I don’t hate magic. It’s just never been my go-to solution to things. Sure. I’ve worked with and worked against people who knew what they were doing. The witch girl Lyriana, and even the Dwarf, being the most recent. But I’ve also met those who get cocky. And then sloppy. And they don’t tend to last very long after a bullet between the eyes. Magic or no magic.
So when Lyriana’s plan to get us through the gates and into White Throne involved me turning into a wolf, naturally I was a bit skeptical. Not that I didn’t like her, mind you. She seems like a good kid. I just…don’t trust anybody anymore. She explained to me that the wolf pelt Gregor had managed to skin would let me shift into a wolf for roughly a full day. Along with her changing her clothes and hair color and the Dwarf’s natural frosty complexion would along us to pass off as winter wolves. Gregor and Ringeirr were stuck with the short sticks, pretending to be our slaves as we passed on through. There were a lot of holes in the plan. A lot of what-ifs. But Lyriana didn’t seem to be in the most negotiable mood (hadn’t been seen the whole debacle with the goat-kid) so I held my tongue and turned into a wolf puppy.
No fucks were given during those first few minutes.
Not my proudest moment. As we made way towards Throne, I ran back and forth. Peed on the Dwarf’s foot (that I am proud of that, though he chalked it up to me trying to make him smell like a wolf), and just basically enjoyed being a goddamn dog. Honestly the little time I had not being her was a breath of fresh air.
Everything was going fine. The wolf guard gave Lyriana, the Dwarf, and I temporary papers that would get us through the day, at least until we met up with Ringeirr’s associate. Smooth sailing. Gregor and I even played some fetch (again, I’m not proud.) But then Lyriana caught what I assumed was a female winter wolf’s eye and I just knew something bad was coming. Not unlike back when I used to travel with Persephone; she’d find something that’d pique her interest, drag me into it, and we’d finish the day either running from something, killing something, or running from something after killing that something’s dad or something. My (very reluctant) courting of Persephone Megalos was a VERY stressful time for me. Sigh…
So I wandered over and tugged at Lyriana’s pant leg. “What?” she snapped.
“It’s almost time to go,” I told her. I mean, all this was literally HER plan.
She glanced over at the busty winter wolf and said, “I’m going with my friend here for a drink. You stay with your brother and do what he says.”
“BURIN?!” I groaned, all puppy optimism imploding on the spot. I couldn’t help but plead, “Please don’t do that to me.”
“He may have been born a runt, but he’s our elder brother and you will show him respect.” I don’t know who she was keeping up the charade for; me or the wolf bitch. Honestly!
“But he’s BURIN!”
The devil in question suddenly grabbed me by the neck and held me up. “We’ll be fine,” he said. “Go have fun.”
And like that, Lyriana followed the wolf woman through the gate.
“Get off!” I roared at the Dwarf. My fur rippled and I turned back into a little girl. Bonus a pair of frosty blue eyes and white hair. He released his grip and I plopped back onto the ground. “Never do that again,” I said, massaging the back of my neck.
The Dwarf grinned his toothy grin. Early on I’d thought him to be one of Typhon’s trackers. He was just too…too nice not to be suspicious! I’m a firm believer that every person is made up of good and evil. Which force is more dominant depends on the person. So finding out that the Dwarf was actually a dopey prison for some demon had actually put me mildly at ease. I’ve always been more comfortable dealing with horrible people. You know what to expect. Poor demon just wants to escape a body it was forcibly trapped into. I can get behind that.
The Dwarf and I, along with Gregor and Ringeirr pulling a cart of fish (which contained my gun), made it through the gates into White Throne with little fan fair. Ever since the Farm I had tended to stay on the fringes of big cities. Close enough to hear things but far enough to bolt at the first sign of recognition. This city was decently populated, with a variety of people roaming the streets.
“Where to, Ringeirr?” I asked the smuggler.
