Bert through up his hands. “I know. I know. Next?”
Her hands went to her hips. “And...”
“And what?” he replied, knowing where this was going.
“And you haven’t returned her call yet?”
“No.”
“And just why not?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Oh, well how convenient, you don’t appear to be all that busy right now. Let’s call her back.” She began dialing the number.
Bert’s hand shot over to the receiver and pushed it back in its cradle. “Absolutely not right now.”
She threw up her hands and let out a big sigh.
“Who else called?”
“Various customers, the usual suspects.”
“Ugh, I don’t have time for them today.”
“Oh, but Mr. Henderson believes he was probed again!”
“Yeah, I bet he does.”
She tried to sound serious. “He said he had marks he could show you.”
“Wow.” Bert shook his head. “Let’s file that under things I never want to see.”
The door beside them opened and they both fell silent , not wanting anyone to hear their discussion. Fortunately, it was just Falcon.
He wore a white polo shirt tucked into a well-ironed pair of khaki slacks, brown leather loafers, and a pair of thin rimmed glasses. His hair was sandy blonde, cut short but fashionable. He always had a warm smile and a friendly face.
Under that simple garb, Falcon was a hardened man without a bit of fat. Along with the muscles, he had his fair share of combat scars, as well as a tattoo on his bicep that simply read U.S.M.C.
The man was cool, precise, and calculating. He never missed a detail. He was friendly, but never naive. He was cunning, quick-witted, and rarely surprised. His judge of character, like Farrah’s, was second to none.
Bert had fought beside Falcon on various cases. His character traits bled over into his combat skills. In the most intense situations he was still cool. He knew no fear. When the fighting started, he struck with speed and accuracy. His people were loyal because they knew they’d never be left behind. Bert didn’t think he’d gathered all of his skill from the police force or the military, but his past was his own business, and Bert could respect that.
He grinned. “And just what are you two conspiring about today?”
Bert shrugged, but Farrah saw an advantage to gain an ally and told Falcon what they’d been discussing.
Falcon laughed. “Woman, leave the poor guy alone. If he could tell you then you know he would. Obviously, he’s keeping his secrets for a reason.”
She bit her lip and glared at her husband. “Fine.”
“Oh, don’t be pouty, sweetie.”
Her glare only hardened, but he ignored it and turned to Bert. “So, how’s it going, dawg?”
Falcon liked to use phrases he heard from the younger ‘hip’ crowd.
Bert shrugged. “I kind of messed the Beast up. I was wondering if anyone was around to work on it today. The door just got ripped off...by the deer.”
Falcon cocked an eye at him, then nodded. “No worries. Leave me your keys. I’ll have someone pull one of the work vans around for you to use while it’s being repaired. We’ll get your rig into the garage as soon as they finish tuning Farrah’s broom stick.”
The statement had its desired effect. Farrah gasped, reaching across the counter to slap her husband. He side-stepped and smiled at Bert.
Bert laughed and said, “Thanks guys, I really appreciate it. I’ll try to be more gentle with the van.”
Falcon waived his hand. “I know better than that. Besides, that’s why we have insurance.”
“Well thanks, I really appreciate it.” He paused, then continued, “By the way, have you guys heard about anything going down? Anything strange?”
They both gave him an intrigued look, but didn’t say anything.
“Anything at all?” Bert asked.
Falcon shook his head. “No, Bert, can’t say we have.”
That was bad news. He’d gone there first because Falcon was usually was in the loop about any weirdness in the area. In their business, it paid to be well informed. Whatever was going on was obviously being kept under wraps.
“Is there something we should know, Bert?” Farrah asked, staring at him with an intense look that made him feel like she was peering right through him.
“No,” Bert replied, “but keep your guns loaded just in case. If you hear about anything out of the ordinary, please let me know.”
“Of course, Bert,” Falcon said. “If you need help with something you know you can come to us.”
“Seriously, Bert,” Farrah chimed in, “you know we’re here for you if you need us.”
