by Gavin Brown
The boy stared at them for a long second, eyes wide. Tommy couldn’t see the boy’s knees through his baggy pants, but from the rest of his posture it looked like they would be knocking together. Tommy straightened up a bit, knowing that he cut a pretty imposing figure.
“Hello, ma’am and sirs,” the boy said, his voice squeaking. “I’m Jason, an AppVenture Independent Contractor. I—I’m, uh, here to help with your monster problem. They said it was, um, a gremlin?”
“Dad, did we call someone about gremlins?” Tommy shouted back into the house. “Do we have gremlins? Because that would be awesome.”
“No!” Big Tom wailed from the living room. “Tell them to go away! I’m busy with my show, and she just sent Brent home! But their last date was soooooo romantic!”
Tommy shrugged and turned back to the skinny young man on the doorstep. “I don’t think we have any gremlin issues. Someone must have given you wrong information.”
“Uh … is this 621 Waldorf Ave?”
Tommy shook his head. “This is 619. You want Mrs. Peabody next door.” He pointed to his neighbor’s house. This pipsqueak was a mess.
“Oh, okay. Sorry to bother you, sir,” the young man said, letting his rusty axe hang down at his side.
Tommy closed the door and shook his head. “If that scrawny dude can go monster hunting, why not us? I could trash him blindfolded.”
“I hope that axe has some serious enchantment,” Spike said. “Gremlins aren’t big, but they can be vicious little things.”
“But they’re tiny!” Tommy protested. “How could something so small be that big a deal?” It was ridiculous. He guessed he could crush a gremlin with one hand.
“My cousins had gremlins in their basement once,” Spike told them. “They tried everything, but gremlins are just so fast and clever. Eventually, they had to carpet bomb the place with itching powder in order to get them to leave. The basement was basically unusable for a year, but they said it was worth it to have the gremlins out of the house.”
A loud squeal erupted from outside. They crowded up to the bay windows to look at the house next door.
“Owie! It bit my bum!” the scrawny young man yelled as he scampered away from Mrs. Peabody’s house. He retreated down the road, grasping his battle axe to his chest like a security blanket.
“Amateur,” Karim said with disdain.
“My cousins said they can bite like nothing else,” Spike said. “It leaves welts for weeks.”
Tommy glanced down at his phone and started hopping up and down. “Oh, oh! Mad Mackenzie is about to start live streaming! She’s going to ride a spike-horned ironhoof!”
A few minutes later Tommy grabbed his tablet and a Brotein (“Be the bro you want to see in the world”) bar, and the three were clustered around as it loaded up Mad Mackenzie’s channel.
“Ugh, more ads,” Karim groaned. “Can’t we just watch the recap videos from her adventure yesterday?”
“Already saw them. Nightmare bats. Pretty good stuff,” Spike said.
Tommy nodded. He’d seen those videos too. The way she cleared out the nest of nightmare bats with a supercharged leaf blower and an enchanted trident had been impressive. Mad Mackenzie was definitely the best adventure streamer on the net.
Another ad started. A gong rang and an annoyingly handsome man wearing a hoodie over a business suit popped onto the screen. The gong rang again.
“Hi, I’m Mike Tuckerville,” the man started. “I created AppVenture in order to connect adventurers with adventures. Need an imp dispelled? A manticore chased from your woods?” The man flashed a toothy grin. “Just download our app to your smartphone and call up one of our Independent Adventure Contractors today. Let AppVenture solve your monster problem tonight!”
“AppVenture. Isn’t that what that guy at the door said he was from?” Spike had been wondering who would send out such an inexperienced adventurer. The big professional adventure firms, like Monster Hunters, Inc., usually sent teams of four with tons of gear and a couple decades of experience among them.
“Yup, that was it,” Karim answered. “And the people who picked up the basilisk were wearing that logo on their uniforms.”
The man’s face disappeared and a very fast-talking voice started, “Independent Adventure Contractors are not insured, licensed, indemnified, or protected in any way by AppVenture. Results may vary. Hire them at your own risk.”
