Season of the Witch ending

“You know-” Calla gasped as we ran faster- “I think I had-a dream about this once.”
“Really?” I puffed back.
“Yeah.  When I was-maybe five.  I don’t remember everything-just being chased by the house.”
“Did it have chicken legs?”
“Yeah.”  Her eyes widened.  “Maybe-an early vision?”
I shrugged, wincing at my already-aggravated broken wing.
“Wouldn’t-be surprised.”
I awkwardly pulled the towel out of my shirt,* and threw it over my shoulder.
“What’s that for?” Calla yelled.
“Is it doing anything?” I yelled back.
There was a gasp.  “Yes!”
Just in case, I looked over my shoulder.  And yes, just as I’d hoped, it had become a vast, glassy lake, right there in the forest.


Why Baba Yaga kept items in her hut that could be used against her, especially in easy reach of others, was anybody’s guess.  And you’d think she’d have learned from previous times dealing with people who used the same trick.  But maybe it was for the same reason that she wanted to steal the sword.  Arrogance.  Or following the proverb of “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
It slowed her down as we kept running; Baba Yaga couldn’t swim, and as I suspected, she didn’t have the patience to go around.  So I saw her forcing the hut to wade into the lake.  The hut didn’t like it; it squirmed, and shook, and finally jumped out of the water and refused to go back in, water dripping from the floorboards.


“You okay?” Calla suddenly asked.  Since the witch was briefly inconvenienced, we were going a bit slower-though not slow enough to be overconfident.
“...You’re asking this now?”
“You look pale.  And I’m not having to struggle to keep pace with you.  Tristan, I think your wound’s worse than you’re acting.”
“I’m fine, kid.  I’ve got my adrenaline-”
Which is when I started to see colored spots before my eyes.  Because whoever is control of these things loves their moments of irony.


Calla muttered something that was almost a curse, but not quite, and then grabbed my arm, draping it over her shoulders.
“That’s gonna slow you down,” I protested.
“I’m not leaving you.  Xen would never forgive me.”
“Better get this out, then.”  I fumbled around until I got the comb.  “Lake’s probably not gonna hold her for long-”
Sure enough, we heard the sound of the mortar riding the wind across the lake.  I didn’t bother to look this time, focusing on running.
Calla said indignantly, “It flies far better for her than it did for me!”
“Well-” I gasped- “it is her mortar.”


Time for the comb.
I tossed it, just long enough to see it starting to grow into a giant impenetrable forest,** and kept going without looking back.

***

Much to my relief, Baba Yaga did not continue chasing us.  At least, not that I could sense, even though my abilities were a little off par at the moment, so she could have flown past us dressed as a belly dancer playing an accordion, and I might not have noticed.


Eventually we made it into a town with a teleportation mirror, and took the first opportunity to get home.  We materialized in the kitchen...where I’m ashamed to admit that I promptly passed out.
Hey, it had been a long week for me, okay?  And I’d just gone through a lot of physical exertion while suffering from severe blood loss; don’t judge me.


My last conscious thought was, Well, I can add this to my list of Times Tristan felt Useless.
It seemed like all I’d done the entire time was be captured/at the mercy of more powerful beings, and rely on others to do things for me.  I mean, it’s not that I wasn’t grateful to Xen, Morgan and Calla for finding out what I wanted to know, or the vodyanoy-duck for leading me to where the soul was kept...I just felt like I spent more time being acted upon than doing any acting of my own.  Definitely not my finest hour.


I regained consciousness to find myself in bed.  My limbs felt heavy, making me realize after a moment that Xen must have bitten me to keep me paralyzed for some reason.
How long have I been here?
My eyes slowly flicked open, and caught sight of Xen sitting by the side of the bed, glaring at me in a way that made me nervous.
Seeing I was awake, before I could even try to speak, she leaned down and kissed me.  Which felt wonderful, after everything I’d been through.
When she finally stopped, I gasped, “For a moment I thought you were going to hit me.”
“I did consider it.  But decided I’d rather do this.”
“Is there a reason why I’m paralyzed?”
“So you stay in bed until your blood cells have sufficiently multiplied.”
“Geez, doc, you’re taking your practice very seriously.”
She glared at me again.  “You have a bad habit of underestimating the extent of your injuries.  While that can be an admirable quality, it also makes me occasionally want to strangle you.”


“...How’s our son?” I asked.
Xen finally smiled.  “Waiting for his daddy to get better.  He keeps wanting to come in and play with you.  I had to be firm and tell him to let you sleep.”
My throat constricted.  “Well...can I at least see him before bedtime?”
“Of course.  Until then, go back to sleep.”
“Yes, boss,” I sighed.

***

So far there have been no nasty repercussions from Baba Yaga or Koschei the Deathless.  But we’ve been on alert, just in case.  And trying our best to recuperate.  Xen’s had me on a lot of bed rest while my blood cells regenerate and my broken wing finishes healing.  Phil plays with me as often as he can, and hopefully soon I’ll be strong enough to carry him on my shoulders again.  Calla’s been very quiet and thoughtful about whatever the witch told her.  I haven’t pushed about it, figuring she’ll tell me if she wants to, but I am undeniably curious.
For now, though, I’m trying to enjoy life with my family until some new catastrophe hits us.

* Snapping off a button in the process; dang it.
**Which, if the story was correct, she wouldn’t be able to go through, and every time she tried to fly over it it would just grow higher.  And trying to chop down the trees with her iron teeth would just result in splinters in her mouth.  Hopefully she wouldn’t try her magic instead; I wasn’t sure if it was resistant against that.

Season of the Witch part 19

Morgan and Xen had been digging for half an hour through ancient transcripts and texts.  When the little ones complained of hunger, Morgan gave them packets of fruit snacks and told them to go play again.  But she knew that sooner or later they would have to go home.
Xen hadn’t stopped to eat.  She didn’t even notice what her companions were doing; she was reading frantically through everything, claws tapping agitatedly and chewing her lips, not paying attention to the amount of blood she was drawing.
Suddenly, she made Morgan jump with the loud whisper of “I’ve found something!”
“What?”
She shoved the vellum manuscript under Morgan’s nose.  Pushing it back so she could actually read it, Morgan said aloud, “The writings of Bogdana Ivanovna Volkana.”
“Yes!  Look down there!”  Xen jabbed an excited claw at a particular paragraph.
Scanning it, Morgan saw that-once again-it had to do with Koschei the Deathless.  But it was the story of how he first hid his soul.

“The only creature that saw him do it,” she read, “was a vodyanoy that happened to live in the nearby stream, and knew the woods like the back of his webbed hand; he saw the exact place where the chest was hidden.  But when Koschei realized that he had seen, and because the vodyanoy had been charmed by another sorcerer long ago, so he couldn’t kill him, he instead sent him far away, to a part of Russia where nobody would dare go: near the home of his rival, Baba Yaga.
"When the hero Ivan accidentally freed Koschei many years later, however, he and Marya came to the vodyanoy for help, because they found out that he knew where Koschei’s soul was.  They went to the place the soul was kept, stole it, and controlled Koschei into giving up his hold on the couple.  They intended to destroy the soul, but the sorcerer successfully stole it back; after that, Koschei realize who had told them about it, and this time locked the memory away in the vodyanoy’s mind, so it would never be spoken again.”
Xen’s eyes sparkled feverishly.  “It’s not much, but it’s something.”
Morgan pulled out her phone and rapidly texted the information to Calla. That done, she said, “I need to get the kids home now. But call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”  After a pause, Xen became perturbed.  “I should see how Mom and Phil are doing…”  She looked torn between wanting to further help her husband, and taking care of her son.
Her friend gently reassured her, “There’s probably nothing more to be done for Tristan. But you can take care of your son. It will probably help.” She didn't have to disguise the longing in her voice. Xen knew how much it had affected Morgan to lose her baby three months into the pregnancy. 
She nodded slowly.  “You’re probably right.”  Then, with a sigh, she looked at the piles of books and manuscripts sprawled across the table.  “Do you think if we hurry, we can get away before the librarians see the mess we’ve made?”
“Bet I can beat you to the door!”
“Not with two girls to supervise, you can’t!”

