Action Figures - Issue Five: Team-Ups

by Michael C Bailey

  I shouldn’t hassle her, not this early in the morning, not for something as stupid as this. I shouldn’t.

  And here I am, calling her anyway.

  She picks up after three rings, and hearing her say hello is enough to make me feel a million times better. “Good morning, sweetheart! And why is my favorite grandson calling me at such an hour?”

  “Morning, Grandma,” I say. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “You’re never a bother, honey. You sound down. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s dumb.”

  “If it’s bothering you, it’s not dumb. Come on now, talk to me.”

  “Oh, Gordon’s driving me nuts is all.”

  “That’s what big brothers are for,” Grandma says, but not in an unsympathetic way. “Is he still lecturing you about college?”

  “You called it. It’s like he thinks Mom and Dad aren’t giving me enough of a hard time about it and he has to pig-pile on. I get it, college is important, but I don’t know what I want to do with my life, and I keep telling them that, but they aren’t listening to me. Y’know? I just want them to back off and give me time to figure things out.”

  I rant and gripe all the way to school. Grandma doesn’t say too much back, but I don’t need her to. I don’t want sympathy, I don’t want advice; I just want to vent. She lets me. By the time I reach the front entrance, I feel...I don’t know. Not happier, but better.

  “I have to go, Grandma,” I say. “Thanks for listening.”

  “Anytime, Stuart, anytime,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Tell you what. You let me know when you have some free time, we’ll have a good, long talk and figure this out. How’s that sound?”

  Now that makes me happy. “Sounds great. Love you, Grandma.”

  “Love you too, Stuart. You have a good day.”

  I’ll try, Grandma. For you, I’ll try.

  2.

  I don’t have to try too hard. Not until lunchtime, anyway.

  The first day of school is always a whole lot of nothing. After orientation, which is mostly administrators telling us how great the year will be, we shuffle around from classroom to classroom and listen to teachers tell us how great the year will be. Sometimes we get to do actual schoolwork.

  I bump into Sara while we’re stuffing into the auditorium for orientation. Missy and I put as much distance between her and us as possible. We could be in California, and it wouldn’t be far enough.

  I don’t see Sara again all morning, which gets my hopes up I’ll be able to go the whole day without getting stuck in the same room as her. Life pulls the rug out from under me when I see her and Matt ahead of me in the lunch line. Matt happens to notice me and then says something to Sara. She looks over at me. I look away.

  Matt joins me at the back of the line. “Hey,” he says.

  “Yo.”

  “Want to try and find a table?”

  “Not if she’s going to sit with us.”

  For a moment, I think Matt’s going to lay into me again, but instead he says, “Carrie and Sara and I talked things over this morning. Carrie wants to respect your feelings, and she suggested we do a switching-off kind of thing. Some days I hang out with you and Missy while Carrie hangs out with Sara, other days she hangs out with you and Missy while I hang out with Sara.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I say after giving it some thought. Part of me wants to say no because I know Matt will eventually try to force me and Sara to hug it out, but I miss hanging out with him. “So today’s a Stuart day?”

  “Sara wants to go introduce herself to the kids from the LGBTQ club, so...”

  “I win by default? Way to make me feel loved, dude.”

  He spreads his arms. “Bring it in.”

  “Not what I meant.”

  “Come on.”

  “Dude.”

  “Don’t hold out on me.”

  “Why are we friends again?”

  “...Convenience?”

  “Yeah,” I say, “that sounds about right.”

  After school I meet up with Missy, and then we hike into town. This wasn’t the most exhausting school day ever, but I’m feeling the need for a serious caffeine infusion.

  “Yeah, me too,” Missy says, “which is stupid because it’s not like I did anything major in any of my classes.”

  “Me either, but whatever. After-school coffee is tradition.”

  “It’s tradition we all go for coffee,” Missy mumbles.