Suddenly, Mike Tuckerville, perfectly smarmy in his hoodie and tie, returned. “So let us handle the adventuring—and consider your monster problems solved!”
“That Tuckerville guy seems like a total butt,” Karim said after the ad was over.
“But I bet he’s making tons of money, with the surge in monster incidents this season,” Spike said.
“Yeah, probably,” Karim answered. “Remember when adventurers used to be cool?”
“Sure,” Spike said. “But these guys are getting both the glory and the money these days.”
“And those black uniforms did look pretty sweet!” Tommy added.
“Maybe,” Karim said. “I guess there’s no measuring up to my dad, anyway.”
“I mean, the Fang was the greatest,” Tommy said. He knew it was tough for Karim, knowing that his dad had been one of the biggest adventurers of all time. “But even he started out somewhere, right?”
“Sure, I guess,” Karim said with a shrug.
Spike watched Tommy stroke the six hairs on his chin thoughtfully. The hairs were certainly not anywhere near enough to be a beard—which Tommy insisted it was—but Spike did wonder how many more would need to sprout before she could no longer deny that it was a beard. Tommy might get there eventually, but Spike had a couple more years at least to keep making fun of him.
“Mrs. Peabody still hasn’t gotten rid of that gremlin,” Tommy said. “I saw that kid Jason again last night. He spent half an hour walking up and down the street getting psyched up. And then three minutes after he went inside, he came running out, yelling something about the gremlin biting his nose.”
“Sounds like a nasty little thing,” Karim said. “Poor kid.”
The school day was over and the three friends were waiting for the buses to arrive. Other students bustled around them, chatting about sports or celebrities or video games. Spike was glad that she and her friends had real, serious monster things to discuss. There were two things in the world Spike hated the most: small talk and people who called her Colleen. Also broccoli, but everyone hated that.
Spike’s phone buzzed, and Luis Hernandez flashed on the screen. Her dad. Again. At least she’d changed the contact so that it didn’t say Dad anymore. She pressed the red decline button. He wasn’t going to ruin another day. Spike took a deep breath and focused her mind back on the present.
“Gentlemen,” Spike said, “it sounds to me like another opportunity has appeared. There’s another monster running around, and someone has to handle it.”
Karim gulped. “It sounds like that kid Jason had a really tough time in there …”
Spike shrugged. “I didn’t say that it would be easy!”
“But we do need …” Tommy started, then took a long swig from his Brotein (“Might may not make right, but it sure feels right”) shake as he thought. “We do need a magical sword. You can’t fight monsters without a magical sword.”
Spike nodded. “That’s certainly true enough. Most monsters are immune to normal weapons. We would need something enchanted.”
After a moment, Spike and Tommy both looked expectantly at Karim.
“What?” Karim’s eyes widened. “WHAT?! You think I’m going to—”
“Where else could we possibly get a magical weapon? And it’s a good one,” Spike said.
“My dad would kill me!” Karim protested. “He keeps it in a display case in his study! He would see if it was missing! I’m lucky he never checks his gear box in the basement or he would notice his mirrored goggles are missing.”
Spike figured Karim would have that reaction. Th
e kid was practically scared of the sound of his own footsteps.
“Tommy?” Spike said, raising an eyebrow. She had already worked this bit out with him. When you needed to convince someone of something, you had to go in with a plan.
“Well”—Tommy looked down sheepishly—“before you moved to town, I used to be a … big fan … of your dad.”
Spike wasn’t a superfanboy like Tommy, but she got it. Karim’s dad, Yousef “the Fang” Khalil, was world famous. Before his injury with a band of frost trolls in Calgary, he’d been one of the Adventure Channel’s top stars.
“I used to binge-watch old episodes of his show every weekend,” Tommy continued. “I was obsessed.”
Spike remembered the first time she and Tommy had met Mr. Khalil, when he had driven the three of them to Adventure Camp. Spike had perfectly kept her cool, of course. But Tommy had turned red and let out a little squeal every time Mr. Khalil said something or glanced into the back seat.
