Black Blade Blues

by J. A. Pitts

“Shame I totally understand,” I said, standing. “So, I guess we better get the place hopping if we are going to impress this money man.”

  She stood as well and faced me squarely. “He really likes you, Sarah. Just so you know.”

  “I know,” I said. “He’s a sweet guy.”

  “Yes, well . . .” She nodded, her mouth set in a frown. “Just don’t hurt him.”

  “Wait,” I said, holding up my hands. “Jennifer, I’m in a relationship.”

  “You are?” The look on her face was precious. “But I’ve seen you flirt with him. He’s mentioned how cute you are.”

  I laughed then, I couldn’t help it. After all that had gone on in the last two days, this was too much. “Jennifer,” I said, stepping closer to her and putting my hand on her shoulder. “I have no interest in Carl.”

  She actually looked a bit affronted. “I don’t understand.”

  “If I flirted with Carl, it was innocent, honest.”

  She looked at me in a way that confirmed to me that she loved him.

  “Jennifer,” I said quietly, “you’ve been with Carl so much longer than I have. Why haven’t you two hooked up?”

  “Oh.” She blushed. “He’s a thirty-two-year-old man who lives in his parents’ basement.”

  “Well, true,” I said, seeing how that would be a turnoff. “But he has a steady job, and runs this movie company. He only lives there to put more money into the films, right?”

  She pondered that a moment, like it was a fresh idea. “Yes, that’s what he’s always said.” But I saw doubt on her face. “It’s just that . . .” She waved her hand as if to clear the air. “That’s neither here nor there.”

  I waved my hand at the door. “Back to work, then?”

  She hesitated. “Are you sure?” The vulnerability was painful. To want something so bad, and to be so afraid to take it.

  I was surrounded by irony. “I’m not interested in Carl, honest.”

  A limo pulled through the parking lot, past the loading dock, and headed to the front. She turned, taking in the car, then looked back at me, biting her lip.

  VIP visitor, something big was going on. And Jennifer was so torqued about Carl that she hadn’t made a move to the door.

  I knew what I had to do. It was a kindness, really. I couldn’t let her wonder, let the doubt and fear fester in her. I liked her. She deserved better.

  If I could’ve I’d have punched someone at that very moment.

  I took a deep breath and plunged forward. If she laughed, I’d just get in my car and drive home. I wouldn’t even pick up my gear.

  “Jennifer, I’m . . .” And there it was. The one thing I had never said, the one thing I could not say for fear of losing my family, my friends, my self.

  But she looked at me, confused and scared. She honestly thought she would lose Carl to me, and didn’t know how to deal with it. This woman who had more nerve, more vim than anyone I’d known.

  “I’m gay,” I said, keeping my eyes level with her own.

  “Oh,” she said—then, “Oh, really?”

  And just like that the light was back in her face. The hope that she kindled for Carl had returned and I was no longer a threat to her world.

  I counted three breaths before I realized I hadn’t spontaneously combusted. The look on Jennifer’s face gave me a bit of hope. Maybe if I could tell her without dying, I could tell others.

  My father’s face hove into view, and my heart skipped a beat. Of course, not everyone was as sweet and open as Jennifer. Maybe I’d just keep it to myself a while longer.

  How long until this little secret got around? And was I brave enough to deal with it?

  Nineteen

  JENNIFER STRODE ACROSS THE SET, BARKING OUT ORDERS AND making the crew jump with the vigor I was used to. Now maybe we’d get back on track.

  I corralled the goblins and began the transformation of computer geeks and housewives into bloodthirsty humanoid killers.

  Once again, Rolph was not with them, but I could see he was in the office with Carl and two well-dressed gentlemen. That was a meeting I didn’t want to be anywhere near. After suiting up twelve goblins, many of whom grumbled and fussed about the lack of food, I decided to get JJ ready instead of waiting around for Rolph. Who knew how long they’d be ensconced in the office. I grabbed Gram out of her case, and picked up the mighty Elvis shield from the back of the prop cage. Time to find the talent.

