Maker

Chapter: 8

Chapter: 8

“Reappear.” I spoke the word, bringing the power forth with an effort filled with grunts and funny faces. Forcing the universe to behave was tough at times, especially when I was low on sleep. Taking the metal and wooden boxes out of the sheet and leaving the body in it was the effort.

I was in one of the empty apartments above Miles’ diner. It was lightly furnished and only a little dusty. When I asked Miles if I could use it for a week, he just tossed the keys, not even bothering to put down his paper.

There was an old couch, a dining room table with two chairs, and a queen-sized mattress set in the bedroom. It was nicer than my place. I sighed, every place was nicer than my place.

The wooden boxes needed to be pried, so I went downstairs to borrow something. When I got back from the basement with crowbar in hand, I found one of the three already open. Zora was standing there holding one of the ten AK-47’s that had been in the box.

She was wearing her standard khakis and colored wife beater. She called them camis, but I didn’t know why. This one was green; not camouflage.

She was posed as if someone were taking a picture. I rolled my eyes and tossed her the pry bar. She tossed me the rifle and I caught it, taking a seat and staring in wonder. It had been more than two years since I’d held one. I went through the motions, clearing it and checking the slide and sights. I had never had a brand new one before. Zora was excited, bouncing from one foot to the other.

“Where’d you get all these?” She said, getting down to pry open the next box.

“Stolen from the new warlock crew. They ordered through Soaka.”

“Well, there aren’t any traps or auras.” She said, looking through the other two boxes. Damn. I hadn’t thought of that. Though it didn’t make sense for anyone to spend that kind of money just to lay a trap for me. I was still wondering why Soaka had bothered to have someone put a trap on the truck, but it wasn’t wise to linger long on the logic of fairies.

The real treasure was in the third, slightly smaller box. Grenades. Twenty of them. The last crate was filled with metal boxes. Each one had enough ammo for the apocalypse. Even if I hadn’t been trying to tweak warlock crew’s nose, I was ecstatic I’d found ten Kalashnikovs before they could be used for whatever they had planned.

Dammit. I had been avoiding these guys quite successfully until yesterday. Now, I’d have to find out what Firehag and her people were up to before anyone got hurt. Then try to delay them a month until Gomez or someone else could get here and handle them. Might be nice if they were as crippled as possible before that happened.

Gomez would certainly appreciate not having a warlock at full power with a full-on crew to deal with. I couldn’t let them run around unchecked anymore. s**t! Find the kids and get the hell out of dodge. I watched in helpless agony as that plan died.

“I’m going to have to go to work for a while,” I said. Suddenly, even a brand new shiny Kalashnikov couldn’t make me feel better.

Zora was serious when I looked up. Her eyes said she had put it together as well.

“What was he gonna do with these?”

“Nothing good, I imagine. I have to keep him crippled until Gomez can get here, or until he sends someone.”

“How soon before he realizes you took them?” She asked.

“Not long. The truck was delivered this morning. It should get picked up before dark. So far, these guys fall into the ‘warlocks are more active at night’ stereotype. I’d say I have a few hours, maybe.”

“You’ll have to do whatever you’re gonna do tonight then. His hackles will be up once he sees his truck is full of gunless air.”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “That’s what’s bothering me. Nothing for it really. Guess I need to quit being a baby, go hit em, and hope that my pack is around somewhere. I may not be able to hit again before they get into it.”

“Do you want me to go?” She asked.

I was a little shocked. She had never asked before. Maybe she should go—technically, Zora was my apprentice. I say technically because it didn’t take longer than a couple years to teach her everything I knew since our fields of magic didn’t overlap. She had no gift for making anything. Getting any spell to go much farther than her skin was a serious challenge.

Mostly we talked magical theory. What was possible, what wasn’t. Then one of us would go out, try it, and report back. I felt protective of her. I certainly couldn’t take seeing her hurt.

I sighed. “I’m walking into the lion’s den. Someone’s gonna have to be here to explain things to whatever Martinet shows up. Even if this goes as well as possible, I won’t be able to show my face for a few weeks. Can’t risk them tracking me down.”

She kept her head down. “I’ll… stay here for a while.” she murmured. There was a sniffle as I got up to go.

I wasn’t good at dealing with crying women. Zora wasn’t good at crying in front of anyone, so I pretended it wasn’t happening.

I loaded up five of the grenades and took an ammo box with me as I went downstairs. Miles was there. The flattop grill wasn’t on, and there was nothing cooking in preparation for dinner. Whatever ended up at my five soup kitchen labs would be cooked and out the door later on. Miles didn’t put down his paper. He read one I didn’t recognize, probably from wherever he was before this.

