Neon Redemption: An Urban Fantasy Adventure (Words of Power Book 2)

by VK Fox

  Ian paused with his hand on the side of the skull, his voice solemn, “Everest, it wasn’t my place to tell.”

  Lovecraft was weeping, a shaky hand clutching his hair compulsively. “You were with me in the hospital! You sat while Adam was in intensive care for five days, Ian, five fucking days. He slipped away further and further into a morphine stupor until it wasn’t even him anymore, just his body holding on and I couldn’t do a fucking thing about it.” He was screaming, the words pouring out of him the way the smoke poured out of Dahl. “I wasn’t even awake when he died—I fell asleep in the chair and I woke up when he flatlined. He was courageous and loving and mine and now he’s gone and there is nothing, nothing I can do to bring him back. And you knew a fucking healer and you silently watched it happen!”

  Everest shook for several seconds before going terribly still. Jane trembled in the wave of raw grief. On the skull, the thing that wasn’t Dahl inclined its head to Ian and gave him a grin promising violence, “You made this possible. I don’t think it was in him before.” He turned to Lovecraft, dark smoke snaking into the air, “Hey, Deadeye.” He tucked long brown hair behind Everest’s ears with his blood-stained hand. “Shoot him and anyone who gets in the way.”

  Lovecraft threw himself prone on top of the skull, and a heartbeat later a gunshot ripped through the air and Ian stumbled back, blood oozing from his calf, dribbling down his leg and onto the sandy ground. Keeping his feet, he surged forward, grabbing Jane and shoving her behind a large unlit sign to the side of the path.

  “Stay behind cover.” He instructed in a tight whisper. “If things go south, get out. They aren’t interested in you. Remember what we talked about.”

  “But-”

  “No magic, Jane. No matter what.” He kissed her in a burst of intense, condensed passion and slipped into the deep shadows cast by the neon signs.

  Olive thundered in at upwards of forty miles an hour, snatching the rainbow sword and plowing into Mordred in one motion, sending both of them smashing against the sign for Caesar’s Palace in a shower of plaster dust.

  Excalibur came around. She ducked, rakish grin in place, and deflected with the rainbow blade, following up with a quick jab Mordred barely turned aside to his bicep before she was off again, alighting on a massive nearby genie lamp.

  Mordred regained his stance, his left arm where Olive hit dangling, right arm still clutching Excalibur. “Olive, Get Down Here.” The words washed over the boneyard in a wave of nausea as smoke drifted out of his mouth. Olive swayed on her perch, wavering for a few seconds before she sprang lightly to the ground, strolling towards him. In the light of a STARDUST sign his skin was damp with blood for a few small cuts. The thing that wasn’t Dahl leaned on the sword to steady himself, using it like a crutch. “This boy, this boy, this boy…” Jane was close enough to hear his mutterings, to see his body tremor, “You fight me for every fucking inch.” It let out a rasping laugh, “Dahl, for someone who tries so hard to stay in control, you sure have made a lot of shit choices in your life. I’ve never lacked for ammunition.” He raised his voice as Olive stumbled closer. “Do you see Lovecraft shooting at you?” The haze of smoke around his body was winding, drifting into the night as he spoke words of command, “Defend yourself. Kill him.”

  Olive stopped ten feet away and raised eyes without a shred of defiance. In a blink she was in the air again, hurtling towards the skull while Lovecraft’s gun barked. Mordred’s grin was inhuman ecstasy. A shiver tremored through his body as he mumbled, “I was going to let him live, but you keep pushing me. You stop, and I might still let Ian go.”

  Jane prayed that Lovecraft was still shaking as badly as he was a minute before. Olive skidded to a halt on top of the skull unscathed and went for the killing blow. Lovecraft, failing to make his shot, should have died before he could scream, but he rolled aside at the perfect angle to avoid the stroke. His gun sailed over the edge among deep shadows. Olive followed up, but each swipe, jab, and slash cut air or pierced fabric. She howled in frustration before collecting herself, poised to spring,

  “I never wanted you.” Her voice was emotionless, indifferent. Stating indisputable facts. “You were a notch on the bedpost. I figured out really fucking fast how boring you are.” An experimental jab just barely failed to land. “The second time it was a chore I was doing for Dahl. Did you think you would have even crossed my mind? I guess your company’s more bearable when you’re high as a kite and fucked brainless.”