***

It was quiet up here.  Nothing but the wind, and the occasional bird, and the repetitive motion of paddling the mortar through the air (Calla’s arms had finally stopped aching after every trip she took in it), and wisps of clouds overhead.  No need to think.  Just row, and stare out at the vast Russian landscape.  Focus on what you can control, not on the fact that you’re a useless weakling who can’t even stand up to the most powerful witch in Russia.
Thinking that made it sound a little silly for her to be so disgusted with herself; of course it would be difficult to do anything when going up against Baba Yaga.  But-but she’d fought Desmond Jessup once.  Sort of.  She’d pushed him into a cage.  Even if he didn’t have much magic, he was crazy and evil on a level equal with the witch’s power.  Surely if she could handle him, she should be able to take down Baba Yaga.  Instead she’d let her break the scrying glass, and was powerless to do anything about it.  Useless.


I’m not doing a very good job of not thinking about this.
Just then, her phone buzzed.  New text message.
Stopping the mortar (and giving it a stern rap with the pestle so it wouldn’t drop and lose altitude on her), Calla slowly pulled out her phone and read the message.
As she did, the despairing glaze fled her eyes, and a new fire erupted in her belly.*  Her body moved out of its hunched-over state, and she shoved the phone into her pocket, seizing the pestle and frantically changing direction until she was pointed towards the lake.
It seemed like an unbelievable coincidence...but something in her gut told her it was the case.  He’d been there for such a long time, and while vodyanoi weren’t that uncommon in Russia, perhaps he’d at least know who she meant if it wasn’t him.


Barely remembering to tie up the mortar, Calla leaped out of it and ran down to the lake.
“Pavel!” she shouted.
Nothing but bubbles in the water.
She spun a hand over it, creating a sort of tunnel, and shouted the name again, before closing it up over the sound.
Five seconds...ten...twenty…
Three red heads poked up out of the water.  The heads belonged to three beautiful young girls, all with fetching green eyes (with slitted pupils), pearly skin, and wide grins filled with sharp teeth.


Staring up at her, they giggled behind their pale webbed hands.
“Where’s Pavel?” Calla demanded, using her best Russian.
“Why do you want that sack of lard?” one of the rusalki giggled.
“He’s no fun at all to talk to,” another said.
“He smells like the moss he lives in,” the youngest-looking squeaked.  Even though their insults weren’t particularly clever, they all laughed, with high, musical voices.


But Calla was out of patience, and knew she was running out of time.  She flung out a hand, and a spell wrapped itself around the first rusalka, lifting her squealing all the way out of the water.
To Calla’s hidden relief, she was wearing what appeared to be a kind of sarong.  It showed off her long legs and big webbed feet, as well as quite a bit of the rest of her, but better than nothing.
The other rusalki screamed, and grabbed her around the legs, trying to pull their sister back into the water.  Calla just used the spell to pull tighter, and asked again, in a clipped tone of voice that really wasn’t like her, “Where’s Pavel?”
“He-he’s in the middle of the lake somewhere!  Probably taking a mud bath or something!” her prisoner (it made her feel guilty to think of her like that, but she had to admit that it was probably true) wailed.
“Go and get him for me, now.”  After a second, Calla added, “Please.”


She released the rusalka, who fell into the water with a splash, and was off like a shot, sisters in tow.
Calla waited, hoping that they weren’t just running away, so she wouldn’t have to chase after them.
Finally, the waters parted, and the familiar frog-like head rose up into the air.
With a sigh of relief, Calla dropped to her knees beside him, and without preamble, placed her hands on his shoulders and stared into his eyes.
The vodyanoy was astonished.  Had she really threatened the rusalki?
Calla admitted that she had, kind of.  But she wouldn’t have actually hurt them, she just needed his help.  Did he know where the soul of Koschei the Deathless was being kept?


Pavel froze.  He tried to deny it, shivering in repressed fear.  But thoughts can’t lie, and there was something, back in a corner of his mind…
Calla touched the area, covered as it was by black shadows and chainlike spells.  Where was the weakness...show me the weakness...there.  It was powerful, but also old and frail from lack of use.  She had done this before; granted, it had been one she had made herself, but still.  She broke it open, releasing the memory.
Pavel gasped with relief.  Yes.  Yes, he remembered the place where the soul was.  He hadn’t been there in years, but he could point out the exact tree.  He hadn’t spoken of it since he’d met that nice couple ages ago who needed help finding it.
If I sent you there now, could you help my friend retrieve it?
The vodyanoy was hesitant.  If Koschei found him, he might actually kill him this time, regardless of the consequences.  Besides, it would be hard if he couldn’t get out of this lake…
Leave that to me.

*This one slightly more pleasant than her previous rage.

Season of the Witch part 17

Author's Note
Just a few things: first, I have decided to change gargoyle physiology somewhat.  Gargoyles no longer turn to stone while sleeping.  Now it's only when they die.
Second, this upcoming month is Nanowrimo, and I am planning on participating.  This involves writing a 50,000-word novel in just thirty days.  To help me keep working on this, I intend to post it here, as soon as I'm done with this one.  So keep your eyes peeled, and if possible, please help me feel motivated to keep writing.

Morgan Hartford was walking down the street, on the way to pick up her daughters* from nursery school, when she saw Xen Wormwood sitting at a table outside of a cafe.
Even though her head was buried in her claws, that red hair was recognizable anywhere.
“Xen? Are you okay?”
She jumped a foot when she heard her voice, and quickly glanced up.
“Wha-?  Oh.  Hi.”
Her face looked normal, not blotchy at all, but her voice had cracked the tiniest bit.
“Tristan isn't back yet?” Morgan sat down across from her. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
She sighed, running a claw through her hair.  “My mom’s here, helping look after Phil.  I just-feel very helpless right now.  I don’t even know how he’s doing.  Or if he’s even alive.  I’d like to think he is, since he’s a survivor, but-you know.”
“I think I understand. What if we try to do something to help you feel less useless? Calla could tell us what he's trying to do, and maybe we can find something useful and Calla can think of a way to get the information to him.”
“I know what he’s trying to do.  He’s trying to steal a sword from Koschei the Deathless.”  But she sat up straighter, and pulled out her phone.  “Maybe Calla can create a scrying glass or something that can help her find him.”


A few minutes later, the reply came back, and she held it out to let Morgan see.
Baba Yaga let me use her glass.  I haven’t told her everything, because she might try to stop me from helping, even though that wasn’t strictly speaking in the rules.  He’s alive, but looks awful.
Xen sagged against the table in relief.
“There’s one less thing to worry about,” she whispered.  Then she typed furiously, Where?
In a forest, it looks like. He’s paying a lot of attention to the hollow trees.


Xen frowned, and rubbed her forehead.
“That sounds familiar…”
“Koschei the Deathless... Hollow trees... He's looking for the soul!”
“Yes!”  The frown intensified.  “That doesn’t bode well.  Maybe he’s planning on using it to bargain for the sword.  Anyone who gets the soul could control him with it.  Or even kill him.”  She tapped her claws agitatedly.  “Things are getting serious over there if he’s going that far.”
“It must be. Can you think of any way we could help him?”
“We need to check the library.”  And before she could protest, Morgan found herself being grabbed by the wrist and pulled in the direction of the library.  It wasn’t until they were there and halfway through their research that she remembered, in horror, that her children were still at the nursery school waiting for her.
“I'll be right back, Xen!”
“What-”
Morgan didn’t stop to explain, just running out as quickly as she could.


