by Drew Hayes
“And if I dive unnecessarily over the edge to try and save you, what does that say about me?”
“That you’re kind, and a little dumb. I am an agent, after all. You don’t think something as simple as a fall could kill me, do you?”
“I didn’t really register that at the time.”
“No, you didn’t, which is exactly the point. When you had no chance to think, only to react, your default setting was saving the woman who has made it very clear that she doesn’t like you.” June sighed as she hauled the weapons under her arms. “Much as I hate to admit it, you may not be as bad of a match for Krys as I thought. Damn, she’s never going to let me live it down, either.”
“You’re going to tell her about your crazy plan?” Don’t get me wrong, I’d already intended to her in about her friend being a total nutjob, I just didn’t expect said nutjob to have the same idea.
“Of course, I have to tell her the results. She figured out what I was doing as soon as the swords were gone. That’s why she set the time limit for ‘calling the home office.’ It was her way of saying I had to wrap it up before our jobs started.”
My mouth opened and closed several times as I reached for words, but found only a general sensation of being aghast. It wasn’t that I found the idea of Krystal allowing her friend to put me through the paces so unbelievable, it was the opposite. That sounded so much like something Krystal would agree to that I was having trouble finding any sort of argument. At last, I gave up, and accepted the plain truth that had been laid out before me.
“Does she do this to your boyfriends too?”
“Only the ones I get serious with,” June said. We began heading down the catwalk and toward the exit, Grelthidolk trailing us several steps behind. “She’s not always as nice as I am, though. There was one boyfriend that she terrified so much, he still won’t set foot in a carnival. He goes on trips when they come to his town.”
“I would like it on the record right now that I do not want to hear that story,” I said.
“That’s probably a good call, but you’re the one who has to stop Krys from telling it. After all, you’re her boyfriend.” June gave me a surprisingly warm smile, one that in no way began to make up for what she’d put me through, but was still pleasant nonetheless.
“I am indeed, which means I know enough to ply her with martinis and leave her to torment you all afternoon.”
“You know, Fred, you might be more dangerous than I give you credit for.”
9.
Two days later, which I am happy to report passed without incident, Krystal and I wearily entered my apartment and dropped the few remaining boxes on the floor. I’d agreed to let her use the extra space in my storeroom for her more mundane items, until she had time to haul them back to their central office—a gesture I made mostly out of concern for my own free time. My apartment was on the third floor, while Krystal’s was on the seventh in a downtown loft. Since I knew I’d be roped into lugging them about either way, moving them from my place was the less annoying endeavor. Bubba had agreed with my logic thoroughly, and was downstairs unloading the truck to make for faster trips up.
Her only non-mundane object was the duffel bag, still stuffed with mythical weapons of destiny, though less than there had been when she set out. Two of them had found their owners at the convention—poor, unsuspecting souls that were suddenly thrust onto the Agency’s radar as June and Krystal got every scrap of information they could about them. The duffel bag and its contents would certainly not be staying at my home; Krystal just refused to leave them in the car while we unloaded. After what June had pulled, I hardly blamed her.
“Hey, Fred, I’m in the back!” Albert’s voice rang through the room as soon as I entered. My live-in assistant had been left behind to catch up on a plethora of filing.
“Come out when you reach a good stopping point,” I yelled back. “We’ve got some boxes to move.”
“Son of a bitch,” Krystal swore. I turned to find her rubbing the back of her head. A familiar black-and-gold hilt was sticking out of the duffel bag, the zipper seemingly having gone down of its own free will. From the glare on her face, it didn’t take much effort to figure out what had happened.
“Quit being a dick.” Krystal dropped the duffel bag roughly on the counter and poked the sword fiercely, clearly unashamed of talking to an inanimate object. “You got to go be held by people. You even had a bit of an adventure. If you were that desperate to find a wielder, then you should have picked one of the dozens of people who tried to unsheath you.”
The sword, quite obviously, said nothing.
“I’m just glad it didn’t choose me,” I said honestly. From the leather messenger bag at my side (a purchase I’d found too well-crafted and fairly priced to pass up), I produced a small, cellophane bag and set it on the counter.
“Freddy, you know you’re my heroic number cruncher, but you aren’t exactly fit to be a champion, unlikely or otherwise,” Krystal said. “Hell, for one thing, you’re too smart. Champions are usually the type who charge into battle, odds be damned, believing they can triumph because right is on their side. You have to be a little bit of a moron to pull that sort of shit.”
“Says the woman who battles monsters every day,” I pointed out.
“Says the woman with access to the powers of a devil—one of the most dangerous supernatural beings we know of—who battles monsters every day. My fights are rigged; I’m the one with the staggering odds to win.”
“Unless your opponent is a fellow agent who steals weapons.” I set the cellophane sack next to Krystal’s duffel bag. Inside was a plastic clamshell package containing a pair of custom headphones with headstones on the side and a medium-sized T-shirt adorned in magical symbols. The shopping at various booths had been incredible, and I’d felt Albert at least deserved a few souvenirs, since he hadn’t gotten to come.