  Everest went absolutely still. Olive lunged in, pressing hard. She missed her mark. Lovecraft’s eye was white-hot, throwing weird shadows between the two of them as he dodged with a honed, efficient precision, always placing himself a split second away from the colorful blade. As Olive continued the onslaught of almost-hits she did manage to work him to the edge of the dais. At the exact moment she stumbled over the skull’s uneven teeth, Everest dove over the side and melted into the shadow, his neon eye blending with the hundreds of neon lights.

  Mordred vaulted the jaw, springing forward, a flurry of jabs cutting the air as Olive danced back, dodging or turning them aside, the dead weight of obedience leaving her eyes. Jane watched her blur of movement as she leered and taunted him, yelling to come at her harder, mocking him with incongruous playfulness. For a moment it didn’t seem like she was older than he was, just better.

  Olive lunged, stinging like a hornet, and the speed and accuracy of the jab could not be fully denied. Another small point of blood blossomed on Mordred’s thigh. The partial block checked her momentum, and Mordred crushed forward with superior bodyweight, throwing her to the ground. Olive rolled in the dust, regaining her feet as Mordred jumped to the dirt. She closed at an angle gravity ordinarily didn’t allow, flinging Mordred’s right arm wide. His knuckles slammed against a rainbow of glass tubes, hand flying open and the puff of Excalibur dissipating into black smoke mixed with the multi-colored neon haze in the air.

  Ian came out of the shadows like a charging bull. He swept Mordred into his arms and continued through the clear lane and into cover on the opposite side as a second shot rang out, spraying sand. Olive dove into the shadows and Jane could see her winding between upright sign supports, finally stopping to hover hidden behind a huge lighted martini glass. She was gesturing frantically to Jane and pointing to the shadows where Lovecraft crouched. What was Jane supposed to do? Tears sprang in her eyes as she fought overwhelming helplessness. Ian and Mordred were crashing around in the darkness, and Lovecraft was probably ready to shoot anything moving.

  Olive was making a bunch of meaningless gestures. Maybe a throwing motion? Jane grasped a small rock. Maybe she was supposed to distract him? She lobbed with all her might. It rattled ineffectively off the side of the skull about five feet from the ground. Jane mentally groaned and searched for another stone. Somewhere close, a wolf howled.

  Ian had Mordred in a submission hold and was dragging him to the edge of the cover along the walkway. Mordred was stumbling, dazed and bloodied. He kept shaking his head violently, blood and saliva flying like water off a dog. Both his hands were immobilized, and Jane could see Ian talking to him, low and even, as they crouched behind a wavy red sign. He was on one knee and shaking. Ian continued to speak, and Jane could imagine his kind tone, his patient words. In a shimmering instant Mordred was gone, and something small took to the air as his clothing and shoes fell away like a rag doll.

  Quick as a hawk to a sparrow, Olive was on his tail. The rainbow sword left a trail of light streaking behind her through the dark air. Another shot rang out, but Olive was so fast, her flight so wild. Lovecraft may as well have been trying to hit… and then her trajectory changed, her body smashing through a dozen lighted stars and slamming into the dark ground below.

  Jane scrambled frantically through the obstacle-strewn darkness. It took an adrenaline-crazed eternity to find Olive where she lay on her back at the base of a toppled pile of metal and glass. Jane reached out and relief swept through her mind. The timing was
tight, but Jane could stop the hemorrhaging. Olive was panting and smiling with pink teeth as Jane reached for her link. She ignored the blood, focusing instead on Olive’s sweaty face.

  Jane tried for a reassuring smile, “It’s going to be…” Her eyes fell on a nine-inch spike of metal erupting from Olive’s abdomen. Jane blinked at it, “No, no, nononono.” More blood pumped out, and Olive’s breath was coming in irregular gasps. She clutched at the broken signpost sticking out of her body and cocked a grin.

  “Is it bad?” She wheezed. Jane grabbed her hands.

  “I have to pull you off of this before I can heal you.” She started to pull feebly, and Olive’s slick, warm fingers slipped out of her grasp.

