Especially, say, when I’m stuck in close quarters with you and you’re all dolled up? Oh, yeah.
“When we go in, I’m going to be pumping out pheromones like a cat in heat. It’ll throw everyone off-balance and keep them focused on me. That bracelet,” she says, tapping the cuff, “will keep you clear-headed.”
I slip it on, and right away I feel the effects. It’s like the air in the car gets thinner, cleaner.
“Whah. Magic is trippy.”
Astrid smirks. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
“Aw, man,” I groan as Astrid pulls up to my house.
“What?”
“My brother’s home,” I say, pointing out his car in the driveway.
“Ah. Well, that’ll give you incentive to be quick about it, won’t it?”
“That’s for sure.”
Astrid follows me inside, where I find Gordon sprawled across the couch in a New England Law Boston sweatshirt and jeans. He looks up from the TV, and his eyes bug out when he spots Astrid.
“Let me guess,” I say, “that’s your job interview ensemble.”
“I didn’t have any interviews today,” Gordon says, sitting up. “Who’s that?”
“This’s my friend Astrid. Astrid, my brother Gordon. Feel free to ignore him. Be right back.”
I run upstairs to put together a tough guy outfit according to Astrid’s instructions: dark jeans with no holes, boots, a black T-shirt, and a leather jacket. The best I can do for that last one is an old biker jacket I got at a thrift shop for a Terminator costume. I still have the shades from that outfit, too.
I take a second to check out the overall effect in the bathroom mirror, and may I say? I look badass.
I go downstairs. Gordon’s peeled himself off the couch and is invading Astrid’s airspace. He’s doing that thing guys do when they talk to women, where they lean up against a wall with an arm outstretched, like they’re blocking off a possible escape route.
“The legal field is lucrative, true, but I think it’s important for people to take a stand and be a voice for the voiceless,” Gordon says to Astrid. Dude, seriously?
Bad news for Gordon, Astrid’s too smart to fall for such an obvious line. “What firm are you working for?” she says.
“I have feelers out,” he says without missing a beat.
Astrid smiles sweetly. “So you’re unemployed is what you’re saying?”
“I’m currently considering several options. I want to make sure I —”
“You’re unemployed,” Astrid repeats.
“I don’t want to jump at the first offer that comes my —”
“You’re unemployed. Let’s go, Stuart, we’re burning daylight,” Astrid says. “It was nice meeting you, Gordon,” she adds, not meaning a word of it.
“Wait, where’re you going?” Gordon says.
Before I can think up a lie, Astrid puts an arm across my shoulders and says, “We’re going to go cause trouble.”
Pro: she knocked my brother down, like, six pegs. Con: I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do when I get home.
We reach the highway in a few minutes. It’s not quite rush hour, so traffic isn’t too bad. Astrid predicts we’ll be there in twenty minutes or so — “there” being a place she calls “the Dragon Palace.”
“Because it’s a palace, or because there are dragons there?” I say. “Or both?”
“Neither. You’ll see,” Astrid says. “I apologize in advance if this takes a while.”
“It’s cool. I don’t have anywhere to be.”
“No homework tonight?”
“Nope. First day of school.”
“You’re not getting together with the team to hang out?”
“No.”
Astrid cocks an eyebrow. “Is everything okay with you guys?”
“Fine.”
She doesn’t believe me. “You and Sara still haven’t patched things up, have you?”
“Nope. Don’t plan to.”
“Why not?”
“Because reasons.”
“I was part of her inquest, you know. I talked to her. She’s sorry for what she did, and she’s trying to make amends.”
“That’s nice. Don’t care.”
“You should care. She’s your friend.”
“Can we stop talking about her?” I snap. “She’s not my friend anymore, she’s never going to be my friend again, and I’m not going to forgive her.”
“You forgave me pretty fast.”
“Huh? What did you do?”
Astrid gives me a look that says, What, seriously? “Stuart, I lied to my friends about what Black Betty was up to, and in doing so, I put their lives at risk. Hell, I put the entire world in danger.”