Poppy and Rebecca’s teacher, Mrs. Flaversham, was waiting anxiously outside the building.
“There ye are, Mrs. Hartford!  The girls have been worried to death!  Rebecca’s been thinking ye’ve abandoned them!”
A familiar tearstained face peeked out from the door behind the caorthannach, looking somewhat relieved to see Morgan there.
“Oh, Rebecca, I'm sorry!”
Poppy looked out next.  “Momma!”  She glanced at Rebecca.  “I told you she’d come for us.” But she looked equally relieved that Morgan had finally showed up, skipping out into her arms.
“I was about to take them home myself, but I’m glad you came,” said Mrs. Flaversham, mollified.
“I'm so sorry!” Morgan hugged her children to her, trying to console them.  At least Friedrich had an extra hour of school left, so she didn’t have to worry that she’d forgotten him too.


Xen looked very shamefaced when Morgan returned with her little girls.
“Sorry.  I forgot that you probably needed to pick them up.”
“It's all right, I forgot too.”
Xen showed her the pile of books she’d picked out.  Many of them were old Russian fairy tale books, or just completely in Russian.  A few were very ancient-looking, leather texts.
“There’s a lot of contradictory tales about where Koschei’s soul is.  In some stories, it’s already been found and destroyed.  But we know that’s not true.”
“What’s a koschei?” asked Poppy.
“It’s not a what.  It’s a who.  Koschei the Deathless is a very bad man who has hidden his soul, and Tristan’s trying to find it,” Xen explained.
Rebecca looked a little perplexed.  “If he doesn’t have a soul...then isn’t he dead?”
“I wish.”


“Poppy, how about you take Rebecca to the children's section?”
“Kay.”
Rebecca started to protest, “But-”  But Poppy pulled her off.
Xen gave her an unapologetic stare.  “It would solve a lot of problems right now if he was dead.”  Then she looked horrified.  “Did I just say that?”
“You're under stress. It makes sense.”
With a sigh, she went back to looking at the works.  “Generally in the stories, if someone is looking for his soul, they need to get the help of some obscure bird or something which somehow knows its location.  Two people who actually managed to beat him once, according to this-” she passed over a book- “are Ivan and Marya, centuries ago.  Marya used to be a guard over Koschei, until Ivan accidentally set him free, but eventually they beat him together by finding his soul and commanding him never to harm either of them again.”  Xen pulled out her phone, sending a text to Calla.  “And, of course, the details are hazy on how they actually found his soul.  D____t.”  Then she glanced at Morgan.  “Sorry.”
Morgan put a hand on her shoulder.  “It might be in another book somewhere.  Don’t worry, we’ll find it.”

*Besides Poppy, Morgan and Nathan had adopted a troll named Friedrich, and a little golden-haired girl named Rebecca who was half-mage, half-demon.  Rebecca’s story is a very interesting one indeed...but it will have to wait for later.

Season of the Witch part 2

Calla’s eyebrows scrunched together, and then raised.  “She’s real too?”
“Oh, yeah.  She’s real, powerful, and dangerous.”
“And she-and she wants you to come solve a case for her?”
“That’s not exactly what she says, but-oh, here.”  Xen passed her the letter.  For those of you readers who are irritably wishing for me to just say what’s in it already, you may read along with Calla.

Dear Chernobyl,


I need your help.  You must come to my cottage at once; this letter, when burned, will open a gateway.  Time is of the essence, so I suggest you do it soon.


I await your arrival.


Typically for her, the note was not signed.  I sighed.  As much as I knew that I didn’t trust the old witch, Xen was right about my curiosity being piqued.  If she claimed to need my help, then it had to be something big.  Maybe.  People with that level of power can afford to obsess over extremely petty things; just read the ancient Greek myths sometime.  Nevertheless, the idea that it could be important meant that I really, really wanted to go and find out.


“Why does she call you Chernobyl?” Calla asked, passing the letter back to me.
“It’s Russian for Wormwood.”
“Whoa, really?”  My assistant chuckled.  “That’s kind of appropriate, actually.”
“Very funny.”  I smiled as I went to the cupboard, and grabbed the matchbox.  “I don’t know when I’ll be back.  It depends on what she wants.”
“Why can’t she just come here?”
“It’s complicated, kid.”
“Do you have to go now?”  Xen gave me a slightly pleading look.  I immediately felt guilty; even though she was used to my job taking me off into dangerous situations on short notice, it definitely wasn’t easy on her.  Especially now that we also had a baby to look after.


I set down the matchbox, and put my arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.  “Should I wait until tomorrow?”
After hugging me back for a second, Xen placed her palms on my chest, gently but firmly pushing me away.
“She’ll probably just get cranky and retaliate somehow.  You’d better strike while the iron is hot.”
“Xen-”
“I’m fine,” she lied.  Seeing my expression, she amended, “Okay, I’m not fine, but that’s not important at the moment.  Go see what the old witch wants.”
My heart stung, even though I knew she was trying to do what was best at the moment, and I promised myself that I’d do something about it the first chance I got.
“Should I-” Calla began.
I quickly jumped in, turning and pointing a decisive claw at her.
“You are definitely not coming.”


Calla looked both confused and hurt, and I regretted the abruptness in which I had spoken.
“Why not?” she whispered.  It sounded almost like she was about to cry; maybe a bit of an overreaction, but she just wasn’t used to me talking to her like that.
I slowly crossed to the other side of the table and plucked Phil out of his seat, cleaning him off as I explained.
“Sorry I said it like that, kid.  I didn’t-it’s not that I wouldn’t want your company.  But I don’t think it would be safe for you.  Baba Yaga has this bad habit of collecting rare and interesting objects.  And to her, that includes people.  I think that if she knew about your eyes, she would all too happily add you to that collection.  It seems a lot easier in the long run if you just sit this one out.”


The hurt was still there, but now that she better understood the situation, it had faded somewhat.  Calla nodded.
“Okay.”
“If I need your help, I’ll text you.”  I extracted the washcloth from between Phil’s fangs, and handed him to Xen.
“Okay.”  My assistant sat down, combing her hair with a few fingers.
I kissed my wife goodbye, trying not to think that I was like Hector just before he went back outside the walls of Troy.
“I’ll let you know what happens, okay?”
“Okay.  And try not to start another international incident, would you?  We don’t need Russian spies as well as British ones persecuting us.”
“You kidding?  Baba Yaga won’t need to hire any flunkies to persecute me, she’ll just-”
A claw covered my mouth.
“Try not to start anything.  Capisce?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Thank you.”  She lowered her claw, and kissed me once more for luck.  Then I struck a match, and set the letter on fire.  Instantly it began to glow, and the ashes formed a portal which sucked me up, up, up and away…

In Russia, it's the Season of the Witch

I should have had a sense of foreboding when I saw the letter for me on the table next to my dinner plate.  I should have known the nerve-wracking horrors it would create for me and Calla.  As it was, all I saw was a black envelope with my name written on it in bright white letters, and a seal on the front that looked as though it were made out of clotted human blood.  Now, if it had been just a plain white envelope, then I would have had cause for alarm; those generally mean trouble.  As it was, when I saw it I just thought it might be a prank letter from Morty or something, and so picked it up with no cause for alarm at first.  Then I got a close look at the seal, and began to feel some misgivings; there was a picture of what appeared to be a mortar, with a pestle and a broomstick crossed in front of it.  That reminded me of something, something important…

Then I opened the letter, and after scanning it, gave my assessment of the situation.
“Oh, heck no!”
I flung the letter back down onto the tabletop, prompting startled looks from Xen, Calla, and Phil.  They jerked up from their respective dining activities and gave me the looks of frightened meerkats, attempting to assess if there was danger here.
“Sorry,” I said, picking up the letter from where it had landed in the gravy.  As I pulled it out, it turned as clean and fresh as before.  Typical.