  I had no problem tracking down JJ. All I had to do was follow the smell of whores. Well, that was not totally fair to the whores. Did I mention I hated the man?

  In the back of the studio, through the fire exit, in the smoking area just outside, JJ stood with his arms around two women while a third stood to the side. All four of them were smoking. Of the two hanging on JJ, one was a fortysomething bleached blond ex-stripper named Cherie, like Cherry. The second was a young woman, maybe nineteen, who hailed from the same side of the tracks as Cherie, only she’d been ridden less. Her name was Barbara, but insisted everyone call her Babs. The third groupie, Juanita, was a slightly dumpy Hispanic woman who had told me she wanted to marry JJ so she could get her green card. She said he was a lousy lover, but he doted on her. Things like that I needed to know like I needed an acid-washed brain. She stood to the side, watching the three of them laugh.

  I stepped into the doorway, the sword in one hand, the gaudy shield in the other. “Come on, Elvis. Time to gird your loins for battle.”

  He loved it when I said loins. A sly smile crept over his face and he shook his head. “We got time,” he said, kissing Cherie on the left ear.

  “Costume time, lover boy,” I said, gritting my teeth.

  “Fuck off, Beauhall,” he said, turning a rather nasty face my way. “Carl said we could take it easy since he’s in a meeting. We have plenty of time.”

  “You might want to reconsider,” I said, stepping out the door and facing him with the sword and shield. “Jennifer thinks we need to impress the suits.”

  “Fuck her,” JJ said. The three women laughed. All I could think of were hyenas.

  “Look, pretty boy,” I said, losing my cool. “You can snuggle with your groupies after the shoot.”

  “Hey,” Babs said. “I gotta work at eleven.”

  “Isn’t that past your curfew?” Juanita asked, stubbing out a cigarette.

  Cherie wolf whistled and JJ grabbed Babs by the ass, leaning down to kiss her neck.

  I stood there, fuming, as JJ looked up at me and licked the side of Babs’s neck. He winked at me and nibbled Babs’s ear.

  “You’re a pig,” I said, turning back to the studio. Babs laughed and Cherie made kissy-face noises.

  “Better be careful,” JJ said with a laugh. “You might give her the wrong idea. Our mistress of props is a dyke.”

  I stopped just inside the door, clutching the black sword as the anger flooded over me. The sword vibrated, humming like a tuning fork in my brain. The women’s laughter rose shrill and torturous. The urge to turn and kill them all, run them through with the sword, began to fill me, anger and violence filling my legs and arms, rushing up my torso, approaching my heart like a rocket.

  Then, for a moment, I saw Katie in the shower, smiling at me through the steam, and the conflagration of anger simmered down to a manageable crackle. I stormed across the studio, around the set, and toward Carl’s office. I didn’t have to take this kind of shit.

  Just past the set, Rolph came striding across the stage toward me. He took one look at me and, obviously hearing the laughter that trailed me, grabbed me by the sword arm in an attempt to prevent murder.

  “This is not your fate,” he said, his eyes large in the shadowy stage. “They are buffoons, chattel. Your calling is greater than this.”

  I shrugged off his hand, but the moment of murder had passed. “Fate? Fated for what? Killing your dragon? Are you still after that fantasy?”

  He paused, bowed his head a moment, and looked up at me, his face a mask of conflict and pa
in. “I owe you an apology,” he said, finally. “I pushed you with something you are not ready to accept. It was brash and uncaring on my part. I did you a harm, and I wish to make amends.”

  “Harm?” I asked, confused. “What harm have you caused?”

  “I mentioned your relationship with the young skald to Mr. Montgomery yesterday evening before he left.”

  For a moment, I think I blacked out. It was one of those moments where you hear something, and all the words are in your native tongue, yet it’s like listening to the adults speak in Peanuts. All white noise.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say? Who is Mr. Montgomery?”

  I am uncertain of the emotion I displayed on my face at that moment, but Rolph took a step back, holding his hands in front of him.

  “JJ, James Joseph Montgomery. The star of this film.” He ran on, before I could speak. “It was a grievous mistake, in hindsight, but I thought I was protecting your honor.”

  “My honor?”