“Yeah, but that was a totally different situation.” It feels like a weak argument the second I say it, and Astrid proves me right.
“Yes. It was a totally different situation,” she says. “A psychopath screwed with Sara’s head and wound her up until she snapped. Me, I was completely clearheaded when I made the conscious decision to put my selfish needs ahead of every life on the planet. Now tell me, why am I worthy of your forgiveness, but Sara isn’t?”
Because you didn’t force me to relive the worst day of my life.
I don’t say that. I don’t answer the question at all.
The ride into Boston is pretty quiet after that.
4.
Astrid pulls into a parking garage somewhere in the Chinatown section. “Time to get into character,” she says. “What are the rules?”
“Watch your back, don’t talk to anyone but you, don’t say my name,” I say.
“Let’s go.”
I slip on my shades, then we head down to the street. I follow Astrid down the block to the Dragon Palace, which is —
“A dim sum joint?” I say out of the corner of my mouth.
“Among other things,” Astrid says.
We enter, stepping into a lobby that smells slightly of mildew. A man in a black suit and tie, his hands folded in front of him, stands in front of a stairway leading up. Astrid strides up to him like she owns the place.
“This is a private establishment,” the man says.
“I’m well aware of this establishment’s particular clientele,” Astrid says. “Step aside, please.”
The man narrows his eyes at her. He looks my way briefly, checks me out, then goes back to Astrid. He crosses his arms and tilts his head so he can literally look down his nose at us. He’s not going anywhere.
“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. My name is Astrid Lilith Enigma, and you’re going to step aside,” she says. The big guy drops the attitude real fast and moves out of our way.
The stairs end at a second, larger lobby. There’s a small waiting area, currently empty, and a counter for take-out orders sits across from the entrance to the main dining room. An old Asian woman stands behind the counter, stationed next to a massive antique of a cash register. She glances at us but doesn’t seem to care about us one way or the other.
Astrid stands at the edge of the dining area and takes it all in, getting the lay of the land. It’s a huge room filled with round tables, each big enough for a party of twelve with space to spare for elbows. Maybe half of them are occupied, and none of them are full. Waiters and waitresses wander about, wheeling around steel carts full of food. It smells awesome in here.
“These people are all sorcerers?” I whisper.
“Hardly,” Astrid says. “Maybe one out of ten people here have any real power. The rest are dabblers. They toy with ritual magic, and on a good day they might get some results, but they’re mostly wannabes and poseurs. Worry more about one of them pulling a gun than slinging magic. Hm.”
“What?”
“He looks self-important,” Astrid says, nodding toward the far side of the dining room, toward a raised section separated from the main floor by a low steel railing. Anyone sitting up there would have a clear view of the rest of the restaurant, all the
way to the entrance. I see only one table even though there’s enough room for three or four more. I can’t tell how many people are seated there, but it’s easy to count the four people in black suits standing around it, all of them with their backs to the wall and their eyes on the dining room. That would be the in-house goon squad, I’m guessing. One guy is freakin’ enormous. Like, bigger than Minotaur, and Minotaur was massive. Another dude, I realize, isn’t a dude.
“Game faces on,” Astrid says. “Time to make a scene.”
Deep breath, dude. Don’t worry about the fact that your invulnerability doesn’t mean squat in a room full of sorcerers. Be cool. You got this.
She crosses the dining room in a slow strut. One table at a time, the diners all stop whatever they’re doing and watch her pass. I hear more than a few breathless sighs. By the time we reach the VIP section, the dining room is completely silent. Everyone is staring at Astrid.
As Astrid reaches the edge of the platform, two of the goons — the two non-gigantic, non-girl goons — move to block her. She places a hand on each of them and, without even trying, pushes them aside. They stumble back in a daze, their coats flapping open to show off their matching shoulder holsters. Superhumans usually don’t need guns, so I’m marking these guys down in the normal human column for now.