“Who’s it from?” Xen asked, cleaning food off Phil’s face.
“Someone very important, especially in Russia.”
Looking very interested now, Calla asked, “One of the former czars?”
“Bigger.”
“Prime Minister?” Xen asked.
“Bigger.”
“Russia!  Russia!” Phil proclaimed, evidently liking the sound of that.  I smiled at the delighted way in which he said it, and at more evidence of his being an early talker, feeling some of my sudden black mood dissipate at his adorableness (even with gravy and pieces of shredded beef all over his face).  Meanwhile, I noticed that Xen’s eyes were lit with both clarity and alarm.
“Her?  She wants your help?”
“Indeedy-do.”  I handed over the letter for her to see; she took it in curious claws, and read through it.
“What would she need from you?  No offense, but she doesn’t seem like she’d need anyone or anything.  Least of all a detective.”
“Yeah, I know.  Do you think I should find out?”
“Even though you’re being cranky about it, I know you’re curious.  So you probably should, if you’re to have any peace.”
“Sorry, but who are you talking about?” Calla piped up.
I cleared my throat, and then asked, “Kid, have you ever heard of Baba Yaga?”

TANSTAV part 37

Chapter 10 part 3

Of course, nothing is ever that easy in my life.  Oh, we got home all right, taking the bus.  On the way, I even got a bit of strength back in my limbs (though I still needed help walking anywhere).  But when we got to the apartment, and were in the elevator, a familiar, noxious smell clogged my nostrils.  Don't worry, it wasn't Jessup.  No points for those of you who thought it was him, sorry.  Instead, it was the cloying stench of campfire smoke mixed with too much hair gel and cologne.  I glanced at my girlfriend (it felt so nice to call her that!), and could tell that she could smell it too.  Xen looked as perturbed as I was.

"Is that who I think it is?"

"Unfortunately, yes."  I hesitated.  "If one of you could push the button for the floor below ours, we can slip out, and wait until he goes away."

"Huh?" asked Calla.  "Who is it?"

"It's-"  Before I could finish my sentence, the doors to the elevator opened, and there he was, standing at the end of the hall.  There was no escape.

"You're looking rather...shabby, Tristan.  Good heavens, is that blood?"

"Hi, Art," I growled, as civilly as possible.

Yes, as you may have guessed, it was my 'treasured' brother, Arthur.  There he stood, in his fancy three-piece business suit, already a successful lawyer at the ripe old age of 23 (Personally, I don't know who in their right mind would want to be a lawyer; everyone knows that was a profession invented by demons, for the purpose of making the lives of others more difficult).  His hair was brown, like mine, but his eyes were yellow like our mother's.  In my opinion, he used far too much gel, so his hair would stay flat and slicked into place; it had no freedom.  He had a black ivory comb sticking out of his jacket pocket, and also a bulge that was probably extra gel, showing just how given to vanity he could be about his hair.  Every bit of him, from head to toe, was absolutely spotless and tidy.  It reminded me so much of Father, I could barely restrain myself from hunching my shoulders and glaring at the floor, my typical pose during one of his lectures.

"What are you here for?" I asked, stepping out of the elevator, with some help from Xen and Calla.  The latter was staring back and forth between me and Arthur; obviously she had figured out the connection between us, and was trying to figure out what would happen next.

"Do I need a reason to come and visit my little brother?" he asked.

"Typically, yes," I replied.  I had only seen him twice since my fleeing home; the first time had been to try and persuade me to go back (after finally tracking me down), and the second was to bring me a message from Father telling me how foolhardy I was to try having a job as a detective in a ‘hicktown.’  Neither meeting had ended well.

"So, what's the message now?"  The three of us began staggering down the hallway, with my brother walking alongside.

"No message.  I merely came to see how you were getting on in life.  Making sure that you are adjusting well to a life of poverty."

I didn't believe he gave a shard of granite about my welfare.  No, in all likelihood this was him trying to flaunt his wealth, show off how much better off he was than I, because he'd allowed our dad to teach him to heel on command, and I hadn't.  There was always an ulterior motive in our family; we make the Kennedys and the Tudors look like the Brady Bunch.  The only difference is that, to my knowledge, none of us has ever had an affair, or murdered our brother.  But if any of them had, it wouldn't surprise me too much.

"I'm doing fine, thanks," I said dryly.  "I've just cleared up a particularly nasty case, and I'd like to go lie down now, so if you'll excuse me-"

Arthur finally seemed to notice Calla and Xen.  He frowned.

"Who are these?"

"Xenobia Keller," Xen introduced herself.

"Calla Gardiner," Calla squeaked.  "I'm his assistant."

"Keller...Keller..."  Arthur mused the name, ignoring my assistant altogether, ticking me off even more.  Finally, his eyes lit up.

"You were our neighbor!  That girl that Father always wanted Tristan to stay away from--"

As he realized what he was saying, and what this meant, he cut himself off.  His face became shocked, as he scrutinized the way Xen was supporting me, and how my arm was draped around her shoulders.  She started to move away; being seen showing affection in public embarrassed her.  I only clutched her tighter to me.  Since we had basically let the imp out of the bag, there seemed no point in hiding things now.

"Tristan," said Arthur in a strangled tone, "am I to understand that you are in a-a physical relationship with this-this-"

"I am here, you know," said Xen testily, "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not.  And typically, I refer to myself as a chimera."

"And to answer your question, yes, Arthur, she is my girlfriend," I said, standing up as straight as possible.  "Actually, to be accurate, she's my fiancée now."

I thought my brother was about to have an apoplectic fit.  His face went dark gray (the gargoyle equivalent of blushing, or going red with anger), and he gasped, "You can't do this, Tristan!  You can't sully your bloodline by marrying a half-breed freak!"

"I can, and I will!" I shouted.  "Don't you dare call her a freak!"

I stepped free of the girls, and advanced in his direction, fists clenched.  Except for some staggering, I was able to keep my balance.

Arthur, though good in a verbal debate (which is just a fancy word for squabbling, in my opinion), and a hero on his high school air hockey team (by which I mean literally in the air), has never had to be in an actual fight before.  Ever since I became a detective, and even before that, I've had several.  I was pretty sure that, even if I couldn't actually take him, I could at least give him a good wallop or two.

My brother was unwilling to stay and face me.  He pushed past us, and headed for the elevator.

"Father will hear about this!" he called back over his shoulder.  "He will be furious!"

"Good!  I hope so!" I shot back.  "Tell him he and Mom are invited to the wedding, too!"

The elevator doors slammed shut on Arthur's furious expression.  Xen looked at me.

"Are they really invited?"

"It doesn't matter," I replied with a shrug, "They're not gonna come, anyway."

About a week later (after I finally got a new phone), the dreaded call came.  A fierce voice said through the receiver, in response to my query of ‘Hello?’, "What is the meaning of this news I have heard from Arthur?!"

"Hi, Dad, nice to hear from you too," I said, after a moment.  I had regained most of my strength over the week, and was feeling unusually bold.  Of course, if Dad had been there in person, I would probably have cringed and shrunk before him, like I had back home.

