by Al K. Line
We all just stood there, a bunch of magical misfits at the steps to Cerberus. I felt like a fool. I'd been duped by Cerberus, maybe by Mikalus, certainly by Carmichael.
Speaking of which.
A familiar movement caught my eye and I focused on a figure on the second-to-last step from the road, picking lint from his jacket as he watched the crowds leave. He turned, sensing my gaze, and our eyes locked. It was so affected, but he and I both knew this was staged. Heck, I'd just seen the man a few minutes ago. This guy definitely had a flair for the dramatic.
Carmichael stared at me, and only me. He shook his head, as if in genuine sorrow, then he slowly ran a hand across his throat, telling me in no uncertain terms that I was a dead man.
Fuck.
No More Fun and Games
Nobody bombarded me with a ton of questions, nobody moaned about us not getting what we'd come for. Nobody said a thing. I think they were as much in shock as me. We'd been so hyped about this, focused on what we were after, and my head was consumed with my plan, about how we'd get in, but more importantly get away. Now that part of the plan was lost, useless, never to be implemented.
Such a major disappointment. I didn't even know where to begin to get this figured out. Yet in one way it needed no figuring out as it was blindingly obvious for all to see what had happened.
Cerberus had emptied the warehouse, moved artifacts collected over centuries somewhere else, and we hadn't stood a chance from the get-go. They'd been one step ahead of us the entire way and now we were screwed. Or I was.
This was all on me. I was to blame, I was the ringleader, I was the one running this operation and I was going to take the fallout.
I'd had it all figured out, too. I would have got Mikalus' books and taken quite a load of extras too, giving myself a way to negate the backlash. They wouldn't lay a hand on me as then they'd never get back the things I'd stolen, and although it would rankle that I'd taken Mikalus' books it wasn't like I would have cleaned out the whole warehouse.
But none of that had happened, and I was screwed.
From the high of being deep in a job, to the low of coming away without a thing to show for it apart from several dead shifters, the comedown was extreme. Sisiminimus hadn't had chance to play his part, and it would have been awesome, and everyone else had fairly major roles to play, had prepared and were geared up for it. I felt like I'd let them down, that I'd disappointed them and there was no prize after all our hard work.
Unable to stand the silence a moment longer, I took a turn at a service station and pulled off the motorway. After I parked up, the van still silent, and not knowing what else to say, I unfastened my seatbelt, turned to the back and said, "I'm sorry."
"Those bastards," muttered Sisiminimus.
"It was still fun," said Nohr.
"A fun excursion," agreed Valera.
"That door was a worthy opponent," said Beast with a gentle smile.
"Shame about the lads," lamented Steve. "But it was how they would have wanted to go out. They always were a bit wild, never listened. Haha."
"You guys are the best, seriously. I'm so sorry. This was meant to be epic, us giving Cerberus the finger, but they screwed us, saw us coming, and I want to know how."
"Chin up, mate," said Steve. "They obviously cleared the stuff out ages ago. They were just messing with you."
"No, I would have known. This is recent, very recent. After, er, something happened last year, they had every opportunity to empty the warehouse. Vicky and I were there, they knew we knew what was inside, but they did nothing. No, something's going on. They knew, but only in the last few days."
"That means it's close, right?" asked Vicky, hope still in her eyes.
"Maybe, maybe not. But it doesn't matter, this is over now. We'd never get it, not with them on the alert. We wouldn't stand a chance. Nope, this was our only opportunity and we blew it. I blew it. Look, you'll still get paid, I'll make sure Ivan keeps his promise and everyone gets what they deserve."
"Don't sweat it, mate. It happens. Not every job is a success and sometimes you have to cut your losses."
There were murmurs of agreement from everyone, even Sisiminimus, who, for all his crotchety old man mannerisms, knew how the game worked same as everyone else. It almost brought tears to my eyes, it really did. Who ever said there was no honor amongst thieves?
"Thanks, all of you. Come on, let's get going."