“Mortin’s farther through the city,” the man grunted, shouldering the weight of the cart with Gregor. “And masters don’t usually speak to their slaves so casually.”
“Noted, you dirty slave,” I said. As a man looking to avenge his family, I could respect Ringeirr. Yet I would have preferred for Nadia to have stayed with us. She had really come into her own. Sure, she usually tended to slip up around the weirder beasties, but we all have our off days. Alternatively I would have liked witch girl to have stayed with the group and followed HER OWN PLAN to completion.
“Hope she catches fleas,” I grumbled. We ducked out of the main street and into an alleyway. Under the buildings’ shadows my trigger finger began to twitch. The blinds were pulled up across all visible windows but I knew for a fact we were being watched. Call me paranoid but I’d rather not my have head chopped off in witch country because of some misplaced optimism-
“Hello!” Burin suddenly called.
From the shadows a creature, goblin I think, approached. I instinctively took a step back towards the cart, ready to dive and set the bastard on fire at the slightest sign of weaponry. He held out his hand and said…
Noise. Gibberish. Yeah, no, I honestly couldn’t understand the guy. I looked back over at Gregor and Ringeirr. They looked wary of the goblin, but not confused. The Dwarf up front was nodding as the goblin spoke. And then he spouted the same gibberish back. He held up three fingers and pointed over his shoulder at us. The goblin nodded in what I assumed was agreement.
Was the Dwarf really going to sell us out? The bastard! I reached into my jacket pocket as he approached, ready to tear open his throat with one of my concealed knives. Now I wasn’t sure what would happen if he died. Would I die too? This whole thing with the dragon hurt my head. But there was no way in hell I was going to let this goblin lay so much as a finger on Emily’s body.
The Dwarf smiled as he reached over…and grabbed three fish from the cart. He tossed them over to the goblin. He caught them, grunted and disappeared into a diverging alleyway. “What the hell was that?!” I exclaimed at the men.
“He wanted fish,” the Dwarf said. “So I gave him three.” He turned to Ringeirr. “Sorry.”
Ringeirr waved a hand. “I really don’t care.” He glanced up at the surrounding windows. “We should get going.”
“Agreed, you dirty slave,” I said. I let out a small sigh and gripped my gun hand to my chest until my trigger finger calmed down. Now was not the time to be trigger happy. Sure, we had the nanites in case any of us got seriously injured. Yet without Lyriana we were vulnerable. She’d become a magical safety net. And because of that…maybe I’d gotten cocky. And then sloppy…
“Mirror man,” Ringeirr whispered fiercely. “Act natural.”
Oh, if only he knew what “natural” entailed for this team. We pushed through a larger crowd. I shifted into my puppy form to help maneuver ahead. I spotted what I assumed was a mirror man. A humanoid figure wearing a reflective mask. We approached it and time seemed to slow down. I gazed up at it and it tilted its head down, reflecting my adorable puppy eyes back at me…Emily’s eyes…
Daddy…why isn’t mommy moving?
And then the moment was over and the mirror man went on its way. I shook my tiny head. “Get a grip,” I hissed at myself. Don’t ask how I did it with dog lips. Magic. We rounded a corner and I just barely avoided being trampled by a skinny, raggedy man. He crashed into the Dwarf and fell to the ground.
That’s when the giant wolf approached. It was roughly Gregor’s size, with fur of snow and eyes of unyielding ice. It bared its fangs. “That is my slave,” he growled, also with magical dog lips. “You just had to run, Jorhan. I’ll try not to enjoy punishing you.”
I looked from the wolf to the raggedy man. The latter was sobbing and holding his arms over his face. The little good they’d do him once the wolf’s teeth tore through. Just mind your own business, just move on, just-
The wolf pounced and I suddenly found myself between the slave and his master. A master with magic wolf lips and extra-large, extra-pointy, extra uncomfortably-close-to-my-face teeth.