“Yeah,” Karim said wistfully. “Of course, that was before the Adventure Channel stopped showing real live adventurers and started showing fake stuff about UFOs and ghosts.”
“Focus, boys!” Spike said.
“Oh, right.” Tommy took another gulp of his Brotein (“There’s a muscle-bound hulk with no neck inside all of us”) shake. “For my eighth birthday, my parents got me a replica of Sidesplitter.”
Sidesplitter was the sword that Mr. Khalil wielded for most of his adventures. Spike had always thought that the episode of Adventure Incorporated where the Fang won Sidesplitter from the lair of a manticore was one of the greatest of all time.
Spike grinned. “See, all you need to do is switch it with the replica. Your dad will never know the sword is gone.”
Karim’s black hair swished as he shook his head.
“Dad says that if I ever even think of adventuring, he’ll ground me until I’m thirty.” Karim looked at the ground.
“And there’s his first mistake. That’s a crazy, ridiculously harsh punishment,” Spike reasoned.
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Karim asked, putting a hand on his head.
“If he were serious,” Spike explained, “the punishment would be realistic. He’s exaggerating because he’s just trying to scare you off. And Tommy needs this. If we don’t get the money, he and his sister won’t be able to go to Adventure Camp this summer.”
Tommy nodded along.
“I want to go adventuring too,” Karim said, “but not enough to steal Sidesplitter from my dad!”
“You won’t do it? Not even for me?” Spike asked. It was time to push. Without the magical sword, they would be as ineffective as a declawed manticore.
“He’ll end me. Like, literally.”
Spike sighed, shaking her fists in exasperation. “Tommy, a little help here?”
“I’m not worried, bro,” Tommy said, taking another swig. “Karim wants to be an adventurer. There’s nothing in the world he wants more. He’s gonna steal the sword.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll do it.” Karim sat silently for a long minute. Finally, he sighed. “But we are not getting caught.”
Karim crept across the dining room. His heartbeat felt like a hummingbird practically exploding in his chest. His mom was still at work for another hour, and his dad had gone into the office down the hall, where he was on a conference call with the producers of a movie he was consulting for. Karim had to wait two days in order to find the right moment to make the snatch.
“This scene doesn’t make sense. A gremlin would never do that,” Karim heard his dad say from the other room. “They always bite first and ask questions later.”
Was Karim really going to do this? His dad always said the sword would be his one day. Still, Karim didn’t like it, even if his friends were counting on him.
In one hand he held the replica Sidesplitter, while in the other was the key to the display case where the real sword was kept, which Karim had swiped from his dad’s sock drawer.
“And in the next scene,” his dad continued, “the adventurers leave their gear behind. Every experienced adventurer knows the first rule of adventuring is never leave your pack.”
Karim took a deep breath. He closed his eyes as he slipped the key into the lock and turned it. The click of the lock sounded like a sonic boom in the quiet room. He expected his mom to walk in, or his dad to appear with accusing eyes.
But neither happened. He picked up the real Sidesplitter, forged from pure meteorium, and set the replica in its place. They were the same weight, balanced just the same. Tommy’s dad had definitely gotten an expert fake.
Meanwhile, Karim’s dad was patiently explaining to Hollywood producers how a dragon’s flame sac needs time to reignite after use.
Karim quietly tiptoed up the stairs. No one yelled. No alarms went off. A minute later, he had returned the key to his dad’s sock drawer and stowed the magical sword in a golf club bag.
When he was done, he yelled, “I’m heading over to Tommy’s.” Karim waited a long moment, holding his breath.
His dad came down the hall into the dining room, maneuvering his wheelchair into the front hall. Even though his signature long hair was cut short and many years had passed since his TV star days, Yousef “the Fang” Khalil still had an imposing look that made him a favorite for adventure talk shows and a frequent guest expert on the news.
“Going golfing?” his dad asked.
“Oh, um,” Karim started, “Tommy just wants to borrow my clubs.” Which was actually true—Tommy wanted to hit apples into La Tuna Canyon to see how far they could go.
“Well, whatever you’re up to, have fun,” Karim’s dad said. “I’ve got to go write up some notes from that call.”
