Far And Away
a modern fantasy anthology
by Scott Roche
Copyright © 2012
Scott Roche
All rights reserved by the author.
Cover image created using images by Byron Knoll, Zeevveez on Flickr, and two awesome public domain images (dragon and faerie)
Introduction
Have you ever wanted to escape the world for just a little bit? Of course you have. You’re reading a fantasy anthology, and what fan of the mysterious and mystical hasn’t wanted to do just that? Well I hope that this little group of stories about beings in that very situation help you along the road.
“Bitter Release” is set in the trench wars of World War One. A young soldier finds himself the sole survivor of a German attack and buried under tons of mud and stone. His only way out seems to be a case of spirits, but there’s more to the mix of absinthe and brandy helping him to escape.
“Hole Card” gives us a glimpse into a poker game on the edge of the apocalypse. The forces that run the universe are taking a little time out to see how the other half lives. For just a few hours their only cares are the riffling of cards and time with family. That is, until someone comes along who has a surprise up their sleeve.
In the third story an art student has an encounter with a spirit who can’t seem to move on. In an effort to help her, he builds “The Music Box”. Will the ethereal music free the little girl?
Finally, in “Bobby and Spinel” a little boy sets out to capture a dragon. As these sort of things generally go, he ends up with quite a bit of trouble on his hands. Both the boy and the creature want to escape the bonds of their entanglement and neither leaves unchanged.
Have fun reading these stories and check out more of my fiction, details available at http://scottroche.com.
Discover other titles by Scott Roche here: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ScottRoche
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Bitter Release
Shells whistled in the grim distance, growing ever closer as Will Thompson ran down the trench for cover. All of his mates had bought it, and it was just him for miles in either direction, as far as he knew. Sappers found a network of caves when they built these particular fortifications. You couldn’t go very far back into them before they petered out, but they were solid.
He slid down the ladder, canted at a forty-five degree angle into the darkness. Only an oil lamp beat back the foul dark of the caves, but it was better than waiting in the rain for death to come. He took the bucket off his head revealing close shorn blond hair. The grinding of the hand cranked radio filled the emptiness, as he tried to raise someone.
His only answer was static. The Jerries wouldn’t try to take this position until daybreak, so he had at least a few more hours to live.
The cot groaned under his weight, and he slid the green box with the red cross on it across the rock floor to his feet. The box showed up when he was looking for bandages for O’Malley. The Irish git didn’t need them anymore, his dead eyes staring into the clouds, his slack mouth probably filled with rainwater.
Opening the case revealed a half dozen green bottles wrapped in linen. He had unwrapped one earlier and uncorked it out of curiosity, when he'd seen the French writing declaring it “Atremblement de Terre”. Waving it beneath his nose, the bitterness made him cough. Behind the bitterness, he caught the unmistakable bite of brandy. One of the medics, Francois no doubt, had hidden this as part of a stash.
Thompson never learned the language but liquor was liquor. He'd decided not to drink it earlier, but that was when they still had a fighting chance. Now he figured he might as well get drunk, maybe even drink himself to death. It was better than a bayonet to the guts, and Uncle Les had looked mighty happy when he died stone drunk. He shook the thought from his head. He was too young to go out this way. There was still a chance he could raise someone.
Nonetheless, Thompson tipped the bottle to his lips and took a deep draught. It tasted a bit like licorice flavored bile, but no worse than what passed for rations out here. The brandy warmed his gut spreading fingers of fire through his body. Another slug went down, and the bottle clinked against stone as he turned back to the radio.
Static flooded the cave again. “Damn you. Come on! Someone has to be out there.”
Another shell screamed in, and he covered his ears. The explosion that rocked his hideaway was followed by a liquid sucking sound. His eyes bugged as grey-green mud poured into the hole, his only route back to the surface. He scrambled to the back of the cave to avoid the mudslide. It didn’t last very long but it stopped only because wood and rock from the reinforcing structure of the trenches corked the hole.
