Honor Bound

by Al K. Line

  "Are you okay?" I asked Death. "You're acting weird. You seem very upbeat, like you're in a happy place. Are you on medication? Normally you get annoyed with me and tell me to bugger off, and then do something that hurts just to get back at me for being cheeky."

  "Oh, haha, you noticed, did you?"

  I swear he really was smiling, at least he sounded like he was. This was getting weird, or weirder, and I didn't even know if I was going to get to go home and check on George or not.

  "Um, yeah, sure."

  "I got a new scythe. Nice, isn't it?"

  I rubbed at my nose. "It sure is sharp."

  "Has to be. Gotta reap the souls with it, needs to be sharp enough for that."

  "Oh, right." There was an awkward silence as we both contemplated his scythe, then it began to get uncomfortable. "Um, about my death? Can you send me back? Or is this it?"

  "Arthur, you are blessed, my friend. Today is your lucky day. Off you go, but I'll be seeing you. Soon."

  And with that, Death rotated his scythe, his new, very shiny and sharp one, and it somehow shrank to half size and the blade passed right through my middle. It felt real enough, like I was genuinely cut in two, and then everything was white and there was a loud ringing in my ears and I was flying through the air, still holding on to George as fire erupted, the air shook, and the world was nothing but roaring and buzzing.

  My jacket burst into flames and then fell away, then I had the presence of mind to up the protection around us both, hoping it wasn't too late.

  We landed with a thud in the parched grass, and lay there, somehow having landed on our backs. I looked into the sky and watched missiles trailing white vapor before they flared briefly, orange against the starry night, then angled down and exploded into my house that was already nothing but rubble.

  My phone rang, so I answered.

  "Hello?"

  "Just checking," said Carmichael. "Shame, I thought you'd be dead."

  "Me and Death have an arrangement," I said.

  "Then you better get ready to meet him again." Carmichael hung up.

  For a moment it didn't make sense, but then I looked up and saw a missile change direction, flaring briefly as it turned.

  "Fuck, my phone," I muttered, and then I stared at George, who was groaning but already getting to her feet, and I ran not for my life, but for George's. They were homing in on my phone and this time they'd make sure they got me.

  I ran for all I was worth, and then as magic welled inside me and I willed it to do what it could, the missile hit.

  "Seriously?" asked Death. "It's been what, about ten seconds?"

  "I missed you," I said with a grin. I got the terrible feeling that my luck had finally run out.

  Not Again

  Death walked away down the beach, the pebbles making a pleasing clattering sound even though he wasn't actually touching them. He settled himself haughtily at his table then went through the routine of licking his fingers before he swept the ledger open with a wave of his hand. He hunted through the pages and found what he was looking for, so I took the opportunity to go join him.

  "Find anything interesting?" I asked, peering over his shoulder.

  "Hey, no peeking," he said, slamming the book closed, but not before I saw the page.

  I jumped back, unable to fully comprehend what I'd seen, but wondering how long my entry was.

  Almost at the bottom of the page, after thousands upon thousands of other names, was my name, I was sure it was. Arthur "The Hat" Salzman, written repeatedly, one beneath the other. How many times I wasn't sure, but it looked like quite a few, and how many times was it written on the next page? Just how many lives did I have? What was this? Eight or nine? I lost count. But it looked like more than that, I was sure of it. Maybe the entries went on for pages and I had more lives than an immortal jellyfish.

  I grinned at Death and said, "Guess you're not going to tell me how many times my name is written, are you?"

  "Nope," he said glumly.

  "So shall we forgo the nonsense and you send me back?"

  "Fine," he said, sounding trite about my refusal to play his games.

  "Hey, if it makes you feel any better, you're doing a great job."

  "Oh, gee, thanks, that's made my millennia."

  "Really?" I asked, feeling pretty good about that.

  "No. Will you please just fuck off?" Death cut my head off, and he seemed pretty grumpy about it. Maybe something had happened in the interim, as he sure had lost his chipper mood.