An hour later, Sidesplitter gleamed as Karim pulled the sword out of the golf club carrier.
Tommy, Spike, and Karim were all in Tommy’s basement, where a large box of Mrs. Wainwright’s old lawn gnomes was “accidentally” wedged against the door. That way no one could stumble in on them and see the sword.
“Sweet!” Tommy intoned as Karim hefted the sword. “It looks so sharp!”
Sidesplitter was three feet long, with a grip large enough for two hands, and a pommel encrusted with jewels and engraved with an elaborate red-and-gold pattern.
“Okay, I stole my dad’s magical sword,” Karim said. “If we lose this thing, it’s the end of the world for me, so here are the ground rules.” He tried his best to look serious. “One, it never goes out of my sight. Two, no one uses it but me.” Karim had been thinking this over and over, and it just seemed more and more crazy every time. How had he let his friends talk him into this?
“Fine,” Spike said with a sigh. “But there’s just one issue we need to deal with first.” She took the sword from Karim and examined it. “This is a famous sword. If anyone sees us with it, they’ll start asking questions that we won’t want to answer.”
Karim nodded and his stomach sank. He hadn’t thought about that. BuzzFeed actually ranked Sidesplitter as number seventy-two in its “Great American Artifacts Power Ranking” listicle last year. Karim knew that those rankings were more based on reputation than actual power. And as his dad always said, it’s whoever wields the sword who matters most. But the sword was recognizable enough that if anyone saw it, word would get out for sure.
“Luckily, I have a solution,” Spike said as she pulled out a bottle of something and began brushing it onto the sword’s jeweled pommel.
Karim leaned forward to look at the bottle. The words Violet Sparkle Eminence were written on the label, right above long-lasting nail polish.
“Oh. My. Gosh.” Karim stared at Spike, slack jawed. “You’re putting sparkly purple nail polish on one of the most powerful artifacts in the world!”
“Relax,” Spike assured. “We’ll take it off when we’re done. This is an epic enchanted blade. Not even something super corrosive like sour ooze could hurt it. Short of being dropped in a volcano, there’s nothing that can ha
rm this sword.”
She finished up the hilt, then ran nail polish along the red etchings on the blade. Karim felt like vomiting but just stared in horror. But still, Spike had a point. If anyone saw this sword out and about, it would be all over the adventuring blogs instantly.
“Plus …” Spike said as she wiggled her toes in her flip-flops. “Now it matches my new pedicure!” Her toes glittered with Violet Sparkle Eminence—whatever that was supposed to be.
“Since when do you paint your toenails?” was all that Karim, still reeling, could think to ask. Spike never wore anything like jewelry or makeup, except for the ring on her right index finger. And she always said the ring had belonged to her grandma, so it didn’t count.
“Yeah, I seem to remember you punching your aunt in the solar plexus when she tried to give you a ‘miracle makeover’ last Thanksgiving,” Tommy added, slurping down the last of his Brotein (“Don’t talk the talk—flex the flex”) shake.
“Your solar plexuses are looking tempting right about now.” Spike glared at both of them and cracked her knuckles. “And for your information, I had my mom help me this afternoon.”
“Okay, okay,” Tommy said, backing away.
Karim would have done the same. He knew the two essential rules of warfare: (1) Don’t invade Russia in the wintertime and (2) don’t provoke Spike when she’s already cranky.
“What next?” he asked.
Spike grinned. “Tomorrow, we catch ourselves a gremlin.”
This. Was. Going. To. Be. Awesome!
Tommy stepped forward and knocked on Mrs. Peabody’s door, standing up as straight as he could. Good posture was, like, 50 percent of making a good first impression. The rest, of course, was being ridiculously jacked. Another couple of months in the Temple of Body Sculpting (conveniently located in his garage) and he was sure he’d get there.
“I guess that other guy didn’t get the job done,” Karim said.
Tommy noticed that Karim was carefully standing back a bit, letting Spike and Tommy stand closer to the door. That was fine by Tommy—he was a tank, and tanks stood in front.