  “Mr. Montgomery had said something about your inadequacies in certain areas, and I explained that perhaps the reason you had not fallen under his spell was that you were involved with another.”

  That explained that, as it were. I took several deep breaths, attempting to clear the fumes of anger that swam around my head. “Rolph, I understand your concern. Thank you for your efforts, but in the future, please let me fight my own battles.”

  He looked at me and shrugged. “As you wish. I had just assumed you avoided battles of any kind.”

  “Nice. Look, I’m not going off to Portland to kill some investment banker for you.” Then I paused. “You don’t mean that fellow in the office with Carl . . . Is that your dragon?”

  “One and the same,” he said, spreading his hands in front of him, palms up. “If you would not go to him, I thought it best to bring him to you.”

  “By having him buy into the movie?”

  Now it was Rolph’s turn to sigh deeply. “You are naïve. I have seen more of this world than you can imagine. You are a child of privilege. You know nothing of suffering, or of want. This creature you so easily dismiss has spread wrack and ruin in his lifetime. He may not be eating virgins these days, although one cannot be too sure.”

  “I get your point,” I said, glancing at the office. “But you can’t honestly believe he’s a dragon. He’s wearing Armani.”

  “He is adaptable, a shape-shifter,” he said. “If you doubt me, go ask Carl when we are to resume shooting. I will get dressed. See for yourself.”

  “Oh, fine,” I said. “If this will put an end to all this, I’ll go meet your dragon.”

  “Would you like me to take your items?” he offered.

  For a moment I saw a glint in his eye as he looked at the sword. Instead I handed him the shield. “See that JJ gets this, will you?”

  I moved the sword to my right hand, away from him, and he shuddered.

  “As you wish.” He took the shield and walked past me out to the smoking area. Dragon indeed. There was more than one who coveted pretty things.

  Twenty

  THE SECOND I AGREED TO GO TO THE OFFICE, TO CONFRONT this stranger, the sword felt different. I know it was adrenaline and nerves, but for a moment, I got a rush.

  I walked over toward the office. Carl was talking to the banker, and another man. Jennifer stood beside the desk, a clipboard in her hand, taking notes.

  Maybe by facing this man, Rolph would be appeased. He really was a sweet guy, if a bit odd. I’d just as soon he gave up on the mad scheme on his own. It would make things easier. I strode toward the office and the four of them walked out. The entire facility is about the length of a football field, with several soundstages and a ton of middle ground for forklifts, props, stages, and so on. I guess I was fifty feet from them when they emerged from the office. The banker passed by one of the stage lights and his shadow was cast high on the wall.

  If I hadn’t been holding Gram, I would have totally peed myself—as it was, I thought I might lose bladder control. The shadow that rose across the floor and up the closed loading dock doors was not that of a man.

  Gram shuddered in my hand, a blood haze fell over my vision, and the world slowed. Between one breath and the next, everything stopped except for the dragon. Banker or no, I had no further doubts. I stumbled forward, pulled along by the sword, it seemed, because the fear that flooded my body told me to run while I could, run and hide before he turned his eyes on me.

  When he turned to me, I knew fear—real holy-shit-the-world-is-going-to-end fear. All I could see was fire. His eyes found mine and I fell screaming into a charnel pit. Bones and refuse littered the studio, blood coated the walls, and every single person I’d ever loved lay eviscerated before me.

  I must have cried out, because the next thing I knew, Carl was at my side, pushing my sword arm down and turning me away from the dragon, one arm across my shoulders, speaking rapidly in my ear. I craned my neck around, keeping the dragon in my sights, until he turned, his vision honing in on JJ and his harlots as they came laughing into the studio.

  “Jesus Christ on a crutch, Beauhall. Are you out of your mind?” Carl’s voice penetrated the fog of blood. “Sarah.” He shook me slightly. “Jennifer,” he called. “A little help here?”

  Jennifer appeared at Carl’s side and took my arm. “Come on, Sarah. Let’s get you some water, what do you say?”

  “I’ll take the sword,” Carl said, but I growled at him, pulling the sword out of his reach.