  “You have to help me.” Jane was oddly light. The world was going patchy around the edges. She tried again but Olive’s grip strength was gone, her hands lightly clutching and unclutching. Jane screamed and tears coursed down her face. She tried to slide her arms underneath the older woman’s body, but she may as well have tried to lift Ian.

  “I’m sorry.” Jane sobbed, taking Olive’s hand again, but this time not to pull her forward. “I’m sorry. Dahl should be here with you. You should be with someone you love.”

  Olive studied her eyes, “It’s okay.” Her voice grew rich and strong even as the color was leaving her face, “It’s okay. No one gets through life alive. We had a cool few days. Dying will be an awfully big adventure.”

  Jane held her hand as it went limp and her heart stilled. It happened faster and took longer than any other moment in Jane’s life. She sat in the darkness beside Olive’s corpse until the last spark drained away and Jane knew nothing in her power could bring her back.

  A wet nose and warm fur pulled Jane into the moment. Through the shadows, the sounds of fighting punctuated by gunfire had resumed. Jane let go of the hand that used to be Olive’s, scrubbed the tears from her eyes with the hem of her dress, and scrambled back towards the noise.

  Ian and Mordred were clashing in the sandy path, Ian wielding a long, narrow length of broken metal sign like a polearm. Mordred was lopping off sections swept within Excalibur’s reach. The tactic bought Ian only a few dozen seconds, but Jane could see Mordred was hurting. His shoulder was deformed and useless. He was naked, having lost his clothes in the shape change, and brutal, jagged gashes crossed his body in over a dozen places with innumerable smaller cuts in between. Every few seconds he would stagger and shake his head like he was trying to clear it. If Ian could keep this up for even a few more minutes, Mordred would probably collapse. Then they would only have a grief-crazed deadeye psycho who could tell the future to deal with.

  Jane’s wolf slipped into the shadows, towards the back of the skull. Ian’s weapon was truncated a third time, a chunk of twisted metal flying away forced Jane to hop aside. Blue eyes locked on her. Dahl’s eyes: wide and wild and terrified. The panic evaporated and was replaced by a smug leer as he lunged at Ian, forcing the big man back against a pair of towering neon camels. In one smooth motion Excalibur cut through the base of the thirty-foot slab of light and metal. Ian dove aside an instant too late and disappeared under the falling tower.

  Jane ran forward, stopping at the edge of the shifting debris. She stared at Mordred, standing in front of her. She glanced at her skinny arms and blood-soaked dress.

  “Olive didn’t make it.” She started crying again as soon as the words were out of her mouth. “Please, let me help Ian.”

  Something flickered across Mordred’s face. She could see Dahl clawing to the surface, his expression excruciating. Opening his hand, Excalibur vanished, and he sank to a crouch holding his head. A wail of wretchedness, strong and heartbreaking, extended until it died in a whimper. To Jane’s phenomenal relief Ian was in the shadow at the back edge of the broken sign, quietly slipping from underneath the tilted wreckage and crouching: watching, calculating.

  Dahl didn’t react. He met Jane’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse and broken, “I have to stop him. I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too.” Jane sobbed, “I tried to save her.”

  “Not for that.” Dahl rubbed his face, smearing blood and dirt, “For what I’m about to do.”

  Jane froze.

  “Everest!” Dahl stood, fully in command of himself again. His voice was clear even as his body wavered, “Last year when we were on assignment Ian and I found a healer.”

  Lovecraft was crouching by the side of the skull, clutching his gun. His tear- and dirt-smeared gaze locked on Dahl, hanging on his words. Jane’s skin was cold, her fingers numb. She was in the darkness, peering through the crack of light at the entrance to her cave.

  “That healer is a woman named Elizabeth Davis who uses the alias Jane.” Dahl’s arm pointed, direct and unerring. “She is standing right there.”

  Jane’s cave vanished. Weird, mismatched eyes saw her clearly for the first time. Lovecraft’s piercing gaze no longer slid past her like she wasn’t important, as the glow in Jane’s skin surged to a blinding flash and then burned out.

  When her vision cleared Dahl was standing, arm outstretched, entirely changed to stone. Ian roared and surged forward, Jane threw herself flat instinctively, a gun barked, and the statue’s arm exploded into stone shrapnel. Savage snarling erupted from the side of the skull as another shot rang out, followed by footfalls of retreat. Jane’s wolf, scrambling through the debris, darted into the boneyard in pursuit.