“I should be back in a few weeks or so,” I said

“Mmhmm,” he said, going back to his paper. I walked out, cursing inside. Sure wish I had some resolve to go with all these catch-twenty-two decisions. I crouched outside the door to load magazines and think about my life.

“Where’s my diamond stone?” I heard Zora yell from inside. “I know you’ve been using it on that German crap.” They argued about knives too.

“You been crying girl?”

“Crocodile tears. Now hand it over.” Zora was sharpening her sword. I heard the sound of stone scraping on metal. “Strawberry pancakes and steak in the morning, old man. I’m working up a sweat tonight.” I heard her steps thumping back up the stairs.

I got to my feet and stretched a few minutes later. That woman was insufferable. Like I wasn’t going to a place that could get us both killed. She had been with me through the worst scrapes I’d ever been in, and seldom had I planned for her to be there.

She would probably say that somewhere deep down all my plans had her showing up at some point. Not sure I would go that far. I walked back upstairs and caught her in the middle of strapping grenades to a belt. She looked like a kid caught filching cookies before dinner.

“This…” she began with a smile. “Ah screw it. This is exactly what it looks like.”

“It looks like lying to me.” I said.

“Pretending to cry isn’t lying. It’s strategy.” She grinned.

“It’s manipulation,” I said.

“Ya know, I’m fine with sarcasm, I’m cool with scorn, but I’m calling bullshit on the surprise in your voice.” She said.

“Alright,” I sighed, “Wait for an opening, take out anything moving, then regroup with me. This is an ambush; hit and away. Don’t move until I do. If there’s a chance to get this done quietly, I’m taking it.”

She nodded, going back to what she was doing while muttering. “Like you could raid a geriatric bingo tournament without me.” I assumed I wasn’t supposed to hear that part and went back downstairs.

I took the rifle apart and shoved the parts into various pockets and my satchel. The barrel went under my jacket and peeked out in a way I hoped no one would notice. Miles was still engrossed in his paper, so I didn’t speak, just walked out once again cursing the need for taxis.

It took me half an hour and almost ten blocks of walking to hail down a cab. I got in and took stock. I told the cabbie there would be a few stops—just in case—and gave him a twenty in advance. He looked at me through the mirror with a wary eye as I put the rifle back together with deft movements.

I told him that I’d just come from the Personal Defense and Handgun Safety Center. I explained that there was a range there. It was a range that only allowed pistols, but I didn’t explain that part.

He relaxed and told me about his adventures being a marksman in the military. Marksman was actually the lowest score you could get, but I didn’t tell him I knew that. I just let the words wash over me while we made small talk, and I thought about what I had on me.

I had a sheet with a body in it, a few potions of shadow, few that made me mostly immune to electricity, and two charmers. I sold most of those to people on first dates. Even though they made everything you said or did cast in the best light possible, it didn’t matter much. Punching someone in the face or shooting them could only be viewed one way.

Five wake up specials though I’d never need that many. I had four that made me physically stronger and faster, but those left me wasted afterward. I’d had them for two years and never used them.

Lastly, I had everything I was wearing and a few of my misfits.

The cabbie pulled up to the parking garage where the truck had been, and I started giving him directions.

The stream of shimmering pink particles only I could see went up the street and around the corner out of sight. We left downtown going north; my place was west of downtown. I was relieved when we hopped on I-40 going off towards Durham.

Durham had been a tobacco town. I didn’t have the whole story, but the industry had dried up and left more than a few old empty buildings. The city had an ongoing effort to keep them from getting too rundown.

We passed the world-famous Carolina Theatre on our way to the worst part of the city. There I saw the trail of sparkles go inside an old warehouse that had two large men in suits out front smoking and looking intimidating. I directed the cabbie to a random house a couple blocks away.

I overpaid and got out thanking him. He drove away, and I jogged back towards the warehouse. A block away I drank a charmer potion and said a small prayer. I only had the two of them, but it was much better than a shadow potion if I had to interact with anyone.

I walked towards the front door. The same two men were still guarding it. I’m pretty big, but they were bigger. Much bigger. I reminded myself that I owned the place. “Sorry I’m late,” I offered in a voice that implied I was no such thing. The lantern jaw on the right waved me in.

“You’re not late, friend. We are getting underway soon.” It was like listening to a bass guitar speak.

The truck was inside the door to the left. It had been backed into the warehouse through a large bay. It didn’t look like it had been opened. Of course, there was no way to know that for certain. Between the crowd of people milling around, the six or seven sets of work lights on stands, and the truck, this place was quite full. There were fifty chairs arranged in five rows of ten and a wooden stage in front of them.

I suspected there were more in the back. This room was two stories and pretty big, but it was still smaller than the building—I suspected there were more rooms

Metal walkways and scaffolding crisscrossed the ceiling at right angles. I noticed a few people up there walking around with rifles at the ready. First thing I had to do was get my compass out of the truck where I’d left it.