I buckled up, joined the motorway again, and headed back to our city where we could all go home, lick our wounds, and dream of what might have been.
How had they known? What was going on? I may not have known the ins and outs of what had happened at Cerberus HQ but something told me that there was a lot more to this story than I'd been led to believe. Mikalus had eyes and ears everywhere, he would never have sent me if he'd thought the warehouse had been cleared out, so that meant only one thing.
We had a traitor in our midst. I didn't know how, or who, but it was the only explanation. Somehow, somebody had got wind of what I was going to do, maybe before I was even asked, actually, definitely as that was only yesterday, and they'd told Cerberus.
The realization made me very uneasy. This was the kind of crap I hated. All the skulking about, the secrets and lies, the politics and the wheeling and dealing behind closed doors, people playing their games, using us poor wizards as their pawns.
I was being used, had been set up, and as I mulled it all over on the drive home, I came to an understanding. I hoped against hope that I was wrong but knew I wasn't. But if I was right, if this had all been about what I thought it was about, then I wasn't just screwed I was utterly fucked. Up the ass, with a goddamn rocket. A big one, with sharp bits.
Welcome Home
I dropped everyone off, which took ages as we're a secretive, paranoid bunch. These guys were some of the best in their respective fields so had more quirks and rituals they had to perform before certain actions than a bunch of nuclear physicists with professionally diagnosed OCD, so I had to take circuitous routes, switchbacks and what have you, then let them out at various random places throughout the city. It wasn't a fast operation.
Finally, we drove to Vicky's, the atmosphere tense, the vibe low, feeling let down and frustrated. A job incomplete gnaws away at a thief, as though a limb has been removed.
The girls were in bed, George was watching TV, so we filled her in on what had happened while we ate leftovers she'd defrosted from the freezer, and as we drank coffee, she sat and thought for a while. George was super-smart, way smarter than Vicky and I. A different generation of magical user, where brains were just as important and got as much training as the esoteric. Plus Sasha had been putting her through her paces, teaching her all about the fae, and the fae may be sneaky and untrustworthy but they were intelligent like you wouldn't believe.
So George let the information filter through, weighed up all that had happened, and said, "Don't be surprised if you get a call soon."
"I know, Mikalus is going to get Ivan to phone and give me hell. He'll be certain there's a snitch too. He'll have figured it out, that someone told. Maybe one of their guys, it has to be. He's going to blame us for not knowing, not finding the new location and getting what he wanted."
"Man, you are dumb at times," she said, looking from me to Vicky.
"Hey, we did our best," protested Vicky. Me, I did feel dumb.
"You really don't get it? Either of you?"
George sighed, like she was talking to two children. "You're going to get a call from Carmichael."
"What, to rub our noses in it?"
"No, to go mental at you for stealing all of Cerberus' goodies."
"But we didn't," said Vicky. "We told you, the warehouse was empty."
"Guys, come on, can't you see what's happening here? You've been used. Set up by Mikalus."
"Okay, now I'm really lost," I said. "Take a step back, explain it like we don't know what you're talking about. Because we don't."
"You
'll get a call from Carmichael," she lectured, "going nuts at you. He was at the warehouse, being all smug as they'd managed to empty it just in time. But he won't be feeling so smug now, as while you guys were there, Mikalus had someone else, probably his own people, intercept the artifacts, and they'll have them by now. My guess is he'll have all his books and plenty more besides. Maybe everything Cerberus has taken over the years. Mikalus set you up. He got Cerberus to move everything so he could take it. I bet it was en route somewhere and he hijacked it, fooled you, fooled Carmichael, fooled the real boss, whoever that is."
"Fuck, that bastard. Damn, you're right, Carmichael will go nuts. He'll blame me, think I was in on it. And I've got nothing, no bargaining power. No artifacts to give back if he promises to leave me alone."
"Yup, you messed up big time." George didn't say it to gloat, she was just stating the obvious. My daughter was a direct girl, didn't mollycoddle the truth. She was strong and powerful and faced up to the reality of the situation, be that good, or in this case, extremely bad.