  I came to gasping in a ditch, face down in thick mud. I spluttered and clambered out, breathing deeply, and wondered where all my clothes were. Ah, the bomb, that'd be it.

  Panicked, I reached for my head. Grace was still there; not even a bomb could destroy The Hat's hat.

  But my wand, it was gone, incinerated along with my clothes.

  It was at this point I remembered to throw away my phone, but it was already gone, along with so much else.

  Somehow, I knew the thing I cared about the most would be okay, yet my heart still sang for joy as George came running over and hugged me tight.

  "You okay, honey?" I asked.

  "Fine. You?"

  "My wand got burned up."

  "And you got a bomb dropped on you."

  "What, that little thing? It was nothing. I'm The Hat, it'll take more than a bomb to get me."

  "Tough guy, eh?" said George, eyes twinkling, smiling at me. She was a good girl.

  "You betcha. And they broke the Code. You never, ever, go after people's kids."

  George nodded. She knew the rules same as we all did.

  No matter what you did, what grudge you had against someone, however bad it got, you did not, ever, involve wives, partners, or children. It was our way, our Code, and Carmichael had broken it.

  We shuffled back to the wreck of our home. There was nothing there, nothing left. It was gone, utterly destroyed. There wasn't even a fire, just massive craters in the ground.

  All that remained was a chicken. And as we stared at it, lost in wonder about how it could have possibly survived, a flash of red came out of nowhere. A fox grabbed the chicken as feathers flew and ran off into the night.

  "Typical. Bloody typical," I grumbled. Then I collapsed.

  Gonna Be a Long Night

  I didn't stay out for long, and I think it was more relief that George was okay than anything physical. Coming back from the other side always had a strange effect, the cause of death obviously gone, as otherwise I would have been strewn around the field in numerous hat-sized chunks, so in a way it felt like I'd been put back together better than before.

  That was the physical side of it, but the mental? Not good. I had, after all, just been killed by an explosion, then more directly by a freaking missile, bomb, whatever it was. That's gotta mess with you psychologically. Nonetheless, I got up with a little help from George and we checked to see what we could salvage. But I was shivering and felt weary beyond belief to be wandering around a bomb site with just my hat on while my daughter tried not to stare at my scrawny ass.

  It was a fruitless search, nothing but craters, dust, the odd brick or stone, and not a lot else. Our entire life had been obliterated. I bent, something shiny amid the dust catching my eye, and pulled out a mangled tap, the new one from the kitchen. I chucked it, no point having a tap without a kitchen.

  And you know what? As I settled down, let the anger subside, it felt like a relief. There was nothing like a fresh start to make you look to the future, and this was as good a reason as any to move on. Not that we had any choice.

  "Hey," I said, "where do you fancy living next?"

  George turned to me, confused, but she caught the twinkle in my eye, the grin on my face that spread as we connected on the same wavelength and saw the funny side of it. What else can you do under such extreme circumstance except laugh at the world, and yourself?

  "How about somewhere closer to the city? Not in the city, but closer. Or, how about a
city house for a change?"

  "No bloody chance, it's too noisy. No peace. Can you imagine how many people would come calling?"

  "True. Okay, Wales?"

  "Nope, been there, it's really wet."

  "Scotland?"

  "Even wetter."

  "Fine, you choose."

  "Hmm, I have always fancied a proper farm, something with a bigger house, and maybe some stables. But, oh, what would we do if we bought somewhere that had, say, paddocks and maybe stabling, and fenced-off areas and a large courtyard, larger than this one." I indicated the pockmarked ground, not that there was a courtyard there any longer.

  "Stop teasing." George smiled as I played out the game, but she knew where this was heading

  "Haha, fine. I know you want to have a business, do something to earn money. How about we get horses? You can do horsey stuff then."

  "Equestrian, that's what it's called. Horsey! You mean it?"

  "Sure, if you do?"

  "Awesome! Thanks, Dad." And with that, the deal was done.

  Yeah, we were a hardy pair. A missile strike was nowhere near enough to get us down. We saw it as an opportunity.

