by Al K. Line
"What then?"
"We go back in and finish this."
"Arthur, you're a walking corpse. You were in a grave. And if you dug all these then you must be exhausted."
"I am. And I'm out of magic, Wand is just a stick at the moment, and Mabel already beat me."
"So, let's go. Let's get out of here and think before you do anything rash."
"Did you bring me some clothes?"
"What do you think I am, an amateur?" Vicky grinned as she pulled out a small vacuum-packed bag from her backpack. We had many such packs in many places; such is the life of a wizard and his tiny helper.
I took the packet from Vicky and broke the seal to let the air in and allow the contents to expand. Then, not caring who saw, I shucked off the backpack and stripped until I was naked. I fumbled for the wet wipes, the super-sized ones for extra nasty clean-ups, and cursed as I tried to get the pack open.
"Let me." Vicky took the pack from me, opened it, then pulled out a fistful of wipes.
"Hey, I can do that," I said, groaning as I reached out.
"Don't be stupid. Stand still. What happened to your finger?"
"Wand stole it." Vicky raised an eyebrow. "Take it up with him." Even as we spoke, it tried to grow back. A tiny pink nub emerged, then retreated, like a newborn taking a peek at the world of madness that awaited and deciding, fuck that.
And so it was, that I stood naked in the freezing cold, body shivering, teeth chattering, beside the graves of nine witches as Vicky wiped me clean of blood, dirt, and dust. She cleaned up the many and varied wounds that had dented, scratched, torn, and snagged my already ravaged body.
I was a mess of bruises and damaged flesh, cuts and scrapes and strips of loose flesh where it had been half torn off. My shins were bloodied and scabbed, my knees looked like someone had attacked them with a meat tenderizer, and the rest of me hadn't fared much better.
I said nothing as Vicky tended me professionally, and she didn't say a word either. She finished by wiping my face, and as she did we stared at each other, held our gaze as she removed blood, dirt, and tears. She was a good woman; better than I deserved. Or maybe I did deserve her, as she sure was trouble sometimes.
"Finished." Vicky bagged the filthy wipes, no need to litter, and then stepped back to survey my naked awesomeness.
"Feeling cold?" she asked with a smirk as her eyes locked on something small.
"Yeah, and you know how the saying goes. If you don't use it, you lose it. Well, I'm definitely losing it." Modesty truly returned under her disapproving gaze, I dressed in clothes vacuum fresh and boy did it feel awesome. I felt almost human again as I pulled on fresh underwear, clean combats, put Wand in his pocket, and dragged a nice, and uber fresh smelling brown shirt across my lumpy muscles.
With Grace back on my head, my backpack secured, and a tap of my pocket, the stars aligned.
"Now, let's get this over with."
"No, Arthur, we can't. You aren't ready."
"We have no choice. What about Selma?"
"Mabel didn't kill her, she's family. Just wait, okay? We came, we lost, we got beaten. Let's go."
"The Hat is never beaten," I muttered, but nonetheless, we walked around to the front of the house where my car was.
Mabel and Selma were waiting for us.
What Next?
"You were in that grave for a long time," said Mabel, with about as much emotion as a wrinkled cabbage leaf, which was what she reminded me of.
"I had a lot to think about, and I was tired."
"You know I could have killed you." Mabel studied me carefully as if weighing my worth. I don't think I'd impressed her greatly, probably because she'd kicked my ass so easily.
"Maybe, maybe not. I'm not easy to kill. And besides, you haven't met me at my best."
"I do hope not. But that's in the past. What matters is that you conspired against me, and you ruined my home, the Residence." Mabel glared at Vicky, and to be fair, it was mostly her fault. For once, Vicky kept quiet.
"I'm sure you can fix it. And let's face it, I was attacked by that weird tentacle thing. It took all my strength, so it wasn't a fair fight between you and me."
"You wizards, you seem to think life should be fair."
"Oh, I know for a fact it isn't."