"I can't even think about this now," I said, a deep weariness taking me over as the evening grew late. It was past ten and I wanted to sleep, or at least lie down and get stressed in a prone position. "Let's go."
We got our things together, I promised Vicky I'd call her in the morning and we'd get this sorted one way or another, and then we left.
George and I talked it over in more detail on the way home, and what she said made perfect sense. What better way for Mikalus to get the artifacts away from the warehouse than to plan a heist and let Cerberus know all about it? It was kind of genius. And he couldn't tell me as that would look fishy. Cerberus had to believe I would do it.
There were a lot of flaws in her reasoning though. We hadn't been given the job until the day before, and by that time Cerberus would have already moved everything, wouldn't they? George said maybe not, that they probably had systems in place to empty the warehouse at very short notice. Trucks and what have you standing by, which was why Carmichael had been there. He probably oversaw the removals and they'd just that moment finished, a rush job once they confirmed we really were going to attack. Maybe once they saw that I was recruiting, they'd sprung into action and moved everything?
Part of me wanted to believe George, because it made sense, but a big chunk of my gelatinous, decaying by the day, brain wanted to believe it was just a terrible mistake and I hadn't been played like that. Not by Mikalus. And what about Ivan? Had he known? Doubtful, as it involved Vicky, and he was a man of honor like me, so wouldn't stoop that low. But then, I found it hard to believe Mikalus would either.
By the time we'd gone through the portal, got home and parked up, my head was spinning and I wasn't sure of a single bloody thing.
We got out of the car and stood on the cobbles in our courtyard, our beautiful home and the sanctuary it represented right in front of us. Chickens clucked from their roosts, the pig snored, and I glanced at the barn where Marjorie had lived for so many years.
I missed the old girl. Who would have thought a donkey could mean so much to you? But she had, and I missed seeing her head with its large ears poking out over the barn door to see what was going on.
Still, it was home. It was ours. It was where we belonged.
My phone rang and I answered, wondering what kind of crap I'd hear and who it was. Carmichael or Ivan?
"You went too far this time, old chap." Carmichael sounded almost sad about it.
"I'm just as confused by what happened as you are," I said, which was the truth.
"Goodbye, Arthur." Carmichael hung up.
"That was weird," I said to George. "He sounded quite final about that."
George just shrugged.
At that moment we both looked up. There was a buzzing, or a humming, as if a swarm of bees was closing in on us, faint yet getting louder.
I knew the sound; it wasn't bees.
"Run!" I shouted, and I grabbed George by the arm and pulled her away from the house as fast as possible. I released her at the gate, launched over, yelling, "Get away from the house, now."
She didn't ask questions, just vaulted the gate and landed beside me. I grabbed her again as we ran for all we were worth across the lane and into the field opposite. I was panting already, close to hyper-ventilating, stumbling and panic-stricken, but I pulled on her harder and made her speed up.
For ten seconds we ran as the hum grew louder, and she shouted, "What is that?"
"It's a fucking drone strike," I screamed above the roar.
Then the world exploded.
What Number is This?
"That was fucking awesome!" said Imaginary Figure of Death, or maybe it was the real man himself, I never could get to the bottom of it all, not even now.
"Awesome?" I said with a groan, picking myself up off a pebble beach at the edge of the eternal waters where Death liked to hang out and stand silently watching the waves lapping gently at the shores of time itself, contemplating his navel and sharpening his scythe.
"Awesome!?" I continued. "Are you nuts? I just got blown up by a fucking drone strike. Oh, no. George, is she...?" I couldn't even bring myself to say it, but I had to know. "Is she dead?"
Death looked down at me, or I assumed he did. His cowl shifted but the impenetrable darkness held no sign of a face, no eyes gleaming with menace and insight into my soul, just emptiness. "Hmm, now let me see. Where did I put the ledger?"
Death glanced aside and a simple small table was suddenly there on the beach, complete with plain wooden chair and even a quill and inkwell, plus the biggest bloody book you're ever likely to see. Trust me, you do not want to see this book. It was infinite, huge, and thick. Ancient, and with pages thinner than a Hollywood star's facial skin. He did like his parlor tricks.