  I was still going to go old skool on Carmichael though, and anyone else who'd played a part in this deception.

  An Understanding

  We trudged back to the barn where I dressed in clothes I had stored there for such events, although not quite as specific as a drone strike. I grabbed a spare phone and set up call forwarding from the old number, and then we headed through the portal. Neither of us felt like it was a great idea to stay in the house, so I called Vicky and she answered blearily after several rings and said we could come stay. I told her I'd fill her in when I got there.

  I didn't think she'd be at risk, as although involved, it was me they were gunning for. And me for them.

  This is the price you pay, Arthur, was something that did not go through my mind. Why? Because this was not what was meant to happen. There were unwritten agreements, honor and duty and respect of a sorts no matter how at odds you were. You did not endanger your foe's family, and even worse than that, you did not double-cross, treat your employees as expendable commodities. Carmichael and Cerberus were one concern, and I'd deal with them, but Mikalus, and what he'd done, that was different. That was unforgivable.

  As we drove to Vicky's, the realization suddenly hit me.

  I was at war with the vampires.

  "Dad?"

  "Yeah?"

  George glanced at me nervously as I tried to stay focused on my driving even though I was fading fast now, closing in on myself after such an ordeal. "Nothing," she said.

  "Come on, it's fine. What is it?"

  "You won't give up, will you?" She looked concerned, like she was getting ready for a huge disappointment.

  "How'd you mean? Like not buy a new place, get you the horses?"

  "No, I mean stop doing what you do? Give up the life. The magic. The artifacts, all of it?"

  I pulled over into a bus stop, they wouldn't need it at this time of night, then turned and looked my daughter straight in the eyes. "Why are you asking?"

  "Because I know you, and I know you worry about me. I don't want you to give up what you love because you're worried about what might happen."

  "Honey, it honestly hadn't crossed my mind. Yes, I worry about you, every moment of every day, and even more at night. I'm a born worrier, what can I say? But no, and it may sound awful coming from your father, but I hadn't even considered giving up. I know my work can be dangerous, and it has made its way to our home, which I am truly sorry about, but I won't give it up. I won't give it up unless you ask me to. I know how you feel about all of this, that you're like me, born to magic. It's dangerous, it's wild, and I hate that it puts you at risk, but this is who we are. Not who. What. We are wild, George, and dangerous. I'm a wizard and you will be an amazing witch one day, or faery, I guess. You're special. I don't even think you can be killed any more, Sasha certainly can't, so don't worry, The Hat will be getting into trouble even when he's old and decrepit."

  "Haha, you mean like now?"

  "Cheeky git!"

  George smiled then leaned over and hugged me. "I'm glad. Don't ever change. I can't imagine you not running around like a nutter, getting up to all sorts."

  "Neither can I."

  And I couldn't. This was the truth of it all, of my life. This was who I was, who I would remain, and now I had a new purpose.

  "Come on, let's go see Aunty Vicky and enter a world that's truly mad."

  George grimaced and we both steeled ourselves for the sleepover from hell.

  Lumpy Bed

  Vicky had a million and one questions and wouldn't let us go to bed until we answered them. Not that there was too much to tell. I filled her in, explained to her and George about my meetings with Death, which they both always loved hearing about as it's not your typical everyday happening, and then she asked the most important question.

  "So, what are we going to do about it?"

  "That, my diminutive grasshopper, is easy. We're going to find out what happened, what really happened, as this is too big to deal with without as many facts as possible, and then we'll deal with everyone involved. Everyone. This has gone too far. They've overstepped the bounds, so it's crunch time, the real deal."

  "Good. They made us their patsies," said Vicky.

  "No need to turn into a gangster's moll," I groaned, despairing of her attempts to use gangster talk. "We'll start tomorrow, get the facts, figure out what to do. But right now I need rest. And George does too. Right?" I turned to George but she was curled up asleep on the sofa.