I shook it violently to stop the sparkles and tossed it in my satchel, took my rifle, and walked up the stairs. If the shooting started, I wanted to be up high, and I certainly didn’t want gunman above me.

Once I got upstairs, I pretty much had the run of the place. On the ground floor were about the fifty people needed to match the chairs. I couldn’t tell who the warlocks were, but I could tell that this was the inner circle.

Everyone up top had a rifle. Everyone down below was wearing a black scarf around their left arm. I didn’t know what the difference was, but I knew that you didn’t bother to give uniforms no matter how slight to disposable personnel.

You wouldn’t want them leading back to you. Though these ‘locks were pretty brazen already, they may think they’re powerful enough by now to not care who finds them. They may even have a point. After all, the Martinet was currently engaged elsewhere—wherever that was.

I saw doors at the back on both floors that led to what probably used to be offices. I started to head that way. I kept my head down as I passed the first man. He was a skinny guy and for some reason was wearing sunglasses indoors at night. I murmured gibberish as I passed too low to be heard clearly. He took it as a greeting, and responded “Hail Blackstar.”

Charmer potion FTW! Whenever I passed anyone now, I could just say that. I had a chance to try it a couple times as I made my way to the back. It was taken as a greeting, and I thanked my lucky stars each time that the potion was working. I looked away from anyone who looked at me and kept my face deep in my hood.

My initial surveillance suggested that I was right. I was focused pretty hard on not dying at the time, but I saw a few people I recognized from last night.

“Friends,” said a man in a dark robe standing on the stage with three others. The four of them had appeared from nowhere. Nice trick. The crowd rushed around; there was some push to the front as everyone tried to get the seat closest to the stage.

I looked more closely at the people on stage. The one on the right was an ugly woman with sparse black hair on her head. I could see more of her boiled scalp than not. Her face was also covered in open sores. Firehag. Her robe was black this time, like the other three.

The man on the left was short and had a belly that had seen way more beers than mine. His hair was salt and pepper and he was balding on top. The hair on the sides of his head was combed over.

The woman on the far left was blindingly beautiful with flowing yellow hair. Even in the loose robes you could tell she had the type of curves men lost sleep drooling over. She was a bombshell, posed up on the stage like a model. I didn’t let my eyes linger.

The man in the middle raised his arms as everyone finally got to their seats. Up on the walkways, everyone had stopped what they were doing and were leaning on the railing.

The two hulks came in, slamming the sliding metal doors and throwing a large plank across it. So much for that way out.

I was standing just above the doors at the far end from the stage. I moved to the center and discreetly looked around. I was the only one on this section of walkway; everyone else seemed to be closer. Now I could do more than just look around quickly and hide my face in an attempt to be invisible. I recognized a few faces. More telling, I recognized injuries. There were about ten or so in the room that I had tangled with last night.

Everyone was looking enraptured with the speaker. Even those on the walkway who had obvious places they should be standing edged closer or leaned over the railing. Mimicking them, I leaned over as well. Charmer potion or not I wanted to be inconspicuous.

Everyone was seated and looking up at the stage. There was a door at the end of the walkway to my right, and it was slightly ajar. I didn’t dare risk a peek to see what was in there. I was directly in the line of sight of the four on the stage, though none seemed to be paying attention to the second floor at all. With every light in the building pointed at the stage, they probably couldn’t even see me, but I was unwilling to take that chance.

“Friends.” He repeated.

“OOOOOAAA” the rogue god said in my head. It was an instant migraine. I managed to make it through only by clenching my teeth. It had never happened two days in a row before. Normally, I went months without hearing from it. This would have to be researched.

Not now though. I realized that the man was still talking. I’d missed it. They’d brought a person up to the stage.

“…into our fold. Comrades, I give you our newest ally.” The bombshell took a large syringe obviously filled with blood and stabbed it into the neck of a waiting young woman who had stood from the chairs and approached the stage.

“We have all taken lives,” he continued, as the young woman began to scream. Someone took a cloth and held it in her mouth as the man continued.

“We have all given the blood of another to the Lord of Shapes. Those who have given the most are authorized to receive his gifts. The Lord of Shapes speaks through me. I take his wisdom into me, and when all the world is his, its rulers shall be his faithful.” He raised his arms at the last. Everyone hooted, and cheered. Some stomped their feet.

The woman on the floor was growing fur, or feathers. I couldn’t tell from where I was. There were shouts of “Hail Blackstar,” and “For the Constellation.”

That was all I needed to hear—this was the crew I was looking for all right. I made a few low hoots while reaching into my pockets. I pulled out four grenades and then pulled out the pins. I took a deep breath and set my resolve.

“Hail Blackstar.”