  Jane stumbled to Ian who was on the ground, weeping. One hand was gently touching Dahl’s foot and the other reached out and wrapped around her, pulling her close. The bullet wound in his leg was hard to pick out among the stone fragments embedded in his skin. He sat on the sandy ground in shredded clothing holding her and rocking with deep, primitive sobs.

  Jane extended her hand to the statue and every muscle in her body went rigid, “Ian!” She grabbed his shirt and shook him, as much as she could shake a man his size, “Ian! I can fix this! I can change him back!”

  Ian gaped at her, still trembling. He opened his mouth and closed it. Then opened it again. No sound came.

  Jane frowned, feeling the stone, “I don’t think it’ll be that hard, it’s a weird feeling, but I can change him back with the same magic I use for healing-”

  Ian shook his head, his voice ragged “You’re not supposed to be using your magic, sweet girl. Not even to look.” He ran a hand through his hair, shaking loose stone chips and dust. “Please stop. Keep your promise. Don’t make me say who I’d choose out loud.” Ian hunched over on himself, holding his bloody knees. Without another word, he began to hum tunelessly, his hand tenderly gripping Dahl’s bare foot. Jane took her hands off the statue and watched him rock himself under the neon lights.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Upon leaving the Neon, their bloody, broken trio stopped at the nearest payphone, where Ian called the local Sana Baba office, reporting Lovecraft’s actions, Olive’s death, and saying he was on his way in. He didn’t mention Jane or the petrification. Then he dialed sister Mary and asked her to bring a van. They stood on the side of the road, shell-shocked and ragged, as a few nighttime wanderers passed by. One of them asked what show they were with. One of them pressed a $5 into Jane’s hand. Jane asked if they should move, and Ian said he didn’t see the point—crawling somewhere to hide or trudging to a different location would be more effort and draw an equal amount of attention.

  The van rolled up seven minutes later, and Sister Mary and Sister Frances hopped out. Ian loaded Dahl in the back of the truck, and Sister Frances secured him with nylon straps to packing handles on the floor, tucking foam pads around the statue to ensure safe travel.

  Ian held himself together until the nun’s arrival and then, as if their presence gave him permission to do so, he came apart again. The behavior was so far outside of his normal, purposeful demeanor it bent the laws of nature—like the sun shining green or water flowing uphill. He checked and double-checked the provisions made for Dahl. His hands shook so badly he couldn�
��t manage to feed the payphone to call a taxi and Jane finally stepped in to help. Every half minute he would grab Jane’s shoulders with a look of anguish and beg her not to work any magic while he was gone. Jane could feel his fever starting when the cab arrived, and Sister Mary said she’d make sure he got to Sana Baba safely, climbing into the passenger seat.

  As soon as they pulled away Jane was hit with the idea she might never see him again. He was going in to report on a horrible confrontation involving treason, death, magical possession, and petrification. He was going to have to tell them about her, and it would bring out the whole story from last year. She hadn’t even said goodbye. Jane cried until they arrived back at Blue’s house, where a fresh wave of furious helplessness seized her and she sobbed into Blue’s arms. Blue patted her back and made soothing noises, but she didn’t try to offer comforting words. Jane wasn’t sure if that was worse or not.

  Sister Frances used a dolly to roll Dahl’s statue into a side room, and Blue considerately found a wrap skirt to benefit his privacy. When Jane couldn’t sleep, she hung out in one of the overstuffed velvet chairs and talked to him, mostly lying about how okay everything was going to be. Speaking kindly was easy since he was petrified. If he could hear her, she’d be screaming.

  Father Gentle arrived when the moon was overhead, bearing a mug of tea for Jane. He sat in another chair and considered the statue, his hands folded in his lap, his posture straight despite the slouchy cushions.

  “Can you help him?” Jane’s voice was thick. Father Gentle turned to her politely when she spoke.

  “I do believe we can. Mordred is trapped and powerless, so we are most of the way there already. Now we have the time we so desperately needed to find the book and complete our mission. The petrification is unusual but probably not unique. I’ll discuss the matter with some of my associates in the morning.”