  “No,” I barked. “Mine.”

  He stopped, making eyes of panic at Jennifer, who just grabbed me by both hands and led me away. Away from the fire and the death and the fear.

  Once we were safely back with the goblins, back on the far side of the prop cage, near the office Jennifer kept, that I’d never once visited, the fear began to recede. I shook then, as the adrenaline that had flooded my body took hold of my muscles. I almost fell, but she held me up, helped me to a chair by her desk, where I collapsed.

  “Let’s get you something to change into, shall we?” she said, sympathy and embarrassment warring on her face.

  I guess my fear had won. I had wet myself.

  And the dragon had just glanced at me, had not given me the attention one gave a bug.

  I lay the sword on the desk beside me and felt the warm wetness of my jeans. I lowered my head into my hands as the tremors racked my body.

  Holy Mother of God.

  Twenty-one

  FREDERICK FELT THE SWORD BEFORE HE TURNED HIS HEAD. This was it. He’d felt the disturbance the night before. Knew something powerful had come into being, but he could not name it. There were rumors of rumors, of course, but his kind had acquired all the relics long ago. How had this sword suddenly appeared from nowhere? It was a power he had never felt before. Something about it raised the hackles on his neck. Items of power were dangerous, especially in the hands of humans. Legends told of foolish deeds perpetrated by the humans, fanciful rantings that urged the one who controlled the artifact to attempt to kill his kind. He motioned to Mr. Philips with a jerk of his head, and his faithful servant approached, leaning in to exchange quiet words.

  “Our foolish dwarf was as good as his word,” Frederick said.

  “Yes, Mr. Sawyer.”

  He always appreciated Mr. Philips’s efficiency and no-nonsense attitude. “See that he is rewarded adequately. We may have need of his services again in the future.”

  Mr. Philips nodded and turned to walk toward the back of the studio.

  Immediately, Frederick turned his attention to the next bit of business here. “Who was that excitable young woman just now?” he asked Carl, who had just returned.

  “That was Sarah Beauhall,” Carl said. “She’s our prop manager.” He clenched his hands a few times, nervously, Frederick noticed. “She’s been having a bit of trouble the last few nights.”

  “Yes, I can imagine the stress of budget woes, and an erratic schedule, must be playing havoc on your fine cre
w.”

  Carl blinked at him, confused.

  Silly humans. “Of course, this remains your studio as we agreed,” Frederick said calmly. “I wouldn’t dream of telling you how to run your business.”

  “Right,” Carl said, his attention focused on the back of the studio, following Jennifer and Sarah’s passage long past the time they’d moved out of sight.

  “I think we can clear up your immediate cash flow problems,” he said, pulling a thick envelope of money out of his jacket pocket and handing it to Carl.

  Carl took the envelope, glanced inside, and looked up, shocked. “Yes, this will get us back on track.”

  Nothing like an envelope stuffed full of hundreds to make them putty in your hands. They are so much easier to manipulate than conquer, he thought. Money truly is power.

  “Of course,” Frederick continued. “A twenty-five percent stake in Flight Test, Limited and any current or future project will be a lovely addition to my portfolio.”

  Carl shuddered. “This will get us through the next few weeks,” he said, almost apologetic. “But it won’t clear all the debts and make us liquid.”

  “Oh, of course not,” Frederick said, waving his manicured hand. “This is just a good-faith gesture. Mr. Philips already has a list of your creditors. I will be settling up with them in the next few days.”

  Carl gawked at him. “All of them?”

  “Well,” Frederick said with a predatory smile. “We won’t be paying off your parents’ mortgage, but any debt acquired or owned by this studio will be free and clear by close of business Friday.” He paused. “I include your obligations to the less-than-savory influences.”

  “That’s a lot of money,” Carl said, breathless. “I don’t think you understand just how much.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Mr. Tuttle. Don’t insult my business acumen.”

  “I meant no insult,” Carl began.

  Frederick waved him off. “No insult taken, Mr. Tuttle. But my job is money. I make quite a lot of it, and I know a good investment when I see one. Your prior work alone would be a good enough résumé for me to invest.”