Bert smiled. “I know, guys, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Falcon nodded. “I’ll get the guy’s started on the Beast.”
Bert thanked him again and headed for the small office they kept for him in the back.
It was an underused, cluttered mess. He really needed to clean it up, but realized it would probably never happen unless Farrah went in and saw the mess. She would either clean it or berate him until he did it.
The office was small, with basic white walls and a big wooden desk. He had a dingy roller chair, a few bookshelves, a filing cabinet, an old TV, and a small closest.
His clothes were ragged from his earlier battle and he didn’t want everyone he met asking questions. Fortunately, he kept a spare set in the small closet. As he pulled them out he shook his head at himself. They were exactly the same as the ones he’d been wearing. A plain black t-shirt and jeans.
From Bert’s back Sharp said, “You just have no style.”
“At least I don’t dress like Chance,” Bert replied.
“Well, there’s that to be thankful for,” Sharp replied. “It’s impossible to be intimidating in skinny jeans.”
He changed clothes and headed for the door. He didn’t want to waste any more time than was necessary, as Farrah would almost certainly crack him for more information.
He headed out with a quick goodbye.
Chapter 9
The loaner van was waiting on the street. It was an old mini-van with peeling green paint and a faded ‘My Child is an Honor Student’ bumper sticker in the back window.
Well, he thought, if nothing else, perhaps his enemies would mistake him for a soccer mom. And, if he did run into any dark wizards, well, he could bake them chocolate chip cookies. After the parent teacher conference, of course. Falcon was probably watching him through the security cameras and laughing like a hyena. He could’ve loaned Bert one of the trucks, or at the very least, one of the security vans. Instead, he’d given him a clunker as a joke. Falcon’s sense of humor had no limits.
Whatever, Bert thought, hopping inside. He was just grateful to have a vehicle, and the keys were waiting in the ignition.
It came to life with a low murmur, and for a moment, he thought something was wrong. No, he told himself, this is what a normal vehicle sounds like. The engine isn’t supposed to have a smoker’s cough like the Beast.
He headed back out of town and turned on another dirt road. He had plenty of contacts he could hit up about the happenings in the supernatural community. Someone had to know what was going on. In the Beast, he would’ve had the petal down, but in the Mommy Mobile, he wasn’t sure how fast he should take the windy corners. The road wound through numerous steep hills, and he could only imagine the van sliding across the gravel and taking him over the side into the dense forest below. Not to mention the risk of getting a flat tire.
Bert was focused on driving and completely unprepared when he felt something tighten around his throat, and not for the first time that day, realized he was being choked. He almost lost control but somehow held it together.
He straightened out his wheel and glanced up in the rearview mirror.
Great, he thought, as he took in the figure in the ba
ck seat. As if his day hadn’t been bad enough, now he had a ninja to deal with.
The ninja, if that’s what he was, sat directly behind Bert dressed in all black. In his hands were the handles of a twisted garrote, which of course, was secured around Bert’s neck.
How had Sharp not noticed him?
The ninja, having Bert’s attention, slackened the garrote. Bert’s lungs screamed for air, but he forced himself to take calm, controlled breaths. The man leaned forward so his covered mouth was right next to Bert's ear. He spoke quietly. “Listen to me carefully, demon, for your human existence depends on it.”
Instead of responding, Bert attempted to summon magical energy, but was rather surprised to discover he couldn’t. Somehow this man had blocked him from using his powers. That was why Sharp hadn’t noticed him, and why he couldn’t hear him now.
“Know that you are helpless against the Brotherhood, demon. Your kind is a stain upon humanity, and nothing would please me more than to watch the life seep from the temple you have desecrated. But the powers that be have demanded you be allowed to live. For now.”
Bert choked out, “Lucky me.”
The garrote tightened again, the wire cutting into the skin of his neck. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.
“Your name has fallen upon the ears of the masters, Waylon Drake. They would give you this task. An item of great importance will arrive in your area soon. You are to find it for us. Or you will die a thousand deaths at the hands of our Inquisitors.”