"Don't be impertinent, Tristan!  Are you or are you not intending to marry that girl?!"

"...Yes.  Yes, I am going to marry Xen.  In October."

"I forbid it.  And I forbid you to continue having that-that human as an assistant."

There was no pleading, no threatening, no explanations, just forbidding.  I snorted in disgust.

"I’m not your puppet, Dad.  You can't stop me.  I love Xen, and am going to marry her, whether you like it or not.  And Calla needs me, I can’t send her away.  Besides, she’s a mage.  She’s not an exact human."

"Tristan, if you ever wish to set foot in my house again, or see even a penny of your inheritance, you will comply with my wishes!"

"Okay.  Then we are agreed.  Bye."  And with that, I hung up.

Needless to say, I have not heard from him, or anyone else in my family, in the past three months.  But, since I have received a raise from the chief, as well as a rewarding payment from the Jorgensen and Skald families, and Xen's paintings have become incredibly popular (it's amazing what sudden fame will do for you), meaning she is getting more money too, I don't especially care.  Of course, there are times when I wish things could have been different between us...Oh, well, water under the burning bridge, right?

Jessup was sent back to prison, with security around his cell (and everyone else's, for that matter) increased tenfold, so hopefully nobody can escape, or be smuggled out, again.  Despite his pleading insanity, Fleming was convicted, and also sent to Chernabog.  This has all given me immense satisfaction.  So now, I can only sit in my office, or in my apartment, and wait for my next case to arise.

TANSTAV part 36

Chapter 10 part 2

As bad as that sounds, it was very necessary.  She had to check and make sure there was no shrapnel or remains of bullet left in my body, before she could do any real healing.  How can I describe the process of being vivisected while one is still alive and mostly conscious?  Let me see...oh, yes.  As I once said to an annoying reporter during the rare moment I agreed to an interview, even a masochist would find the process impossible to enjoy.  Xen has also told me that it’s basically the most disgusting thing she has ever done, but she knew she had to in order to save my life.  Some of the experience’s kind of hazy, and I think I blacked out once or twice, which was probably a blessing.  One of my more vivid memories is Xen reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small packet of white powder.

"What's...that?" I managed to gasp.

"Powdered Yoon bone," she replied, opening it.  "It'll help regrow your ribs and clavicles."

"They...shattered?"

"Oh, yeah.  Big time."

Despite the distressing circumstances, Xen kept her voice calm.  I admired her self control, and that she was trying to act like a doctor.

She took out a pinch of bone, and gingerly placed it in a few select places.  I idly wondered where she'd gotten it.  I hoped the Yoon it belonged to was already dead, or that the bone had had to be surgically removed, or something.  As the powder got in my system, the sharp pains I was feeling began to go away.  Ah, good, the stabbing sensation in my lung had dissipated, and with some spit, Xen plugged up the hole.  As soon as she was sure all the bones were put back together, after adding a bit of her blood to prevent infection, she coughed up a large glob of spit (also very gross), and began dribbling it into my wounds.  Once in a while, I would point out a spot that Xen had missed, or groan in pain, but other than that, things were going pretty quietly.  I noticed that Calla had freed the other prisoners (except Jessup, thank heavens), and had also moved Fleming, who was unconscious and bleeding, into another cage.  She came over to where we were.

"How is he?" she asked.

"He's on the mend, thank heavens," Xen replied.  The girl's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of relief.  It was then that I drifted out of consciousness again.

It didn't seem very long before I woke up again, but it must have been, because I felt a lot better.  Granted, I was still weak, and I once again felt like I had after being thrashed nearly to death by those hired goons (No, I am still unwilling to tell you about it; it was very humiliating for me); but I could tell that the holes in my guts and shoulders had closed up, and my insides felt good as new.  I slowly opened my eyes, and saw Xen staring anxiously down at me.  I was abruptly a bit anxious myself; having to save someone’s life by tearing them open, and then putting them back together, is a very intimate, personal process.  What if she was so repulsed by what she had to do that she no longer loved me?  Seeing me awake, she smiled with relief; but what if she was just trying to keep me happy?  Behind her, I saw Calla, who wiped her eyes, and cried out, "He's alive!"

I smiled weakly, hoping it wasn't showing my fear, and whispered, "Hey, Xen."

"It's about time," she replied.

Then, remembering something she'd said while attacking Fleming, I said, "Uh, Xen, technically I'm not your-"

"Tristan," she interrupted, "shut up."

And then she kissed me.  I shut up.

When I was finally allowed to talk again, the first words out of my mouth were, "Marry me, Xen.  Please?"

I know, this was not in my original plans.  But I couldn't wait.  I had to ask now, before something else happened.  She stared at me in shock. A full ten seconds passed, making me nervous.  Maybe she was too grossed out to still want me.  Then, with an expression of utmost delight, she cried, "Land sakes, Tristan!  I thought you'd never ask!"

Pulling me up, she hugged me.  I asked, "Does that mean yes?"

She sat back, and scrutinized me, trying to see if I was serious.  Realizing I was, she looked me right in the eyes, and said slowly, "Yes, Tristan.  Yes, I will marry you."

That made everything all right.

After a long, long while, I finally thought to see what Calla was doing.  I glanced over in her direction, and saw that she was standing by the altar, arms folded, staring up at the ceiling.  She was humming slightly, and I got the impression that she was embarrassed.  I tried to stand up, and felt my limbs all simultaneously collapse.  Thankfully, Xen was there to catch me before I could do a faceplant, and drape my arm around her shoulders.

"Take it easy," she cautioned me, "You just nearly died.  Give yourself some time."

Slowly we shuffled over to Calla, and I held out my other arm to her.  At least, I made a gesture at her with my free hand.  She came over, and hugged me around the chest, not caring about my bloodstained clothing (don’t worry, after gargoyle blood cools down, it’s safe to touch).  With effort, I returned it.

"I'm so glad you're alive," she murmured.

"Hey, I wasn't gonna leave that easily," I replied.  "Someone's got to be there to look after you."

Calla gave a small laugh, the first I'd ever heard from her.  It was sweet.

At that moment, the police finally arrived.  Ishida burst into the room, with what seemed like half the police force in tow.

"What the devil is going on here?!" he barked.  "What happened?  What's all this mess?"

Xen pointed at Fleming, and said, "He's the one you want."

I added, “You’ll want to arrest him for kidnapping, attempted murder, theft, necromancy, and deception.”

“Deception is not against the law!” Fleming, who was finally awake, squawked indignantly.

“True,” I shot back, “but it is a commandment.”

“The ninth, to be precise,” said Calla.

I nodded to her.  “Thank you, Calla.”

Two cops headed for the cage; I asked the chief, "How did you find us?"

"We traced the last signal we'd gotten from your phone, and-"  Ishida stopped, and frowned at me, looking confused.

"Why do you have blood on what remains of your shirt?"

"It's...complicated, chief.  I'll tell you in the report.  Just know that you've got two new prisoners, one of whom needs to go back to Chernabog, ASAP.  And let me know if you find a hooded cloak, or if Fleming has any notes about this.  I need something to add to my collection."

(I keep little mementos from all my cases in a file cabinet at work.)

With the help of the girls, I shuffled over to the cage where my enemy stood, glaring at me, his handsome face contorted with a paroxysm of deepest rage.

"Hi," I said.  "You know, being behind bars really suits you."

"This isn't over, Wormwood," Jessup hissed, "I'll get out again, and when I do, I'll come for you, and your lady friends, and make sure that before you die you watch them undergo the most horrible, painful-"

"Spare me.  If I had a dime every time someone threatened my life, I’d have-” I did a quick mental calculation- “about twenty dollars.”

