaster.”

  “The Keymaster? Of course, who else could defeat any lock? I owe you an apology, Raphael. You said they would take it and I was so sure you were wrong. Even that bastard that killed my mother couldn’t break her lock on the portal. I’d thought you’d be like him, but I guess I was wrong in that also.”

  “I certainly hope so,” I said under my breath.

  “Excuse me?” Abigail said.

  “Nothing.”

  I turned to Beast and climbed unsteadily onto his shoulders. Without a command, he leapt into the air.

  I leaned forward against his neck and wondered if I’d done everything I could have in the fight. Surely, there was something else I could have tried. I’d stopped him from taking the page, but
where had it gone? The tornado could have thrown it anywhere. Could I come up with a spell to locate it?

  Beast landed gently on the front lawn of Cris and Cynthia’s house. I slid from his back and paused to stroke his neck. “I need to rest. Give me tonight, maybe all day tomorrow and we’ll be on the road.”

  “You have a calling?” Beast rumbled.

  “No, I just don’t want to stick around any longer than I need to. You’re free for the rest of the night. I’ll reset the wards when I’m inside. Be back around sundown.”

  “I’ll listen for your whistle,” Beast said and launched himself into the air.

  For a minute, I watched him fly off toward the south and then I limped to the door.

  It opened as I stepped onto the lighted steps. Cynthia stood in the doorway. At the sight of me, she stepped back out of the way. I walked past her without speaking and sat in the same spot I’d set beside Cris two nights before.

  Cynthia closed the door and entered the room, but she stayed near the entrance. I leaned my head against the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Marian’s dead, Abigail, and the rest survived. Rowle didn’t get the page he wanted, but I lost it.”

  “Rowle? Who’s he?”

  “The rogue Wanderer who killed my mentor.” I lowered my head to stare at the carpeted floor. “And also Abigail’s mother. It wasn’t my mentor after all.”

  “She told you that?” Cynthia asked.

  I tried to nod, nearly blacked out, and said “Yes.”

  “Ah, look, Rafe. I should check on Abigail. She’s going to wonder why I didn’t help her in the fight. Is that okay?”

  “Sure, why not?” I asked.

  “I, I thought you might want me to cast a healing spell for you,” she said timidly.

  I stared at her for a minute, but she wouldn’t meet my gaze. Finally, I asked, “How’s Cris doing?”

  Cynthia glanced toward the hallway. “There’s no change. She’s still sleeping. I tried a healing spell. She looks comfortable, but she’s old.”

  “I know. Go to Abigail, but I’ll ward the house when you’re gone. Don’t try to enter the house before sundown tomorrow.”

  She nodded. “I understand.”

  Cynthia picked up her purse from an end table and draped it over her left shoulder. She started for the door, then stopped and turned. “Rafe?”

  I met her gaze and waited.

  “I’ve been thinking, maybe I should have listened more to my cousin than to Abigail, but I’m Abigail’s apprentice; I have an obligation to her.”

  I held up a hand to stop her. “It doesn’t matter, Cynthia. You did what you thought was best, that’s all any of us can do. You can work out your trust issues with Cris after I’m gone.”

  “Look, I’m trying to say I may have been wrong.”

  “May have been? Cynthia, I really don’t give a damn what you think. You chose Abigail over your cousin. I could understand you not trusting me, but your own blood? Go on, I’m too tired to argue this with you.”

  “But—”

  I stood up with a greater effort than I thought possible. I hoped my movements didn’t look as shaky as I felt. “Get out, Cynthia. You chose your path. There’s nothing more to say.”

  She stared at me for another minute as I tried not to sway. Finally, without another word she turned and left through the front door.

  I followed her and set my own ward at the door. I watched Cynthia walk toward her car and tried not to think about two nights previous and her incredible healing touch. She started the car and backed out of the drive. I closed the door and went into the kitchen. The bourbon was in the fourth cupboard I checked. I found the glasses on the second effort and the ice location was obvious. I dropped a hand full of ice into the old fashion glass and filled it with bourbon.

  I walked down the hall to the master bedroom, holding to one wall with my left hand and trying not to spill too much with the other hand.

  The room was dark. I located the candle on the nightstand and used a little energy to light it. I took a healthy pull from the glass and then set it next to the candle. Cris lay on her back, her face toward me. She looked tired and old in the candlelight. I watched her sleep for a minute, then leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. She didn’t move.

  I reclaimed my whiskey and went into the bath. With the door closed and the lights on, I started the shower, took an even healthier pull of the bourbon, set the glass on the counter, and undressed. Until steam fogged the mirror, I tried to ignore the image of the old man that stared back at me. Finally, I stepped naked into the shower and winced as the water washed sweat into my open wounds. I stood under the water, holding onto the wall to stay upright, and activated my healing spell again.