Despite the lack of oxygen, Bert realized he’d said an item of great ‘importance’ instead of ‘power’ like the others. It wasn't much, but he might have gotten his first clue.
Bert asked, “What is it?”
“What it is matters not. All that matters is that you find it and deliver it to us.”
“So, in other words, you don't know.” Bert chuckled. “Tell me, do you always sound like a B-movie soothsayer, or only when you’re dressed like a ninja? Are you a real ninja? Or this just your Halloween costume?”
“This is no joke, demon. You need to understand the Brotherhood of Magic Bane does not make idle threats. We will send you to our Inquisitors, who will burn the demon from your flesh. First, though, we’ll kill everyone you care about to ensure they haven’t been tainted by your evil.”
“Well, there’s three things wrong with that threat,” Bert said, his eyes on the road. “First, threatening the people I care about is never a good idea. Second, I’ve had a really bad day, and I’m kind of over it.”
“And the third?” the ninja asked.
Bert glanced back at him in the rearview mirror. The moment he realized a ninja was choking him from the back seat, he’d done two things. First, he’d tried to buy time. Second, he’d slowly begun applying more pressure to the gas pedal. He had the little mini-van up to fifty-five, which, on the gravel, was as fast as he could risk it.
“Third,” Bert said, shifting his eyes back to the road. “You should always wear a fucking seat belt.”
He jerked the wheel, praying that his aim was true. The van went off the road, still cruising at over fifty miles per hour. The ninja didn’t have time to react. Neither did Bert. He only had time to accept the fact he wouldn’t be receiving a Nobel Peace Prize for this brilliant idea. Then the passenger side of the van slammed head-on into a tree. His aimed had been true.
Time slowed as his ninja passenger soared cranium-first toward the tree, then white exploded in his face. How about that, Bert thought, surprised the old van had working airbags. Then he passed out.
***
He opened his eyes to a world full of pain for the… He couldn’t quite remember how many times he’d woken in pain today. It was getting old. His neck felt tense, but he moved his head around slowly. Cool, he thought, it wasn’t broken. His nose, on the other hand, probably was, and his eyes felt swollen. The air bag was now deflated and dangling in his lap. The windshield was completely destroyed. He glanced to his right. The passenger side of the vehicle no longer existed, at least not in any recognizable form.
What was left of his guest wasn’t distinguishable as human. There were bits and pieces of ninja all around, but most of him was slathered on the tree. The smell made Bert nauseated. He reached for the door and tumbled out on the ground. A moment later he laughed hysterically.
He wasn’t sure what was so damn funny, but he couldn’t help himself. Wrecking into the tree hadn’t been one of his wiser decisions. He was lucky to be alive. Still, he continued cackling.
“Bert, you all right?” Sharp asked.
“Yeah. I guess I can hear you now.”
“This is bad, Bert. Very bad. Do you know what that guy was?”
“No,” Bert replied. “Give me a minute.”
Realizing he needed to do something before someone rolled up on his accident, he straightened up and pulled his staff and sword from the back seat. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but it needed to be done quickly and he couldn’t do it alone.
Bert sat down and crossed his legs. One of the nice things about being a wizard was that he didn’t need a phone to communicate over long distances. There were other options. There was an unseen force which existed between people, a force which was strengthened by gushy things like friendship and love. He could tap into that connection and communicate with his friends from afar.
An hour’s drive away, Robert heard Bert’s voice in his head. He responded, “What’s up?”
“I need some help,” Bert replied, struggling to maintain the connection. The distance was far and it felt like the car wreck turned his brains to jelly. It may have, for all he knew.
Robert, on the other hand, wasn’t having a hard time at all. Even for a person who rarely used his abilities, this form of communication was like riding a bike. “This isn’t the best time, Bert.”
“Seriously, I need your help.”
“Fight?” Robert asked cautiously.
“No, just a mess. It’ll be quick. Promise.”