  “I think it’s safe to say that tradition is over,” I say, and I’m not just talking about Sara. Matt and Carrie have jobs now. They don’t work every day, but they work enough that the four of us hardly ever hang out anymore...and with this weird joint custody thing Matt and Carrie have worked out, it looks like we’re never going to all be together again.

  Thanks a lot, Sara. Even when you’re out of my life, you manage to screw it up.

  “Oh, take a wild guess who’s in my lunch period?” I say.

  “Sorry.”

  “Matt’s there too, so that’s cool. He said he’s going to split his time between us so he’s not playing favorites. One day he’ll eat with me, the next day with Sara.”

  “I guess that’s fair.”

  “And he talked to Carrie, and they’ll do the same thing for homework nights. Carrie’ll hang with Sara on nights Matt’s with us and vice-versa. Congratulations, Muppet. Matt and Carrie have joint custody, and we’re the kids.”

  “Yay?”

  “Whatever. I don’t care who we’re doing homework with as long as we’re not doing it at my house.”

  “How come?”

  “Because Gordon’s being a huge pain is how come,” I say, and I tell her about Gordon’s big lecture. “And I said, ‘Oh, you mean like the one you have?’”

  “HA! Burn!”

  “Yeah, but now I can never go home again. Ehh. I had a good run. Is that your phone?”

  Missy checks her phone and frowns in confusion. I lean over to see UNKNOWN CALLER on the screen.

  “Hello?” she says. She frowns harder. She hangs up. I ask her who called. “That was the Entity. I think he just asked me out.”

  “Say what?”

  “Not really, but he wants me to meet him in the city for some reason. Carrie said he wants to train me, so maybe —”

  “Whoa whoa whoa. The Entity wants to train you?”

  “Yeah, it’s freaking me out, too.”

  “You’re not going to go, are you?”

  “I think I have to. I don’t like the Entity, but I don’t want to make him mad at me, either.”

  “Yeah, no, good call. Want me to go with?”

  She thinks about it for a minute. “No, I’ll be okay.” She gives me a reassuring smile I don’t quite buy. “Go have a coffee for me,” she says before she reverses course and runs home.

  Great. Table for one it is.

  3.

  Jill, the Coffee Experience’s resident Goddess of Caffeine, smiles as I step up to the counter. “Hey, sexy, how’re you today?” she says. “Where’s the rest of the crew?”

  “Busy,” I say. “I’m a solo act today.”

  “I haven’t seen you guys much lately. Everything’s okay, I hope.”

  “Yeah, fine,” I lie, “but we’ve all gotten busy with jobs and school and stuff.”

  Jill chuckles. “Real life. Sucks, doesn’t it?”

  “Preach.”

  “The usual?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey, Stuart,” someone behind me says. I turn around. It’s Malcolm, Carrie’s ex-boyfriend.

  “Oh, hey,” I say. “What’s up, dude?”

  “Not much. Killing time until I have to go pick up my little brother at the doctor’s.”

  “Cool. Survive the first day back okay?”

  “Not much to survive. I thought it’d be different now that I’m a senior, but it was the same old boring routine as the last three years.”

  “Hooray for consistency?” I say. That gets a lau
gh.

  “Sure, I’ll take that. How about you?”

  “You know. No big whoop.”

  “Yeah.” Malcolm glances around the coffee shop. It’s a typical afternoon crowd: mostly kids from Kingsport High, a few students from the private academy up the road, a couple of old men who’re always there arguing about politics. “Where’re the others?”

  “Carrie and Matt are working. Missy had some personal stuff going on.” I don’t mention Sara at all, and Malcolm doesn’t ask about her.

  “How’s Carrie doing?” Malcolm says, and I’ll give him credit; he managed to ask about Carrie without sounding like a heartbroken, desperate ex.

  I feel bad for the dude. I get why Carrie broke up with him, but Mal’s a good guy, and he deserved better. They both deserved better...but what we deserve and what we get, I’ve learned lately, are two totally different things.

  Like Jill said — real life sucks.