  When the water turned too cold to make it worth staying, I got out and dried off. The ice had evaporated from my glass; I drank the last of the bourbon, turned off the light, and went back into the bedroom. I walked around the bed and then climbed under the sheets and forgot to blow out the candle. I sucked the energy out of the flame and the room was dark. I reached out for a ley line and began to pull more energy. It was an autonomous function once I’d set it in motion and by the time I awoke, I’d be stronger. I slid across the king-sized bed until I was spooned against Cris. As I settled in against her, I thought I felt her move, but then I was asleep.

  I awoke sometime later. There was a dim glow around the currents and more light down the hall toward the kitchen. My arm was still cradling Cris, my left hand cupping her left breast. I self-consciously noticed my morning erection was poking against her cheeks. I slipped away from her as softly as I could and went into the bathroom.

  Business finished, I appraised myself and found that while sore in multiple, well most spots, I felt considerably better than last night and my energy levels were back up, not fully, but enough that I no longer looked and felt like a ninety-year-old man.

  I went back to the bed and stared down at Cris. She’d been asleep for nearly twenty-four hours if my internal clock were even close. Her face was still relaxed in sleep, but it had all the appearance of someone at least twice her age. That damn spell could have killed her. No, it would have been I that killed her.

  I opened the nightstand and took out Cris’ little notebook of all the spells she’d copied from Abigail’s grimoire. I carried it out to the kitchen and took a cup out of the cupboard. Then sitting at the kitchen table I read the spell she’d used until I was sure how to cast and use it.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was back in the bedroom, the candle burning again, the notebook in one hand and a cup of my blood in the other. I read the spell until I got to the necessary part. I set aside the notebook, lifted Cris’s head from the pillow, and gently roused her from sleep. She protested, but I got her to drink. When she finished, I lowered her back to the pillow. She’d fallen back asleep almost before she finished swallowing my blood.

  I finished the spell and felt the snap of power as it completed. The power had a slimy feel to it.

  I pulled back the sheet from Cris’s nude body and moved beside her. As soon as my lips touched hers, I felt the energy flow. She awoke in a few moments and returned my kiss. In a minute, she pushed me onto my back, mounted me, and fucked me for all she was worth. I knew then what it had been like for her. There was no feeling of love, no warm emotion, just a burning need. I gave her everything she needed until she could take no more.

  She lay atop me, sweat dripping from her face onto mine. Our bodies were glued together with sweat and other body fluids. I felt drained, but I felt right. Cris kissed me, tender as a child, and stared into my eyes. Her eyes were bright but red as though she’d been crying even while we shared…well, enough about that.

  In the candlelight, I could see her face had regained its youthful appearance. Not a single crease marked her lovely features. Atop me, her body felt strong and full again, no longer gaunt and weightless.


  “You used the spell,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then the battle’s over? You won?” she asked.

  “Yes and no, in that order,” I answered.

  “Really? They got the grimoire?”

  I explained, briefly.

  She kissed me, tenderly, but like a lover. “I would have managed, Rafe. You didn’t have to use the spell.”

  “And leave you old before your time? Cris, I couldn’t do that to you.”

  She kissed me again and for some time we lay together breathing each other’s breath and relishing the other’s presence.

  Eventually, one of us had to move. Cris rolled off me and went into the bathroom without pulling the door shut. When she started the shower, I got up and joined her. We showered leisurely, taking pleasure in cleaning each other, kissing when our lips met, and we became reluctant to stop.

  Water heaters are cold, inhuman creatures and this one eventually forced us from the shower, but not before we had finished what we started.

  We dried each other with the same delicate care we’d used in our cleaning until not a single drop was unaccounted for. We embraced in the middle of the bath and a woman’s body never felt so good against mine.

  At some point, we separated and Cris caught her reflection in the mirror. She gasped. “Oh, my God. Rafe, I look like a teenager.”

  I pulled her to me and kissed her. She kissed me back, but only for a minute and then she pulled away. She studied my face, using her hand to push my chin from one side to the other.

  “You look older,” she said in a whisper. “Rafe, I’m so sorry.”

  I turned her to the mirror. She was right; I did look older, not the sixty years I deserved, but maybe thirty? Cris definitely looked younger.

  “Don’t worry about me, Cris. I don’t expect to die of old age and my appearance is of little consequence. If I’ve left you younger than you started, well then bravo for me. You deserve all that and more.”

  She giggled and twirled around, trying to see all of her in the mirror. I slapped her butt lightly and laughed. “You don’t really need to see it to tell how tight those cheeks are.”