“You've been threatened by two hundred different people?” Calla gasped.

“No, some of them repeated themselves.  Anyway, Jessup, you don't have a snowball in Texas's chance of getting out.  And if you do, I'll be waiting.  You name the place."

"Yeah.  We'll be waiting too," growled Xen.  She bared her fangs at him; I noticed that Calla, though looking a lot less intimidating, did have her best glare on.  She whispered, "I hope you enjoy prison, sir."

It was then that we decided to go home.  I'd had enough for one day, and besides, we had some plans to make.

TANSTAV part 35

Chapter 10
All right, so I lied about dying, as you may have realized from the fact that I am still writing this book; however, I do nearly die, which is close enough.  And almost get attacked by leeches in the bargain.

The first thought that entered my head upon feeling the bullet hit me was: Ouch.  It was followed a few seconds later by: He shot me!  And then I felt it explode into two bits, which flew out my shoulders (one of the nastier habits of splatter bullets), thankfully missing my wings.  I looked down, and saw a huge crimson burst spreading across the left side of my stomach, where the bullet had hit.  I lifted my hand to try and staunch the blood flow, but it seemed like time was slowing down.  My hand moved with all the speed of a glacier on the move, and was trembling like I had Parkinson’s disease.  Finally, I pressed it onto the wound, which shot a wave of pain through me.  It was about then that I realized I was falling, my knees collapsing under me.

As I hit the ground, ultimately landing on my back, I caught a glimpse of Calla, her white face covered in horror, screaming my name.

She really is quite fond of me, I remember thinking.  Poor girl.  I hope she doesn't blame herself for this, and that Xen will take care of her.  I wonder what Fleming's doing right now.

With unbearable slowness, I rolled my eyes over in his direction, and saw him staring back at me, with a very nasty grin of triumph.  He lifted the splatter gun, and cocked it at me.  I got the impression that he was going to shoot me again, maybe in the heart this time.  By some miracle, the last bullet had missed it, instead hitting what felt like several other important vital organs.  I stared back at him, wanting to go out bravely.  And then, I saw an angel above Fleming.  She must have been an avenging angel, because she was dive-bombing him.  A gray avenging angel, with furry wings, and red and brown hair.

"You-" the angel screamed, as she landed on Fleming, ripping the splatter gun out of his hand, "-do not touch-" her lavender eyes blazed with fury- "-MY BOYFRIEND!!!!"

Oh, Xen, I love you, I thought, smiling dazedly.  I'm sorry about leaving you like this.

She slammed Fleming really hard in his already-wounded shoulder and arm; he screamed so agonizingly that I almost felt some semblance of pity from him.  Xen was becoming quite vicious, hitting and tearing at him so quick and fast that he obviously couldn't even think about using his magic.  Calla ran across the room, probably to keep her from doing any permanent damage.  Dear Calla; she was so tenderhearted, even for the bad guy.

It was at that moment that Jessup woke up.  He blinked, and then sat up, obviously confused.  It appeared that Fleming's hypnotic hold on him had been broken, probably because he was so distracted at the moment.  The demon looked over at the altercation going on, glanced down on the altar he was on-and then he saw me.  He looked shocked, but then an expression of utter delight lit up his heavy-lidded eyes.

Uh-oh.

Slowly, Jessup got down from the altar, and, neatly sidestepping Xen, who was still trying to kill Fleming, and Calla, who was trying to get her back under control, he came over to my cage.  He pulled open the door, and crouched down by my side.

"Well, well, well!" he purred.  "In a spot of trouble, aren't you, Wormwood?"

"Oh, it’s not that bad," I croaked unconvincingly.

Jessup chuckled.

"It doesn't look like you'll last the night," he said, making polite conversation.

"Yeah, that's what they said about the Star-Spangled Banner," I shot back.  My vision was becoming awfully hazy, which made it hard to see his stupid sideways smirk.

"True, true.  But you're losing an awful lot of lifeblood, Wormwood.  Far more than can be good for you."

He contemplated me for a moment, and then murmured, “There are so many ways I could kill you right now.  I could, perhaps, break your neck, just like this.”  He placed one hand on the top of my head, and the other around my throat.  “I could jerk one hand left, the other right, and snap!  No more you.”  It was an echo of our conversation in his cell; I was sure he was doing it on purpose, as a cruel irony.  My slowly fading pulse got a few extra jumps in; I hoped he didn't notice my fear, as it would only spur him on.  With my luck, he did.

“Or maybe I could just throttle you.”  Both hands became wrapped around my throat, and he squeezed gently.  It was enough to start cutting my breathing off, so by the time he took them away, I was gasping a bit.

“Or, if I got my hands on one of those excellent scalpels our captor must have lying around, I could slit your carotid artery: quick, and efficient-”

“Just pick one already!” I growled.  “I get it, I’m at your mercy, blah, blah, blah!”

Jessup clucked his tongue, and furrowed his eyebrows at me.

“You've always had a mouth that was unable to close once it was opened, Wormwood.  But don’t fear, I’ve already decided your death.  And I intend for it to linger for as long as you’ve got left.”

With that, he stood up, and exited my cage, going into the one containing the leeches.  Grabbing a nearby pair of tongs, he snatched up a couple, and, holding them at arm’s length, began meandering back to me.  Somehow, my companions were so involved in handling Fleming, they noticed nothing.  I tried to move, or cry out, or something, but I was so weak, it was nearly impossible.

Jessup entered the cage, and dangled the leeches over me; they began thrashing around eagerly, obviously smelling my blood.

"These leeches must be enchanted so that they can drink your type of blood," the demon observed.  Since gargoyle blood has a temperature of over 128 degrees Fahrenheit, and gives severe burns to anyone who touches it, except other gargoyles, that did seem like the only plausible explanation.

Jessup suddenly lifted my hand off the hole in my gut.  I was unable to do anything about it, because I was as weak as a baby sparrow.  Dangling the leech-bearing tongs over my wound, he said, "You know, it's almost a shame you're going to die like this.  You were my greatest opponent."

"Just get on with it, you plant-spawn!" I spat.  For a demon, that is one of the worst insults you can call him without resorting to outright cursing.  Apparently there's this old myth in their culture about a demon born from a union between his father and a woman born from a tree (reminiscent of a dryad), and when he was fully grown, he caused 1000 years of destruction of the demons somehow.  So to call a demon plant-spawn (or son/daughter of a plant) is to ask for death.  But since I was dying anyway, I figured I had nothing to lose, and might as well tick him off on my way out.  Jessup lost the smirk; giving me a hate-filled glare, he began to lower the hungry leeches to the wound.

Without warning, he flew backwards, as if a giant hand had smacked him, slamming into the wall.  The tongs (with the leeches still attached, thank goodness) were wrenched by something unseen out of his hand, and zoomed back into the tank.

"Oh, no you don't!" an angry female voice shouted.  To my surprise, I recognized it as Calla!  She marched over, hands clenched into tiny fists.  Then she waved her left hand, and the cage containing the Ghul burst open.  The creature scrambled out in terror, and fled the house.  She let him go, and instead used her power to push Jessup into the cage, which relocked itself.  After that, I didn't see any more of what was happening over there; suddenly Xen was by my side, staring down at me.

With all the willpower I could muster, and the last ounces of strength in my body, I reached up and touched her face, caressing it.

"You're beautiful, my angel," I whispered.

Sniffling, she croaked, "You keep getting yourself into the biggest messes, don't you, Tristan?"

Then, grasping my hand tightly in one of her her own for a moment, she tore open my shirt and quickly began making incisions throughout my chest cavity with her claws.