"But you wish to fight when your opponent is as strong as you?" she asked, genuinely interested.
"Um, no, I want to be stronger so I can kick their ass."
"There you go then." Mabel appeared almost amused, and very different to the woman I'd been beaten by. She seemed almost nice, and reasonable.
"Look," I said with a sigh, "what do you really want?"
"Want? Don't you mean deserve? I want equal footing with the wizards. I want to be in control, for my kind to get the respect they deserve."
"Wizards don't run things. We stick to our business, you stick to yours. This isn't a discussion about equal pay in the workplace, this is you wanting to overthrow the vampires and take what isn't yours."
"Why should they have all the power? Why should Ivan be in charge?"
"You've got it all wrong," I said, frustrated because, like most others, she didn't understand. "He's not in charge. He runs the crime, he keeps people safe, the citizens, and he heads up the vampires at the moment. But that's their business, their thing. Why in all the gods' names would you want that? It's not power, it's responsibility. You think most people spare a thought as to who runs the underground? They're too busy trying to wade through life as best they can. You think Ivan enjoys it? He doesn't want it, circumstances led him to where he is now. But he does a good job, and runs his business. He doesn't control the wizards though, he doesn't control me, and he sure as shit doesn't have an enviable position."
"We are ignored."
"Lucky you. Goddamn, what is wrong with you? The witches are living in the best time in their history, wizards and all other magic users too. We have freedom like never before, you can hide in plain sight, have to answer only to yourselves and your own rules. Isn't that enough?"
"No, it isn't. I want respect for my sisters, for us to be truly powerful and acknowledged as strong."
"Well, good luck with that. What about Selma?"
Selma shifted beside Mabel, and she looked terrible, if slightly recovered. The lump on her forehead had gone down, the wound had stopped bleeding, but it had left a nasty open cut that would scar and take time to heal. Although, knowing the witches, and Selma's powers, I wouldn't be surprised if the scar faded within a day or two. She'd probably put leaves steeped in something gross on it and voila, new face.
"There has been enough killing for one day. She may do as she wishes. But this is far from over, Arthur 'The Hat' Salzman."
"If you say so. Selma, you want to leave?"
"If Grandma isn't going to kill me, then I'll stay, see if we can work this out."
"Your call. We're going."
"Not so fast," said Mabel, shifting forward.
My stomach flipped but I kept cool and calm, acted relaxed. "What?" I snapped, not in the mood for games.
"Next time, I won't be so forgiving," warned Mabel.
"And I won't be in such a good mood. Or as distracted."
I opened the car door for Vicky and closed it once she was in. Then I went around to the driver's side, trying to walk normally but so stiff I felt like a half-defrosted penguin. But I managed to get in, the car started first time, and I drove off.
Unfinished Business
We drove in silence, but then it all came out at once.
"This feels weird," said Vicky.
"Unfinished, right?"
"Yeah."
"I know what you mean. Normally after something like this, it's done, the battle fought or lost, the conclusion good or bad, but it always feels final. This is just... Dunno."
"Up in the air, no resolution, no real outcome."
"Exactly. There's something missing from all this, an event yet to happen. I can't begin to imagine what, but
it's coming. I had an idea for a very cool ending, and that will still happen, hopefully, but there is something off."
"Like what though? Mabel's still alive, but we weren't meant to kill her anyway as that would cause too much trouble. She might be stopped for a bit, but she can still act, still do what she wanted even without those women that accidentally got killed when a wall somehow fell down."
I turned and looked at Vicky, who was now gazing out of the window. "Yeah, real mystery that one."
"So, what's the missing piece?"
"I don't know, but I can feel it coming."
We continued in silence until we hit the city center, not that I was consciously heading that way. I was being called, and I didn't like it. I had an awful feeling in my churning stomach and my nerves felt frayed. This was not how I felt during such situations. As bad as it had been, and it had been awful, especially the repeatedly getting killed bit, it wasn't like nothing terrible had ever happened before. There was something else, something that would make what had gone before pale into insignificance, make it seem like a nice picnic.