“Uh, no,” I squeaked. “No punishing. Please.”
The wolf glared down at me. If I hadn’t already pissed on the Dwarf’s boot earlier I would have done so right then and there. “He is my slave to do with as I wish,” the wolf declared.
“But…but what if he wasn’t your slave anymore?” I heard myself say.
His ears perked up. “How do you mean?”
“My, uh, brother and I have quite a bit of gold on hand,” I told him. “How’s one-hundred-fifty pieces for this runaway slave?” I know I was overshooting the price. But you try thinking straight while bargaining with the Big Bad Wolf and also being roughly the size of a teddy bear!
The change in temperament was instantaneous. The transformation into a man equally so. In human form he was considerably less intimidating. “Really?” he said, regarding the still weeping slave, who’d scrambled over and was clinging onto Gregor’s leg. “For him?”
I tried my best not to roll my eyes. “Do you want the gold or not?” I then added, “Sir.”
“You have spunk, child,” the winter wolf chuckled. I shifted back into my human form and produced the gold from my guitar case. It smelled of stale cake and fur balls. I hadn’t had time clean it out with everything going on. I counted the gold carefully and carried it over to the wolf. He gave me the man’s papers. Looking as if he’d gotten away with murder instead of having been deterred from it, he practically skipped off into the crowd.
“Some things never change,” I grumbled, shaking my head. “Want friends? Just have money.” I walked over to the slave as Gregor hunkered down and draped one of his skinned-fur coats around the man’s shoulders. He was sobbing in the same tongue the goblin had been using. I blew a strand of hair out of my face impatiently.
“What do you want to do with him?” Ringeirr asked me.
“Honestly haven’t thought any of this through,” I admitted. And then I added, “You dirty slave.”
He scowled and gestured for the slave’s papers. I handed them to him. “The Heralds of Summer are always willing to take strays in. But…” He knelt down and spoke to the man. The man calmed down a bit, nodding and shaking his head whenever I assumed Ringeirr asked him a question. Eventually, with Gregor’s help, the man got to his feet. Ringeirr handed him his papers, along with a slip of parchment. The man bowed to all of us in turn and left in the opposite direction his ex-master had gone.
I raised an eyebrow at Ringeirr.
“If all goes according to plan, there might be many freed slaves and a hefty reward in your future,” he told me as he returned to his position behind the cart.
“You did good,” Gregor said to me, patting me on the shoulder.
“I did stupid,” I grunted. “Come on, these papers have until sundown. Gotta get permanent ones.” As we walked, I wondered how Lyriana was planning to get papers of her own. She was a pretty girl. Not my-er, the old me’s type. But sex, like money, made people stupid. Easier to manipulate.
“Terry,” I heard Gregor say. And then, “Burin, no, come back!”
But it was too late. The Dwarf was strolling over to two winter wolf guards. They were bigger than the one we’d just encountered, looked irritable, and reeked of booze. Oh, yeah. Add that one to the list, after sex and money. “Wha you wan’?” one of them asked the Dwarf. “Get lost!”
The Dwarf looked them over. And then reached out and touched each by the crook of the arm. They shrugged his hands off. “Hell?” one guard exclaimed.
“I’m trying to heal you,” the Dwarf explained.
The other guard blinked stupidly down at him. “Eh? You want a fight, runt?”
“We don’t have time for this!” Ringeirr hissed behind me. As much as I’d have liked to see the Dwarf be thrashed by Dog Breath One and Dog Breath Two, now was not the time or place for shenanigans. But before I could respond, Gregor walked past me and over to the winter wolves.
“Here,” he said, offering them his flask. “This should help a bit.”
They exchanged looks before one swiped the flask out of his hand. He took a sip, and then spat the contents across the ground and Gregor’s and the Dwarf’s feet. “What the hell is this supposed to be?” he exclaimed, throwing the flask back at Gregor. “Some kind of joke? Get lost, all of you, before we tear your fucking arms off.”