Death glided over and sat down, licked a bony finger, and I mean bony, then flipped through the pages. Wafer-thin pages that turned without him touching them, covered in names in tiny, spidery handwriting. Not that I could ever read any of them, that wasn't allowed. For his eyes only.
"Ah, here we are," he said jollily, while I tried not to lose my mind. "George. Hmm, nope, she's good. Well, I say good, um, well, now this is a rather strange thing."
"What is?" I asked as I clambered to my feet, having found that I'd collapsed under the stress, and wandered over.
Death snapped the book closed and turned to me. "She isn't mortal. Why'd you ask me if she was dead?"
"Er, because everyone dies, don't they?"
"Arthur, please, you should know by now that I'm not your bloody teacher. But she's fae, and they have... how shall I put this? They have their own way of doing things."
"Oh, right, so she's not on your radar then?"
"Never will be."
"So, is this it?" I asked, "Is this my final life?" I crossed my fingers behind my back, praying I had another chance, because if I did I was gonna destroy Carmichael, Cerberus, and Mikalus too for what he'd done. Angry, I blurted, "They fucking drone-striked my fucking house. With my fucking daughter there. Those fuckers."
"Language," warned Death. "And is that really a word, drone-striked? And, er, what is a drone? Is it like an imp, a devil of some sort?" Before I could answer, he continued. "Have you no respect for the one that sees every mortal soul through to what awaits? Who helps you transition from one existence to whatever comes next? Stop swearing, it's awfully tiresome. Rude too," he chastised, turning suddenly. The table, chair, and book vanished as he wagged a finger at me. I hated this shit, had no time for it now, not that it ever took any time at all.
"Sorry, I'm stressed. So, my lives? Is this it?"
"It should be, you're my worst customer ever, and I've had a lot."
A thought struck me then, and even under the circumstances I had to ask. "Hey, do you actually know what comes next? You sounded unsure, said you helped people from life to what came next. But do you know?"
"Arthur, I am Death itself, a physical representation of what you expect to see. T
o others I am something different entirely, all depends on your outlook, I suppose."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"No, it doesn't."
"Fine, be like that. Just asking. Can I go now? I'm kind of busy."
"Trust me, you don't want to go back, you're in a right mess. All that exploding of buildings, such destruction. I've said it time and time again until I'm blue in the face, or, um, slightly off-color anyway, that missiles shouldn't be allowed. Whatever happened to a good old poke in the guts with a bayonet? Those were the days."
"So you do know what a drone is?" I asked, beyond frustrated.
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't."
What was wrong with him? I swear he was smiling behind that cowl, almost like he was enjoying himself. Could Death get laid? Was he in a good mood?
"For fuck's sake," I screamed. "Is this even real? I want to know if you're Death or imaginary. I'm pretty sure I've died before, and this is what, number seven? Or eight? Uh, anyway, are you real?"
"Does this feel real?" With that, Death swung his scythe, the infinite blade slicing the air, cutting it, and with that the tip of my nose.
"Ow! Motherfucker! You cut off my nose."
"Don't be such a baby, it's just a flesh wound. And besides, you're dead. Yes, really dead, so how have you even got a nose?"
I put my hand to my nose, and it felt real enough, hurt like hell, but he had a point. "That's your department, not mine. Now, can I go or are you gonna send me off on a little boat to meet my afterlife, make me pay for my sins?"
"No, I don't do that any more, too predictable. And actually, you've done pretty well, your sins aren't worth much, hardly a footnote in history. I hate to say it, but you're one of the good guys."
"I very much doubt that," I mumbled. "I've killed, beaten, blasted, stolen, and done it more times than I can remember."
"As I said, you've been very good by human standards. It's not just about what you do, it's about what you think, and feel. In your heart you're one of the better humans. You should see the darkness in a lot of my clients. Ugh, gives me the shivers just thinking about it."