Calamity and terror awaited. A monumentally awful event was around the corner and I knew only one thing. I had to face it alone.
I pulled up in a side street and unbuckled my seatbelt.
"Arthur what are you doing?"
"I'm not sure, but I have to go into the shopping district and walk the streets. I can't describe it, but I need to do this."
"What are you talking about? You need to rest, go home and sleep. Recover. Mabel is still alive, she won't give up, and you're a wreck."
"I know. It doesn't matter, this is more important. I'll see you later, okay? Did you get the kids to school?"
"No, and I think you knew that. It's the weekend, but I forgot and you sent me home knowing that. I felt like a right muppet when I got them up in the morning and realized it was Sunday."
"Damn, I forgot. But it kept you safe, that's the main thing."
"Hmm."
"Use the Teleron to get home, I'll use the gates. See you at mine for Sunday dinner. I'll cook something nice."
"You'll cook? In your state?"
"Yes, that's exactly why I'll cook. I need something normal to do. Something nice. Family and friends, smiling faces. See you later."
With that, I got out and walked toward the high street. It was bustling even on a Sunday. Seemed nothing closed any more, never a day off for some down time.
Something was waiting for me, I just didn't know how truly, astoundingly terrible it would be. How could I have guessed?
Infinite Problems
I not so much ambled, or swaggered, as staggered down the high street. It wasn't as busy as a Saturday, but the city center was still doing a brisk trade. Men looked depressed as they'd obviously been charged with getting the kids out of the house so the wife could have some peace, couples wandered aimlessly, killing time, others were gung-ho, determined to spend money no matter what they bought, and a few even seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Normal life going on all around me while I tried to escape I didn't know what, and fulfill my destiny at the same time. I was being called, and I knew better than to ignore such feelings. Whatever this was, it was important, maybe the most important thing that would ever happen to me. Was it to do with Mabel and her madness? How would that end? It already felt so distant, but it wasn't done with, and I suspected the only reason I'd been allowed to walk out of there alive was because of the graves I'd dug and the respect I'd shown to the women she'd murdered.
I saw the regret she held inside, for what she'd done, but, like all people holding a certain position, when you're betrayed there is only one course of action if you want to hold on to your power. She killed them because they'd acted against her and the others, and had to pay the price. Harsh, but a fact of life in our world. Everyone knew the risks. Witches may have been scatty and odd, even by my standards, but they were just as cold and calculating, certainly as ruthless, when their backs were against the wall.
No, it wasn't over, and it wasn't just because of the fact she'd bested me, but because of what I'd done while nobody was looking. I shifted the bag-cum-uncomfortable backpack and used the magical properties it contained to flatten it out against my back like it had been for so many hours previously, the load instantly feeling lighter than a feather. Feeling better, I continued my walk, heading nowhere, and in no hurry.
I hurt so much that walking was a lesson in pain, but it didn't matter. This was more important. Suddenly, the bag, my infinite bag, seemed to change its mind about exactly where it would like to be, and the shape it was in, and I panicked. It contained a lot of stuff, and I mean an awful lot, and some of those things were big, some were even scary. If it played up now, and while it was on my back, then it wouldn't bode well for me, or my bones. I didn't even want to think what would happen if it decided to open itself.
It had happened before, and it was one hell of a clean up job, which was why I usually kept it secured in my ward-protected locker at Satan's Breath. I should never have brought it, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. The main problem was it didn't like looking like anything but how it wanted to look. It would morph into almost any bag shape, but it had a definite preference and it was this configuration it was trying to return to as it squirmed on my shoulders like it contained a nest of snakes. Which it probably did, amongst other things—when you have an infinite bag, it's easy to forget what you have inside, let alone find said thing.