  “She’s okay,” I say, hoping he doesn’t push for details. I don’t want to lie to him, but I don’t want to crush him, either. I’ve never been dumped, but I can’t imagine it feels great to know your ex has moved on and doesn’t regret the breakup. Fortunately, Mal just nods and orders an Americano.

  We end up sitting together and talking about life stuff. I learn that while he was still with Carrie, he was on the fence about whether to go to college in California or find someplace closer to home, mostly for the sake of their relationship. Once Carrie sent him packing, she made the decision for him; Malcolm’s getting ready to apply to Stanford.

  “I’m jealous, man,” I say. “You’re escaping high school and you’ve got the rest of your life figured out.”

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far...”

  “Dude, to me you’re the king of planning for your future. You got any helpful hints, let me hear them, because I have two parents and a big brother giving it to me from all sides and I’d do anything to shut them up.”

  “I don’t think there’s any big secret to it. Find something you like to do, figure out what sort of career you can turn that into, then go for it.”

  That’s not much help. I don’t think I could turn hanging out with my friends into a career.

  “Whatever you do, it helps to have decent grades, obviously, and a lot of colleges look at what you do outside school. Colleges love a good community service résumé,” Mal says. “That’s actually my big project for the year. I have a lot more free time since I quit the football team, so I’m going to fill the void by volunteering at the Kingsport Youth Club after school.”

  “That sounds cool,” I say, and Malcolm responds by enthusiastically slapping the tabletop like he’s come to an important decision.

  “Come with me,” he says. “The club’s holding a general informational meeting tomorrow for prospective volunteers, and my friend Peggy’s always saying they want more guys on the staff.”

  Before I can answer, my phone goes off. Huh? Why is Astrid calling me?

  “Hold on a sec,” I say to Mal before I answer the call. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Are you busy?” Astrid says. Right down to business, as always.

  “Not so much.”

  “Good. Where are you?”

  “Hanging out at Coffee E. Why?”

  “I’ll explain later. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  She hangs up. Goodbye to you too.

  “Everything okay?” Mal asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say, but knowing Astrid and considering how tense she sounded, I’m going to guess no. “Sorry. You were saying?”

  “Oh, yeah, I was saying my friend Peggy’s volunteered at the club for a couple years now. They always get a lot of girls from the high school volunteering but not many guys, and the club would love to have some positive male role models for the kids. What do you say? Want to check it out?”

  “I don’t know. It sounds cool, but I hate the thought of leaving Missy all by herself after school.”

  “No, I get that,” Malcolm says then adds almost immediately, “she plays guitar, doesn’t she?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My friend Bo’s the lead singer for the high school stage band. He told me at lunch today they have some openings, so maybe Missy could try out. I think auditions are next week.”

  “Huh. Sure, I’ll mention that to her. Thanks.”

  “How about it, then? Want to come with me and check out the club?”

  My instinct is to say no, I have too much stuff to do, but God, is that a lie. What do I have to do? Hang out at Coffee E or the Carnivore’s Cave by myself? Go home and listen to Gordon’s crap? Face it, dude, you have no reason in the world not to give it a try.

  Mal senses I’m on the fence and launches into a lengthy sales pitch for the club, telling me about everything his friend Peggy’s told him about the place, from the just-for-fun activities to the after-school tutoring help to the monthly Friday night dinners for the members and staff. Man, wish this place had been around when I was a little kid.

  The tiny bell over the coffee shop’s front door jingles as Astrid enters. I wave to get her attention. Malcolm twists in his seat to see who I’m waving to, and his jaw drops to the floor. Totally understandable reaction, considering that Astrid is the hottest woman I’ve ever met. She’s Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue hot. Victoria’s Secret hot. Local network affiliate weather girl hot. And that’s when she’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Today she’s all done up like she’s heading out to a dance club: high boots, a leather skirt, and a black halter top that really shows off her —

  “Ready to roll, big guy?” she says.

  “Good to go,” I say.