TANSTAV part 33

Chapter 9 part 4

Well, at least he was being honest with us.  But the fact that I would receive a commendation for contributing to this maniac's plan did not improve my morale, oddly enough.  Don't get me wrong, I'm sure some people find the prospect of having their life force drained in order to create a vampire a very intriguing, even enjoyable idea.  However, I have a low tolerance for having my life force drained, especially if its purpose is for ultimate world domination.  I'm just conservative like that.

Not only that, but I could see some extreme flaws in Fleming's plan.  And, feeling I had nothing to lose, I took the opportunity to point them out.

"...So, what happens when we run out of humans?"

Fleming frowned uncomprehendingly.

"Huh?"

"Well, according to the myths, humans are the natural food source of vampires.  If, as you say, you plan on turning the whole human race into vampires, then what are they supposed to eat?  I suppose they could feed on animals, but with that many of them in the world, and such a limited supply of animals to compensate, soon there'd be none left, and then they'd have to resort to us.  How well have you thought this through?  I mean, since you started this with the best interests of monsters at heart, to suddenly have your creations start depending on our blood to survive is kind of-"

"SHUT UP!" bellowed Fleming.  "I'll worry about that when the time comes!"

Which was code for, 'I haven't thought about that possibility, but there's no way I'm going to admit it to you, annoying person who just made me look stupid'.  I should know; I've used that code before.

It was at that point that I suddenly realized that the ropes, though unbreakable, were not un-slip-out-able.  I figured this out by the fact that as I was shifting my hands, I suddenly found that my left thumb was free.

This is great!

Taking the opportunity, I began working on wiggling the rest of my hand out too.  Meanwhile, Fleming made a gesture with the bandaged hand, wincing as he did so, and Jessup slowly went to his side.  He handed over the splatter gun, and at Fleming's command, he lay down on the altar, hands folded across his chest.  I almost felt sorry for him; he was about to be used to create a monster that would annihilate mankind, and he probably didn't even know what was happening.  Then I remembered what he had almost done to Xen, and my pity instantly subsided.  I went back to concentrating on freeing myself.

Over in the corner, Xen and Calla were not standing idly by, like you'd expect of damsels in distress (believe me, they are anything but).  They were standing back to back, and trying to untie each other.  Since nobody was taking any notice of them at the moment, now seemed as good a time as any.  Needless to say, I did not draw Fleming's attention to the situation.  Speak of the devil, he was now pulling a chain that opened a hole in his roof (with the ends of the lightning rods poking through), revealing that the storm had reached its height.

"Perfect conditions!" he cried enthusiastically.  "A storm with thunder and lightning, yet on a night when the moon is full!  An exact replication of the experiments of President Newman!  Now to charge the spell with lightning, add my modifications, and then it will begin!"

Carefully, he levitated the spell into the air, until it was directly below the hole.  Then there was a short wait, during which I was able to get my left hand all the way free.  After that, it was a simple matter of pulling the loop of rope off my right wrist.  But for the time being, just for a moment, I stayed where and how I was, with my hands behind me.  I was idly curious as to what would happen.

Finally, I heard the sharp retort of lightning striking the rods (Two bolts at once, in almost the same place?  That’s a coincidence that pretty much only ever occurs in the places where monsters live) and sizzling down, to hit the spell, which suddenly turned a brighter shade of green, and looked a lot healthier.  Without needing any assistance from Fleming, the ball of light zoomed down, and hovered over the recumbent Jessup.  Fleming stood by the altar's side, smiling with glee.  Calla, now free of her ropes, started forward, but Xen grabbed her and held her back.

"No!" I heard her cry over a roar of thunder.  "It could kill you if you went in there now!  It's never a good idea to enter a pentacle when a spell's taking place!"

"But what do we do?  He'll be killed!" Calla wailed.

Xen looked despairingly over at me.  To her evident surprise, I smiled at her, and mouthed the words, "It'll be fine!"  In all likelihood, she thought I was either trying to reassure her by lying through my teeth, or I had lost my mind.

The spell left the altar, and began circling the pentacle, testing it to make sure it was sound.  It zoomed around the five points of the star, skimming the ground once in a while, reveling in its new life-and then it stopped.  Fleming looked startled.  He made as if to approach-and, remembering where he was, froze.  He couldn't leave the pentagon that was the center of the star, because that would expose him to whatever damage the spell could inflict on him.  The spell in question was hovering tentatively over one particular spot on the pentacle; if it had been alive, and given to emotions, I would have said that it was perturbed.  If you looked closer, you would see why: there, marring the perfect chalk circle, were five drag marks, creating a small set of holes in the pentacle.

You forgot about my stumble earlier, didn't you?  Well, believe it or not, even with my hands tied, I'm not that clumsy when the situation is serious.  I'd remembered that you have to be careful with spells in pentacles; they are very delicate, and if the pentacles or spells are messed up even the tiniest bit, it can destroy the whole thing.  I've even heard horror stories of screwed-up spells in pentacles turning on those who cast them, and obliterating them into nasty, slimy blobs of goo.  While I didn't necessarily thoroughly wish that on Fleming, it would certainly make fixing this whole mess a lot easier.

Suddenly, the spell went berserk.  It began leaping and jumping around the room, smashing into the walls (because of the flaw in the pentacle, it could leave), smacking into the ceiling and floor, just hitting everything it could-though, unfortunately, missing both the insane mage and the demon, but fortunately missing me and my companions.  An utterly horrified Fleming tried to intervene, to use his magic to capture and subdue the spell, but to no avail.  Old and senile as it was, it had soon beat itself to pieces of residue, lying here and there throughout the room.  We all (except Jessup, who was still hypnotized) stared aghast at the remains of what had been one of the most controversial spells of our time.  My historian's heart bled for it, and asked President Newman to forgive me for this desecration (though his soul, may it rest in peace, probably rejoiced at the destruction of his great folly).

"How could this happen?!" howled Fleming, clutching his hands to his head, wincing with pain because it involved moving his damaged arm and shoulder.  "How?!  What did I-"

He stopped, as his bulging eyes noticed the dragged-through part of the pentacle.  Suddenly looking a little murderous, he turned to me, and looked down, seeing the white dusting of chalk on the claws of my left foot.

I shrugged and gave a sort of grin.

"Oops."

Fleming was not appeased.

"YOU!" he screeched.  "YOU FILTHY, DESTRUCTIVE, SPELL-WRECKING _________________ INTERFERING ______________ LOUSY__________ SON OF ___!"

A lot of the vile epithets he cried out are ones I would rather not repeat.  Let us just leave it at the fact that they were mostly very opprobrious remarks, some of which were not particularly realistic or anatomically possible.  I noticed Calla wincing and covering her ears.  Good, she was far too young to be hearing that kind of language.  In fact, it was stuff that nobody should ever have to hear.  I think it was about then that Fleming grabbed up one of the splatter guns and shot me.

TANSTAV part 32

Chapter 9 part 3

I think he expected us to gasp in horror, or applaud him (though how we could do so tied up was beyond me), or something like that.  Instead, Xen asked incredulously, "What?", Calla inquired, "Do they not exist?", and I said, "Dude, you are even crazier than Colin Newman."

(Colin Newman: our fourteenth president, and an alchemist.  Was in charge at the same time as Abraham Lincoln was for the humans, though lasted a great deal longer than he.  Nearly impeached in 1865 for trying to create zombies using the corpses of Civil War soldiers.  Though in the name of science, his actions were voted to be unethical, as people thought it best to let the dead rest in peace.  His wife finally persuaded him that what he was doing was a really bad idea.  That, combined with the fact that his experiments nearly resulted in two of his children being electrocuted to death, caused him to suffer a nervous breakdown, and retire before he could begin his second term.  Also passed two bills before leaving the presidency: one making necromancy illegal, the other allowing any monsters to do experiments with science and magic, as long as they were not harmful to other creatures.  All in all, not a bad guy, but maybe too obsessed with dabbling in the secrets of life and death. Has his face on our five-dollar bill and penny.)