Luckily the Dwarf and Gregor didn’t push it. We gave the two drunk winter wolves ample space as went on our way. We dropped off the fish at an orphanage (I made sure to stuff my gun back into my guitar case) and ventured through the city. We eventually rounded the corner of the street Ringeirr’s associate, Mortin, was supposed to be living on. “There!” Ringeirr said, pointed at a nearby house. I immediately noticed that the front door was seriously beefed up. I’ve broken into bank vaults and royal treasuries that were of lesser quality.
We just made it to the front door, when I spotted commotion up ahead. Two winter wolves were in a seriously heated argument with two trolls. I could feel the tension from all the way down the street. Sensing the same tension, Gregor slammed his fist against the door. No answer. He hit it again but this time with the same amount of force I’d seen him use to make craters in solid stone. Still no answer.
“Crap.” I knelt down and moved to try to unlock the door- “What the hell is this alien bullshit?” I exclaimed. There were locks within locks within gears within locks. I glanced over at the wolves and trolls. Whatever debate they were having was drawing to a close.
“Mortin!” Ringeirr called, coming over and pounding on the door. “It’s Ringeirr! Let us in!” Still no answer. The Dwarf was keeping an eye on the quartet. They were parting ways.
Gregor turned to me and said, “Take many steps back.”
Now I’d fought enough times with this monk to know when to listen. I got WAY back. After a few solid hits, he managed to send the door rocketing back off its hinges with the last punch. We hurried inside the house just as the trolls started to make their way towards us.
Inside, sitting in a chair as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred, was a bald, middle aged man with thick glassed and a thicker goatee. He blinked. He looked from us to the door. “You broke my door.”
“You didn’t let us in when we knocked,” Ringeirr said. “Long time no see, Mortin.”
“Wait, who are you?”
“It’s me, Ringeirr, you idiot.”
“Oh. Well if I let in just anyone who knocks on my door, don’t you think it’d be a tad easier for the witches and their dogs to find me?” Mortin asked him.
“We’ll fix the door,” I said before Ringeirr could retort. I glanced back at the Dwarf and Gregor. “Guys, fix the door.” The looked at one another and then, like two toddlers trying admirably to pass the square cube through a circle slot, they went at trying to fix Mortin’s door. Kind of adorable. With my adrenaline dying down, I yawned. “We need papers,” I told Mortin.
“Oh,” he said. “Well, that will take a few hours-”
“That’s fine,” I said, yawning again. I went over to the nearest couch. Mortin’s place wasn’t very big. A living room that connected into a kitchen and a study. I spotted a writing desk in the corner of the latter. Atop it was a very large stack of paper next to a feather pen propped across a bottle of ink. “Catch him up to speed, you dirty slave,” I told Ringeirr. I laid my head back and like that I was asleep.
I don’t sleep well. I sleep awful. If it isn’t flashbacks to the Farm, it’s that stupid yellow sign I keep flashing back to ever since picking up a cursed book. Or somebody trying to divine my fate using cards. There’s always something going on. But this time was different. This time it was like I was drifting through a blank nothingness. Occasionally I’d hear the sound of whistling wind, or maybe it was howling wolves, but nothing mattered. If this is the kind of sleep winter wolves got nightly, then they’re spoiled bastards.
I woke up some time later and immediately felt different. The fur coat no longer pulsed with magical energy and when I pulled out a knife and checked myself, I saw that Emily’s hair and eyes were back to their usual, pretty browns. I tried to call up any magic, try to turn into a puppy one last time, but nada.
“Good things don’t last, man,” I sighed. “You don’t deserve them to.”
I looked over towards the door. By some miracle, Gregor and the Dwarf had actually managed to fix it. They and Ringeirr were in the kitchen, while Mortin was working on the papers in his study. Seeing as it was late and I’d already slept, I offered to take first watch. Gregor and Ringeirr slept in the kitchen while the Dwarf crashed on the couch. I pulled out my gun and went to work cleaning it, ignoring his snores as best I could.