  “You know her?” Malcolm says. “You know her?”

  “Uh, yeah, we’re buds. See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

  His eyes follow us — meaning Astrid’s butt — out of the coffee shop. I leave without giving Malcolm an answer about the club. Doesn’t matter. It’s nice of him to offer, but I don’t think it’s for me. Besides, I have super-hero stuff to take care of.

  “You going to tell me what this’s all about?” I say.

  “Once we’re on the road.” She stops and looks me over. “We’re stopping by your place first. I need you to look tougher.”

  “Uh, okay. Sure. Why?”

  “Get in,” she says, gesturing at her car. She drives a Volkswagen Beetle, which I find hysterical. We climb in, and after pulling out of the parking lot, she finally fills me in. “I assume you remember my old friend Black Betty?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say. Hard to forget someone like Black Betty. She was a way hot but way crazy necromancer who stole a book of dark magic from Astrid and passed the pages around to her evil sorcerer friends. The Squad and the Protectorate spent a few weeks taking down the demons they summoned, but we weren’t the ones who stopped Black Betty. That honor went to Astrid’s demon lord dad, who sacrificed her as part of ritual spell that incinerated a good chunk of Salem.

  Good times.

  The big twist ending came when we found out the ritual was all about Astrid. The spell was some freaky supernatural coronation ceremony that officially made Astrid her father’s successor. When he dies, Astrid will become the new demon queen of a Hell-like dimension called the Dismal Realms.

  Look, I didn’t make this crazy crap up.

  “I spent a few weeks afterwards chasing down some of the pages still missing from the Libris Infernalis,” Astrid says. “That led me to a charming fellow calling himself Lucifer Toomes. I thought he destroyed the last of the missing pages, but it appears he had two more tucked away for a rainy day.”

  “Aw, man, don’t tell me we’re going to be fighting demons again.”

  “Probably not, but no promises.”

  Is she joking? I can’t tell if she’s joking.

  “We’re going to visit a black market for objects of interest to the magic-using community. Word is, a gent there has the pages and is accepting offers. We’
re going to take them back.”

  “Oh. Huh. Okay. So I’m here why? I’m not much use against magic.” I know that from experience. I once took a blast from something Astrid called a servitor, a kind of minor demon sorcerers use to do their grunt work. I can shrug off bullets like nothing, but hellfire? OW. It was like the world’s worst sunburn, but instead of aloe I spent a week rubbing holy water on myself.

  No, seriously. I know, it sounds weird, but it helped.

  “No worries. I’ll handle anyone throwing spells,” Astrid says. “I want you there to watch my back and take care of anyone throwing punches — which is why I want you thugged up a little. Upping the intimidation factor might be enough to make anyone considering a cheap shot think twice.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “When we get there, you need to follow a few very important rules,” Astrid says, all serious and grim. “First, you don’t say anything to anyone. You speak to me alone, and only when absolutely necessary. I do all the talking.”

  “Okay.”

  “Two, and this is critical: under no circumstances do you say your name aloud. Not your real name, not your code name. That’s one of the basic rules of magic: names have power. For someone like me, names can protect like armor and be wielded like a weapon.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “For someone like you, it’s like handing over a loaded gun and saying, ‘Shoot me,’ so keep it to yourself. Are we clear?”

  “Eyes open, mouth shut, punch whoever needs punching,” I say.

  “Very good. Oh, one more thing,” Astrid says, pointing at the glove box. Inside is a thick leather bracelet ringed with small metal discs. Each disc has a weird symbol engraved on them.

  “Does this mean I get to order drinks at the bar?”

  “It’s protection. From me.” Before I can ask what the heck she’s talking about, Astrid asks, “Do you know what pheromones are?”

  “Kind of, yeah. They’re, like, hormones people put out that makes other people horny?”

  “Close enough. One of the dubious benefits of being a half-demon hybrid is that my pheromone output is higher than that of a normal human. You may have noticed you tend to get, shall we say, excited easily when I’m around.”