Fleming flushed with anger at my slight to his sanity.

"Newman was a coward and a failure!  He didn't have the courage to press on with his work!  I, however, shall succeed where he failed!  For I have actually discovered the secret of instilling life in a dead man, and creating a vampire!"

Like any really psycho villain, Fleming could not resist the opportunity to tell us his evil plan, and how he had come to think of it, in complete graphic detail.  Despite the precariousness of the situation, I found myself rolling my eyes.  He continued, "It is fitting that you should mention him, actually.  About a year ago, I was visiting his old house, and by chance, wound up in the attic.  It was there, amongst the exhibits, that I discovered the original spell he had been using to try and give his creations life!"

He reached behind the altar, and withdrew a large, glowing ball of light.  It was definitely magic, but it was the sorriest piece of magic I'd ever seen; a sickly shade of green, going black and white in some places, and barely with any glow to it at all.

"You'd think he'd want to reabsorb the energy he'd emitted doing that," I murmured.

"No," called Xen, "He didn't want that back in his body, he felt so guilty about what he'd done.  It was part of the reason why it took him so long to recover from his breakdown."

"Huh.  Wonder why he never destroyed it, then.  And nobody noticed that you'd taken it?"

"Nobody.  I used many concealment spells; you may have realized my great skill with them, Wormwood."

"Yeah, I did.  But wasn't Newman trying to create zombies?  Won't that mess with your idea?"

"Not at all!  I'm going to adjust it to accommodate with my desires!"

It seemed like this guy had an answer for everything.  He was still in a talking mood, which also seemed to be stalling him from his goal, so I finally asked the big question that had been gnawing at me: "Why, Fleming?  What are you trying to prove?"

"Haven't you realized, Wormwood?"  Fleming stared at me, his eyes protruding even more than usual.  "I'm doing this for the benefit of monster kind!  After this, we won't have to hide anymore, because the world will be populated by nothing but monsters!"

"Oh?"  I glanced over at my comrades, who looked as shocked as I was.  Even without looking in Calla's eyes, I could read her thoughts: this guy was a loony.

"Yes!  When my vampire comes alive, he will feel a raging thirst for blood, and will go out into the world, drinking that of any human he sees; either they will die, or they will become vampires like himself.  Then they will make more of their kind, and more, until soon, the entire world will be covered with vampires!  Don't you see?" he pleaded (yes, that was the right word for it, oddly enough), "We won't need to hide!  No more concealing ourselves from humans, because there will be no humans left!  We shall be free!"

"Except for me, Xen, Calla, and these other nice people you're holding prisoner," I pointed out.

"Well, yes.  In fact, because this spell is going to drain your life force to contribute to the creation of the vampire, it will undoubtedly kill you.  But your cooperation will be duly noted, after I become supreme ruler of the world!"

TANSTAV part 31

Chapter 9 part 2

I wasn't sure whether or not to be glad there was no one else around.  Because on the one hand, it meant we were going into the lion's den unprotected, and nobody would know where we were; on the other hand, if there was anyone who happened to see us, and Fleming noticed, he would probably kill or capture them, too.  So maybe it was for the best.

We were taken at gunpoint into his house (it looked like any other house on the street, except for the fact that it had two lightning rods instead of one-odd), and then had to stand against the wall in the hallway while Jessup tied our hands behind us, with enchanted unbreakable ropes.  I hated feeling so helpless; it reminded me too much of back when I had been living with my parents, and at my father's mercy, so to speak.  Stupid, stupid, stupid!  Why hadn't I looked for the possibility of a trap?!

It's because you're too impulsive, Tristan, the nagging voice at the back of my head said.  You need to learn to use your head for something other than to hold up your ears!

Shut up, I told it.  This isn't helping.

Well, what do you want me to say?

I don't want you to say anything.  Didn't you hear me just tell you to shut up?

At that moment, Jessup shoved me in the back with the gun, ending (temporarily) my internal conversation.  Must have been very frustrating for him, having me within his grasp, and unable to do what he wanted to me, merely acting under the orders of a crazed mage.  That is, if he was even aware of anything that was happening.  You never can tell with hypnotized people.

The five of us left the hall, and entered the living room-only the living room was gone.  The furniture had all been moved out, and the place was basically bare, except for what looked like a sacrificial altar in the center of the room, surrounded by five cages.  Inside two of the cages were the senator, and the Fonin!  Both of them looked the worse for wear; they had lost weight, and were distinctly shabby.  They stood at the bars of their cages, staring woefully out at us.  Two other cages contained a Ghul, and some small, strange, dark creatures of the phylum Annelida inside a glass container full of water.  The fifth cage was empty.  Something about their positioning made me wonder...I looked down, and saw that the cages were set at each of the points of a colossal star drawn by chalk, inside of a giant circle.

You have got to be kidding, I thought.  This guy is using a pentacle!

(In magical jargon, a pentacle is a symbol of a star inside a circle, and apparently has magic properties.  Can be used for summoning things, among other dark rituals.  Very commonly used during the Renaissance and medieval ages.  There has been some doubt as to their effectiveness, as they are very unwieldy objects.)

Fleming gestured to Jessup, who began leading Xen and Calla over to a wall by the side of the pentacle.  Thinking maybe he'd forgotten me, I began to follow.

"Not you, Wormwood," said Fleming.  "You come over here."  He gestured to the fifth cage.

"What?  Why me?"

"Why did you think I tried to kidnap your girlfriend?" he asked disdainfully.

"Uh, technically, she's not my girlfriend, and I assumed it was for whatever you were doing to the others," I replied.  I was beginning to see where this was going.

Ignoring me, he continued, "It was to get to you.  I needed you to complete this experiment, and knew you would do anything to keep her safe."

"Why couldn't you just use Xen?" I asked, staying where I was.

Looking impatient and annoyed, Fleming gestured to the cage imperiously with the splatter gun.
"I wasn't going to use her dirty half-breed blood!  I need a full gargoyle, and you were the closest one available!  Now get in the cage BEFORE I HAVE JESSUP BLOW HER AND THE GIRL'S BRAINS OUT!!!!"

I gritted my fangs at the slight to Xen's heritage, but I slowly went to the cage, stumbling a little on my way.

Once inside the cage (which he neglected to lock, probably because I was bound), I asked, "Before you do-whatever it is, can I ask what you are planning to do to us?"

Fleming grinned wickedly, taking the opportunity to rub his wounded side.

"You, my dear Wormwood, are going to be the final piece in this great revolution of mine.  I now have the strength of a troll, the shapeshifting powers of a Fonin, the fangs and tracking ability of a Ghul, the near-impenetrable skin of a gargoyle, and the bloodthirstiness of leeches!"

"What about Jessup?" I asked, gesturing over to him with my head.  He was still guarding the girls, his face still blank.  You know, without his sardonic grin, he was a bit nicer-looking.

"The demon?  I need his body."

I raised my eyebrow.

"Does that sound as disturbing to you two as it does to me?" I asked the girls.  Xen nodded, while Calla just stood there, looking frightened.

Fleming glared at me.

"He is going to be the host."

"For what?"

"Using all six of you," he said, gesturing to my fellow prisoners and the demon, "I am going to create," his voice rose to an incredible pitch in his excitement, "A VAMPIRE!"