It was around this time that I actually started to miss Hatch’s company. He’d been simple little soul. When he was hungry he wanted to be fed. Like a baby. Like Toby. Toby had come as a real surprise to Persephone and I. We’d managed to keep a nomadic lifestyle after Emily’d been born. But two kids was too much. Reason why I bought the farm. Toby was a calm kid though. Liked mushed bananas, rarely cried, and didn’t mind Emily dressing him up as her personal doll.
My son was only two when Typhon set him on fire.
“I will kill you,” I hissed, tears spilling across the gun. The Dwarf snorted in his sleep. I quickly brushed the tears out of my eyes. Crying wasn’t going to help anyone. I needed the witch girl to get strong enough so as to break the link between me and the Dwarf. And then after all this political crap with the witch Baba Yaga was sorted out, it was time to go back to Typhon Lee hunting.
“That is a very interesting gun.” I looked up. It was Mortin. He was looking from me to the gun, stroking his beard as he did so.
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “A friend helped me make it.”
He reached out a hand. “Mind if I take a look?”
Sure, Ringeirr vouched for the guy, but a mercenary never willingly relieves themselves of their weapon. “I’m actually in the middle of cleaning it right now,” I told him.
Mortin shrugged. “Very well.” He went over to the door and checked the locks. “Your friends did a fine job.”
“Yeah,” I said, pretending to return my attention to the gun. “They can be smart when they want to be-”
I honestly would have been shocked if Mortin hadn’t tried something. So when the man made a grab for me, I was ready for it. I twirled the gun and slammed the butt right in his face, knocking him to his knees. I jumped to my feet. The Dwarf muttered in his sleep, oblivious.
Mortin held his face in his hands as a readied my gun. Yet when he looked up it wasn’t Mortin who stared back at me, but the Lady Argentia. Before I could react to that, the front door swung open, and three guards stormed into the living room. The bastard/bitch had unlocked the door! Surrounded on all sides, I did only logical thing. “EVERYBODY WAKE THE FUCK UP!”
Gregor and Ringeirr ran into the room, looking groggy and not at all ready to take on four guards. “What’s going on?” Ringeirr cried, looking from me to the kneeling person on the floor.
“Lady Argentia?” Gregor gasped. But by then I’d already put a bullet in the shapeshifter’s head. One guard swung at me with his sword, but I ducked just in time to only get a few hairs trimmed off the top. The other guards went after Gregor and Ringeirr. The Dwarf sat up, yawning but still very much unaware of the danger.
I don’t know whether it was out of sleepiness or being tired from putting the door back up, but Gregor took a few more hits than were usual for him. And it became painfully obvious within seconds that Ringeirr was a smuggler not a fighter. Yet between Gregor and me the guards fell one by one.
Only for three more guards to come storming in. The Dwarf tried to be of some use, but they were more focused on Gregor, slicing at him with ogre hooks. The kid was good, but soon Mortin’s floor became stained with his blood. Yet I made sure that the guards spilled their equal share.
After Gregor finished pounding the last guard into the floor, he wobbled back and fell to one knee. I quickly rummaged to through my guitar case and pulled out the nanite gun. A rushed over and stuck it on his arm. “Thank you,” he gasped.
“No problem,” I said. “We need to get-”
Gregor shook violently, his whole body trembling. He gasped and clawed at his chest. As Ringeirr, the Dwarf, and I watched, his veins began to light up an ugly silver color. It looked like he’d been wrapped in a pulsing spider-web. He opened his mouth, maybe to ask for help, or to scream, only to throw up blood and bile across the floor. He tipped forward. I managed to catch him by shoulder just as I heard more voices from outside.
Yup. It was going to be that kind of night.
I hoped Lyriana was having just as much fun.
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