  She looked beautiful, red hair spread on the cushions like silk, sharp cheekbones angling down to her full lips. It was at moments like this that I understood just how exceptional she was. She wasn't just a pretty woman, she was otherworldly, mesmerizing. Strange, and maybe even scary to those who didn't know her. But to me she was just my daughter, and that was probably the most terrifying thing of all. She was fae, had knowledge and skills no human ever would or could, and for as long as I lived she would be my responsibility.

  Vicky got blankets for her, and George snuggled up without waking. I was shown the spare room, or one of them in this oversized house that I knew Vicky would last in for only a few more months before it all got too much for her. I showered in the guest bathroom, en-suite, very posh, crawled under the covers, and readied for a night of lying there stressing and trying to formulate a plan. I was one guy, stuck between Cerberus and the vampires. It had to stop.

  Nobody used The Hat. I'd blast them with my wand and...

  I shot up out of bed, the realization hitting.

  "My goddamn wand. They blew up my wand."

  Like I'd get any sleep now.

  So I lay in the dark on a lumpy bed, and waited out the night. Tomorrow, before I did anything else, before I could even begin to deal with this, I had something much more important to do.

  Questions and More Questions

  "What you doing, Uncle Arthur?"

  I looked up to find that the two sprogs, plus George and Vicky, were all gathered around watching me.

  "I'm making a wand," I said, like it should have been obvious.

  "Can I have one too?" asked one spawn of the diminutive devil, looking as smart as her sister in her school uniform.

  "Me too," said the other demon spawn.

  "Wands are only for wizards."

  "And witches," added George.

  "Yeah, I suppose," I grunted, then went back to my work.

  "Arthur, don't go filling their heads with all this nonsense," warned Vicky, looking nervous and trying to laugh it off.

  "Come on, they already know, don't they?" I asked, suddenly aware I wasn't sure if her daughters knew anything about the magical world. I'd never talked about it with them, but I guess I'd assumed Vicky had said a thing or two. But no, of course she hadn't, as before her husband met with an "accident" she'd kept this life from them all,
knowing they wouldn't understand. Or he wouldn't. But things were different now, weren't they?

  "Don't you think it's about time they knew?" I asked.

  "Knew what?" asked Tweedledum.

  "Ooh, is it a secret?" asked Tweedledee.

  Vicky glared at me but then reconsidered, and a wicked smile spread across her dastardly face. "If Uncle Arthur wants to tell us a story, about how to make wands, and how he got his first one, then you'll also learn a very special secret. One," she warned, "that you are never, ever, cross your heart and hope to die, to tell anyone else. This is between us only. Promise."

  "We promise," the girls chorused.

  I did my own glaring, as I wasn't big on talking about my past, especially to little girls with school uniforms on, their hair in pigtails, as trusting as trusting could be.

  "Fine," I said, and moved from my crouching position out on the large patio with various tools strewn about where I'd been trying to get some peace and complete my work before I did anything else.

  I hadn't slept, so had gone off to retrieve my tools and the wood needed to make my wand. Not normal wood, but... It's part of the story, so you'll find out soon enough. I was also still miffed as hell that I'd let my wand be destroyed. If I'd been in my right mind then it would never have happened, as wands are basically indestructible. But I'd been drained of magic, and tapped into its reserves to keep going, then being dead had negated what little power remained in the wood so it was, for a short while, as the bomb hit, just a nice stick.

  "Okay," I said with a sigh brought on by a life of constant crap like this, "gather around, everyone. Pull up a chair and Uncle Arthur will tell you all about how he got to have the best wand in the whole world."

  "Yippee," squealed the girls as they dragged heavy chairs across the paving and sat on the cold metal without complaint.

  George and Vicky were almost as excited, a rare glimpse into the world of The Hat.

  I took a seat, wondering where to start, lost in thought for a moment as everyone stared at me impatiently. Vicky knew how I became a wizard, and after sharing the tale with her I felt bad so had also told George, along with several other things about my past. It was time, she should know about my history because it was hers too. So I should start this tale right after I finished my apprenticeship.