I’m not sure about the other two, though. I’m going to assume the man-mountain is a tank like me, super-strong and super-tough, maybe invulnerable. He looks about as smart as a tank, too. His eyes are two lifeless black dots on a cinder block of a face. If he’s the goon squad’s brawn, the girl might be the brains. She’s got some muscle on her, too, but she looks sharp — and, for some reason, kind of familiar. She catches my eye and gives me a devilish smile like she knows some dirty secret about me. I’m not sure which one of them I should be worried about more.
Whatever. As long as they throw fists and not spells, I’m good.
Everyone at the table stares at Astrid with these totally stunned What the hell? expressions as she slides into an empty chair. I take position behind her and angle myself to keep as much of the room in sight as possible without fully turning my back on man-mountain.
The man I’m assuming is in charge seems to be less affected by Astrid’s supercharged pheromone assault, but not by much. He’s an older guy, maybe in his forties. He has a bad fake tan, black hair slicked back over his skull, and wears a poofy pirate shirt made of gauzy black material. He looks like a second-rate Vegas stage magician.
He leans forward, folding his hands together to show off a collection of clunky, mismatched rings, and gives Astrid a slimy smile. “And who is this uninvited guest at my table?” he says.
“My name is Astrid Enigma,” she says, looking around at the entourage, men and women all rocking the bargain basement goth vibe. Everyone reacts in some way. They know exactly who they’re dealing with.
“I’ve heard of you. You may call me Mr. Castle,” the main man says. “And who are you?” he says to me.
“He’s with me,” Astrid says.
The man grunts. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I understand that two pages from the Libris Infernalis are up for sale. You look like a man who might know something about it.”
He shrugs. “I might. Are you a prospective bidder?”
“I’m not here to bid on the pages. I’m here to take them back.”
Mr. Castle raises an eyebrow. “Take them back?”
“They’re my property,” Astrid says, maintaining a friendly face. “They were stolen from me. I want them back.”
“I see,” Mr. Castle says. His smile shrinks a little. “In exchange for...?”
“In exchange for me leaving without making a mess.”
“I don’t appreciate threats, Miss Enigma,” Mr. Castle says.
“It’s Doctor Enigma,” Astrid says, “and I’m not threatening you. I’m simply making it clear that what I do next depends entirely on what you do next.”
Mr. Castle jerks his head. Man-mountain takes a step forward, the first time since we walked in that he’s moved, and I mean at all. I don’t think the dude’s so much as blinking. The girl balls her fists. I hear her knuckles crack. Astrid doesn’t flinch. The woman is stone cold.
“Let’s get down to it, shall we, Mr. Castle? I’ve heard of you. You move magical artifacts. If anyone here has those pages, it’s you.”
“If I do have the pages — and I stress, if I have them — I would have acquired them at great personal expense. I’d be a poor businessman if I let them go without at least recouping my investment. If I have them.”
Dude, come on. I barely know what’s going on, and even I can tell you have the pages.
“If you want the pages, Doctor Enigma,” Mr. Castle says with heavy sarcasm on Astrid’s title, “then you can bid on them like everyone else. If you’d like to make an offer —”
“Let me make myself absolutely clear, Mr. Castle,” Astrid says. She stands, dropping the fake nicey-nice attitude. Everyone at the table shrinks as she says, “I am Astrid Lilith Enigma, the Dismal Princess, the Lady of Shadows, the Earthbound Hellmage, daughter and heir of Kysztykc the Flesh Reaver, the Bleak God, the King of Shadows, the Nightmare Enigma, the Lord of the Dismal Realms. You will return to me what is rightfully mine, and in exchange, I will let you walk out of here alive. That is my offer.”
Holy crap. That was friggin’ epic. I could swear the temperature in here actually dropped.
And I’m not the only one who’s intimidated by that righteous display of badassery. Mr. Castle’s guests push away from the table and quickly and calmly, school fire drill style, gather up their stuff and slink away.