Krystal rolled her eyes, a motion so theatrically exaggerated I half expected her to call stage left for her line. “How many times can I say I’m sorry? June’s just a little . . . protective. Even though the engagement fell through, I think she still sees me as sort of a younger sister. Doesn’t help that she was one of my mentors when I first started the Agency.”
“I don’t fault you for June’s actions. However, you were complicit in them by letting her drag me off. In fact, you encouraged us to group up.”
“My options were to let her pull that stunt, which I knew was in a controlled environment and probably safe, or stop her, in which case, she would have just tried again. Only, in that second version, it might not have been as safe or controlled, and I might not be there to shadow you in case things go bad.”
The discovery of Krystal waiting in the stairwell, scowl fixed firmly in June’s direction, had done much to mollify my concern. It was reassuring to know that, even if she was willing to throw me into the clutches of her insane half-fey friends, she at least wasn’t willing to do it without making sure I was okay. Despite being almost as bad at talking about her feelings as I was, Krystal still managed to show me she cared, and that meant a great deal to me.
“What do you need me to do?” Albert asked, walking out of my office with his usual grin spread across his face. Though I wasn’t always keen about having a roommate at my age, it was hard not enjoy being around the ball of positivity that Albert usually embodied.
“First up, I brought you souvenirs,” I said, pointing to the cellophane sack next to the duffel bag. “My way of apologizing for leaving you behind. Once you’ve opened those, start moving the boxes into the storage closet in the back of the office. We’re going to get another load from the truck.”
“Can do, boss! And thanks a lot for bringing me souvenirs.”
“Thank you for working so diligently,” I said.
Krystal and I headed back downstairs as Albert pulled open the sack and began to remove his presents. I’d meant to remind him that I’d moved the scissors to the far drawer from the stove—those clamshell
packages could be a pain to open without a sharp implement—but it slipped my mind as I tried to calculate how many more of these trips would be required to finish unloading. As we stepped outside, lit only by the soft glow of streetlights, and I saw the pile that Bubba had pulled from the truck’s depths, I readjusted my estimate.
It took a few minutes to get loaded down with just the right number of parcels to maximize my productivity without risking me losing my grip and dropping the lot, but eventually, Krystal and I made our second journey up the stairs and into my apartment. As soon I entered, I noticed Albert coming back from loading the previous boxes in the closet. Resting around his neck were the headphones I’d brought him.
“Oh good, you found the scissors,” I noted.
“Huh? Oh, no, I couldn’t remember where you moved them to when you reorganized the kitchen,” Albert said. He grabbed a large amount of the boxes from Krystal’s arms, and they both set their loads down.
“Did you use a kitchen knife, then?”
“No, I remembered your lecture about food and plastic utensils needing to stay separate,” Albert replied. “I just borrowed one of the display swords you guys brought in.” He walked over to the kitchen counter, where, I realized for the first time since entering, one of the weapons had been taken entirely out of the duffel bag. “I was worried they’d be dull since they’re pretend, but this thing actually cuts super well.”
“Oh, no fucking way . . .” Krystal muttered under her breath.
With a single motion, Albert picked up and easily unsheathed The Blade of the Unlikely Champion. The steel shone in the light, an unnatural glow cascading across its smooth surface. Krystal’s eyes widened visibly, and I dropped my boxes unceremoniously to the ground. For his part, Albert finally realized something was amiss as he stared at our shocked and uncertain faces.
“What? Did I do something wrong?”
A Sword in the Catacombs
1.
“Agent Jenkins, we’re currently an hour outside our destination. Obscuring protocol must be enacted before the wheels touch down.” The voice—male and authoritative, with just a hint of fear underlying the strong tones—crackled over the intercom. This plane belonged to the pilot, it was his domain, but that didn’t change the fact that he was hauling a menagerie of beings who could kill him with the barest effort, and the most dangerous of us all was the one he was ordering around.
“Calm your ass down,” Krystal said, leaning across me and punching a white button just below the speaker. “It takes less than five minutes to put the damn bags on their heads. I’m not making my friends ride like that until I have to.”
“Just be sure they’re covered in time.”
Krystal rolled her brown eyes so hard, I was amazed they didn’t detach and continue going across the floor. She pulled herself back into a seated position. I was momentarily surprised; she usually never missed an opportunity to be publicly draped across my lap in an effort to make me embarrassed or panicked. Even for Krystal, though, there were situations serious enough to dampen her ever-present levity.
The plane we were on was large and beige on the inside, with enough seats to accommodate roughly twenty people, by my estimate. I had no idea what the outside looked like, since I’d had my head in an enchanted bag when we boarded and there were no windows anywhere in the cabin. Krystal had always made light of the amount of secrecy enacted by her employer, but this was my first time actually seeing the extent of it.
Krystal and I were seated across the aisle from Neil and Albert. Two seats up were Bubba and Amy, who appeared to be playing a game of Go Fish. Neil and Albert weren’t doing much, just talking quietly about a new movie in a franchise they were looking forward to. It might have seemed like a semi-normal experience, if not for the gold-and-black sword clutched tightly in Albert’s hand. He’d been holding it ever since drawing the thing three hours prior. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if he was even able to let it go. Those weapons had more agency than I’d expected.