Bert broke off the connection and sat back, checking himself for wounds. A few seconds later Robert appeared next to him. Utilizing the same connection they’d used to speak, Robert was able to teleport himself directly to Bert’s location, despite the distance. At best, Bert could only manage a few miles, and that would take some serious prep work, a lot of energy, and preferably a magical object or two. Even then it would drain him completely. Some wizards were good at it. He just wasn’t one of them.
Robert wore a backward ball cap, a gray t-shirt, loose jeans, and black athletic shoes. His eyes still had the same intense and haunted look they’d always had. His staff, like Bert's, was plain wood.
Robert glanced at Bert and then looked at the wreck. His eyes widened when he noticed the hearty serving of ninja splattered around the cab. A few bits dripped off the ceiling as he stared. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”
He whirled on Bert. “Please tell me that’s not someone I know.”
“That’s not someone you know...I think,” Bert said. “At least I’d hope not.”
“Who was he?” Robert asked, watching as another chunk dribbled from the ceiling.
Bert shrugged. “I’m not really sure. He looked like a ninja. Kept calling me a demon.”
“That’s weird.”
“Yeah, and the weirdest part was that I couldn’t use my powers. It was like he blocked them.”
Robert’s glared hardened and his voice went cold. “Bert, tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not. Why?” he asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
Robert’s features took on a scared, but very angry look. “There’s only one group I know of who fits that description. The Brotherhood of the Magic Bane.”
In his mind Sharp said, “This is what I was trying to tell you.”
Bert ignored Sharp and focused on Robert. “He said something about a Brotherhood. It was hard to catch it all over the sound of him choking me.”
/> Robert shook his head. “This is bad, Bert. Very, very, bad. Have you heard of them?”
“Only a little here and there. Not much, really.”
“They are wizard killers. Somehow their bodies nullify magic. Your powers are completely useless against them. Anything you throw at them will dissipate before it ever hits them.”
“That explains it,” Bert said. “So, haul a gun around with me. Got it.”
“It’s not that simple. They spend their lives training to kill wizards. Some train in the art of assassination. Picture a ninja who can’t be affected by magic. You’d never have time to draw a gun. I’m amazed you’re alive.”
Bert didn’t like what he was hearing.
“They also have assault troopers. Military types with big guns who are also resistant to magic. The best a wizard can do is put up a shield, but they know how to wear them down.”
“Great, sounds like a fun bunch.”
“Yeah, well, it gets worse. They believe everything supernatural is the work of demonic forces. That magic users are really humans possessed by demons. That anything supernatural should be destroyed with extreme prejudice, especially wizards. They dedicate their lives to the cause. Especially their Inquisitors. They are sick, sadistic, and twisted motherfuckers who believe the demon can only be removed through religious rights and torture. Few wizards have ever lived through the ‘cleansing.’ They also have huge armor-wearing, sword-swinging, juggernauts they call Executioners. Who knows what else. The stories they told us in the military were horrifying.”
“Have you ever encountered them?”
“Yeah, when I was in the army I had a few run-ins with them. I’ve seen a lot of good wizards die by their silent blade. Wizards stronger than you or I will ever be. They ambushed a squad of us once. Maybe a year after I finished boot camp. I’d seen a bit of combat at that point. I was with a whole squad of wizard soldiers walking down an old dirt road kind of like this one. They came out of nowhere. Clad in perfect camo, they attacked us from all sides. No one even had a warning before twenty or so of the ninjas were among our ranks swinging their swords. They sacrificed their bodies to get close to us. As they’d come in range to nullify a wizard’s defenses, an unseen sniper would finish the job. As theirs numbers dwindled among us, automatic gunfire rained down on us from all sides. It was too much to keep up defenses and watch our backs at the same time. The remaining swordsmen dove at us, trying to bring down our shields. Their allies ripped their own men to pieces with gunfire just to kill a few more of us. Then more swordsmen appeared down the road along with an Executioner. My commander grabbed as many of us as he could and teleported us away. The wizards who weren’t close enough to make it were left behind to die or face the horrors of being taken prisoner.”
Moonshine Wizard Page 10