Mr. Castle makes a hissing noise and bares his teeth, like an angry cat getting ready to bite. “I tried to do this properly,” he growls, “like a civilized human being, but you wouldn’t have that, would you? Do you know how much money I’d lose by just handing the pages over to you?”
“Do you know how much I don’t give a damn?” Astrid replies. “The pages. Now.”
“And if I refuse?”
Astrid smiles again, but there’s a dark edge to it, like she’s not-so-secretly hoping Mr. Castle tries something. “Then I’m going to withdraw my very generous offer,” she says.
Mr. Castle’s Oompa-Loompa complexion turns as white as a fake tan will allow and sweat rolls down his face, but he manages to keep it together long enough to say, “Try to collect.”
He throws himself back out of harm’s way as man-mountain kicks things off, looping his fist around and bringing it down on the table, smashing it in half. The restaurant erupts with terrified screams.
White-hot flames engulf the she-goon’s fists. That’s why she seems so familiar; I’ve seen this thing before, but it wore a different body at the time and went by the name Stacy Hellfire. It’s the servitor that possessed Missy.
She throws a blast Astrid’s way. Astrid gestures, putting up an invisible shield that blocks the attack itself, but the heat is insane. I have to back away before my face melts off.
I end up backing right into one of the human goons, who wraps an arm around my throat and presses his gun to my temple. The sound of the gun going off two inches from my ear hurts way more than the bullet bouncing off my skull. I reach back, grab a handful of suit, and throw him across the width of the restaurant.
The second he’s out of my hair, man-mountain barrels my way. He hits me with a tackle that actually knocks the breath out of me, lifts me off the ground, and plants me in the floor. Not on — in. I don’t go all the way through, though, not until man-mountain follows up with a big stomp that knocks me into the downstairs lobby. I roll over to see the doorman aiming a massive handgun at my face.
“Dude,” I sigh, “I just got kicked through the floor and lived to talk about it. You really think that thing’s going to do any good?”
He lowers the gun. Good call.
I get up and run upstairs. I reach the upper landing as man-mountain lumbers o
ut of the dining room, ready for round two. That’s cool. At least with this guy I’m on familiar territory.
“Bring it,” I say. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t react to me or to the rogue blast of hellfire that washes over him. The flames eat his jacket, and he doesn’t flinch. His shirt catches and burns away, and he still acts like nothing’s wrong.
Right. Let’s do this.
He charges at the same time I decide to charge him. Man-mountain has a big weight advantage over me, and he has a lot more momentum than I do. I can’t science like Matt, but I know enough about basic physics to know that crashing into him head-on would be wicked stupid of me, so I don’t do that. At the last second, I turn my charge into a baseball slide. I connect with man-mountain’s shins. He goes flying. He lands face-first at the edge of the staircase, flips over, and crashes down into the lobby. Not once do I catch so much as an annoyed grunt from him. This dude is hardcore, but that should keep him out of my hair long enough to make sure Astrid is okay.
She is, but maybe not for long. Stacy Hellfire, or whatever she’s calling herself now, lays into Astrid, chucking fireballs like mad. Astrid’s shield is holding, but she can’t take this kind of punishment forever.
I’d never do this to a normal person, but the demon inside not-Stacy allows her to absorb some decent punishment. Since taking her on directly wouldn’t work out so great for me, I grab a dim sum cart, a steel box on wheels, and hurl it at her. She never sees it coming.
Astrid staggers and falls to her knees, panting like a marathon runner. I run over to her, but she waves me off. “I’m good,” she says.
“Yeah, sure you are,” I say, helping her to her feet. “I’m supposed to be the macho one here.”
“Where’s the golem?” Astrid says.
“The what?”
“The big guy. It’s a golem.”
“He’s not a superhuman?”
Astrid shakes her head. “Artificial construct. Where is it?”
“Downstairs. Probably won’t stay there.”
“Take it out. It’s not alive so you don’t have to hold back. I’ll finish off the servitor,” Astrid says, nodding toward not-Stacy, who isn’t moving.
Action Figures - Issue Five: Team-Ups Page 14