I had been both surprised and impressed by Krystal’s efficiency in handling the situation. After Albert drew The Blade of the Unlikely Champion, she’d vanished into the hall, pulling out her cell phone as she went, and returned five minutes later. In that time, she’d called the Agency to arrange transportation and had told Amy to bring Neil to my apartment. After that, we were all put in a van—a van I’m certain hadn’t been there the last time I went down to unload boxes from Krystal’s truck—and fitted with hoods that dulled even my enhanced senses. She’d refused to tell us where we were going or what was happening, revealing only that “protocol had to be followed.” It was out of character for her; Krystal usually treated us as equals despite her somewhat authoritative position. That had me far more on edge than the fact that Albert had been chosen by a weapon of destiny.
“I don’t suppose, now that we’ve reached the point of no return, you could give us a hint of what’s going on?” Neil had let his conversation with Albert lapse while I’d been lost in thought, and was now staring across the aisle at Krystal.
“What makes you think this is the point of no return?”
“We’re up in the air, and when we land, I’m certain you’ll have dozens of armed agents waiting to make sure we all toe the line like good children. Even if you tell us that we’re all off to be killed, there would be nothing we could do.”
“Oh? Hey, Amy, do you have any potions that would let you survive a fall from several miles up?” Krystal asked.
“I’ve got one for floating that I have all the ingredients for, plus I know a couple of minor levitation spells I could cast on the fly,” Amy replied. “Got any twos?”
“I swear you’ve got some way to cheat at this game,” Bubba grumbled as he took a card out of his hand and gave it to her.
“It’s really all in the math,” Amy said with a shrug.
“With a potion and a spell, that means Amy could save herself as well as her apprentice,” Krystal continued. “Meanwhile, a drop like that isn’t enough to kill a therian or a vampire. Not unless they land in a way that decapitates them.”
“Or it’s sunny out,” I reminded her.
“Right, yes, or there’s sunshine. Now, we all know I’m not dying on impact, and any damage Albert might suffer can be patched with a quick spell from you, his aspiring necromancer friend.”
“I take your point—we could still destroy the plane or leap out of it, so we’re not truly at a point of no return,” Neil said.
“My point was that there really is no point-of-no-return. You guys could still leap out of here and escape. Or you could ask that we turn the plane around. Hell, you could have just refused to come along with me. It’s not like I pulled a gun on you.”
“But you told us to come with you,” Neil said.
“Yeah, because that’s what I was told was the right move for everyone.” Krystal looked around, realizing that the rest of us were staring at her as well. “Wait, did you all think I was holding out on you?”
“You have been pretty tight-lipped since Albert pulled out that sword,” Bubba said.
“For the love of . . . guys, I haven’t told you what’s going on because I don’t have a damned clue either. I called up the chain to report the sword being drawn and was informed that they would send transport immediately. What Albert did is . . . unprecedented, and I think they want to make sure that there isn’t some hidden danger to him or us.”
“Has that sword never been drawn?” Amy asked.
Krystal shook her head. “No, it’s had a very lively past. The issue here is that a weapon of destiny has never chosen a zombie before. Not once, in all the history we’re aware of.”
“Never?” Albert spoke softly, addressing someone besides Neil for the first time since Krystal had explained to him how big a deal unsheathing that blade was.
“Never,” Krystal said. “Them choosing undead is pretty rare to begin with, but occasionally, a vampire or Ghoul Lord will manage to wield one. Zombies ar
e a different matter.”
“I wonder why?” Albert stared down at the sheath in his hand, clearly overwhelmed by the events of the last few hours and the consequences he was now facing. My heart went out to him; I knew that feeling all too well.
“Not many zombies are like you, Albert.” Amy leaned her seat back, nearly smacking my knees, so she could peek through the cushions and address the rest of us. “Most are resurrected to do chores and menial labor, so very little consciousness is warranted. To produce a zombie like yourself requires a powerful mage, a determined soul, and a strong bond between the spell caster and the zombie.”
Neil and Albert exchanged a slightly embarrassed glance, both being a bit too young to be comfortable on being called out on the depth of their friendship. Growing up together as outcasts, there was no doubt they loved one another like brothers, but that was not an easy thing to talk about, especially in front of a group of strangers.
Krystal let them off the hook by steering the subject back on course. “Anyway, it might not be a bad thing. Hell, it might not even be a thing. But the Agency tries to be careful when anything new pops up. Magic is unpredictable, and mixing two that haven’t been combined before is just as dangerous as slapping a few unknown chemicals together. Could be that nothing will happen, could be you just made mustard gas in the sink. For my money, that’s why they’re transporting us somewhere: to check you out in a place that minimizes the odds of you hurting anyone, yourself included.”
“I trust you, Krystal,” Albert said. “If you think this is where I should be, then I’ll come along.”