"Fine," I said, "have it your way." I shucked it off, the straps morphing as I did so, and as I set it down it expanded in all manner of weird directions, changing shape constantly as if trying to remember its true form. Suddenly, it snapped back into shape with a bounce off the floor and then there it was, a small, strange looking holdall like a doctor's medical case or a posh knitting bag.
Guess I'd be carrying it from now on. I bent and grabbed the handle, moved to lift it, but it was playing silly buggers and was impossible to budge.
"That's enough," I hissed, not in the mood. The bag shook, and I peered at it suspiciously. "Are you trying to be funny? Are you laughing? Behave, or you won't get to come out again."
The infinite bag settled down with a sulky sagging and I once again bent, this time heaved on the handle to yank it from the floor, and as I lifted it, weighing nothing at all, I reeled backward and banged into something then went flying, the bag grasped tight.
Electric shockwaves rippled through my body and I knew this was it. I was utterly terrified by what I saw.
A Meeting With Fate
I've been scared many times in my life, even terrified a few times. But I was jaded now, didn't get worked up very often. Angry, sure, even worried, sometimes a little desperate when it came to concerns about the wellbeing of my family. But terrified? No. It had been burned, clawed, scraped, yanked, torn, and mangled out of me, an emotion I no longer had any use for.
But as I stared into the eyes of a stranger, I felt terror. Pure, abject terror the likes of which I had never experienced before and hadn't even known existed.
I was so scared I worried I was having another heart attack as my heart beat so fast, it repeatedly twitched, maybe spasmed, or was merely trying to escape the inevitable.
This was no myocardial infarction though. It was much, much worse than that.
Somehow, against all the odds, and certainly the last thing I had on my mind, I had smacked right into something so terrible, so truly, astoundingly worrying and inexplicable, that I sank to my knees right there in the middle of the street and I cried.
As the woman bent to me while everyone else merely hurried past, hardly aware of us, their thoughts on what they would have for dinner, or utterly lost to the small screens most stared at, she said, "Are you all right?"
"No. I'm not," I growled. "I'm in love."
Worst Feeling in the World
"Oh, that's nice," she said, a tiny smile on her rather wide face. Her lip quivered in amusement b
ut then turned to concern as she noticed I was crying. "It is, isn't it?"
"No, it's awful," I sighed, wiping at my face.
"Is she lovely?"
"Who?"
"The woman you're in love with?"
"I have no bloody idea. I only met her a few seconds ago." I observed this woman with utter fear, yet was unable to look away even as she frowned but didn't scarper from the obvious nutter splayed out before her. She stayed crouching there, something compelling her to. She had the loveliest lips I had ever seen, plump yet kind of stretched wide too. Her jaw muscles were thick and angular as if they got worked overtime because she smiled so much.
She had pale skin, flawed like the rest of us, an aquiline nose, faint eyebrows perched high like the world was a constant surprise to her, and then there were the eyes.
God, what eyes.
Big, but maybe that's just me as I got lost in them, hazel, with long thick lashes, and full of mirth, sadness too, at the obvious distress of a stranger. She had waves of long hair that matched her eyes, falling down her back and hanging in front as she bent down.
We stared at each other for the longest time, and somehow, in the middle of the shopping district, we were inexplicably holding hands. Hers were warm, and rough, and it felt entirely natural for our fingers to be entwined. There was no ring, and her shopping bag had split, revealing a bottle of some diet drink and a ready meal of lasagna. Single! Buster's Hat, could I avoid this awful fate?
"I can cook," I blurted, making the matter worse.
Inside I was screaming, "Run away, run away now before it's too late. This will end badly. She'll betray you, she'll hate you, she certainly won't fancy you. You'll kill her or she you. This is your downfall, Arthur, don't say I didn't warn you."
But my heart had other ideas, and as she cocked her head to the side, not understanding, I said, "I'm a good cook. I just had my kitchen renovated. And, er, you can buy reusable bags now, save the plastic ones getting ripped."