“Shit. I’m buggered now. On the bright side, the Jerries aren’t gonna find me.” Training kicked his brain into survival mode. A quick scavenge revealed enough tinned food and water to last quite a while. Light wouldn’t be a problem, as there was oil enough for the lamps. The wire leading from the radio to the antenna above ground was still attached. If the antenna itself was intact, he could still summon help.
He grabbed the green bottle and took another swig. “Gah.” It tasted absolutely horrid, but it lightened his spirits. Before long he had finished three-quarters of the bottle. That on an empty stomach made his eyelids heavy. “Guess I’ll have a little shuteye.” The cot felt like his Nan’s feather bed, the thin drab blanket a quilt. Sleep jumped on the young man like a rabid tiger.
When his eyes opened, he saw the age yellowed curtains in his bedroom at home. Late autumn sunlight poured like treacle through the windows. He was swaddled in blankets and felt ice cold, blazing hot, and hollowed out all at the same time.
“Home…” A tremulous, adolescent voice escaped his lips.
The white washed oak door to his room opened revealing the whippet like body of his brother dressed out in his drabs. Creaks and groans muttered from the floor as Clive crossed to young Will’s bed and sat on the edge. “Morning, champ. How’re you this fine morning?”
“Been better.” Thompson relished seeing his brother in the bloom of life, and he now knew that this was the last time he had seen his brother at the family farm in Hampstead. A fall claimed Clive's life not long after this.
“Rest easy then, and you’ll be on the other side of this spot in no time.” He rose to leave.
“Wait… Don’t go.” A trembling hand stretched out.
Clive stopped at the door and shook his head. “You need your rest Will.”
“Won’t see you again.” His lip quivered.
“Nonsense. I’m just off to drill for a bit. I’ll be back on Christmas Holiday.”
Thompson struggled to sit up. “No you won’t. You’ll die.”
“Die? Rubbish.” Clive’s jaw set firmly.
“No. You will. You’ll die falling from a tower.” Tears sprung from his pale blue eyes, and his voice thickened.
The elder brother’s face softened, and he crossed back to the bed. “Easy now. Rest easy. The doctor said not to get excited. What’s all this about me dying?”
“I can’t explain… I just know you w…w…will.” Tears crept down his flushed face. “I saw it in a dream.”
“There now. Lie back.” Clive helped his little brother recline and got a cool cloth from the bowl of water beside the bed. The water soothed Thompson's fevered brow. “I’m not going to die for a long time yet. Our kids’ll play cricket together while we sit and sip tea on the lawn and moan about the weather.” He beamed down at the boy. “You and I will be the best Dads and Uncles, just wait.”
Thompson struggled to answer. He wanted to warn him, stop him, but the fever dragged him back under layers of increasingly darker grey. Finally, all was black.
When his eyes opened this time wet smells and dripping let him know that he was back in the cave. Fingers fumbled around looking for the lamp or a book of matches. Panic started to mount, but he remembered the matchbook in his pocket.
Light almost blinded him as he struck a match. Even with its short life he was able to recover the extra lamp and get the globe off. The next match got it lit, and he breathed out a sigh. The ultimate blackness would drive him mad if he were in it too long.
His mouth tasted like someone had used it for an ash dump, and his head ached dully. Moments later he had a tin of rations and some water in front of him. Canned meat and biscuits weren’t much of a meal, but they would do for the moment. It satiated his hunger, doing little for the taste in his mouth. A canteen full of water helped that a bit, though the licorice taste still lingered like bad perfume.
As soon as he got the water down, the headache tripled, and his stomach made a wicked rumbling noise. The surest cure for a hangover was more of the same. His stomach might not like it, but the pain in his head kept increasing. He rapidly downed the last of the green bottle’s contents. Minutes later the headache receded. The taste wasn’t nearly as bad this time. Either he was growing accustomed to the bitterness, or it was killing his taste buds. Still thirsty, he found another bottle and popped the cork. In no time the liquid’s level was near the bottom of the label. After a resounding belch filled the chamber, his stomach felt better, and he giggled a bit at the echo.
The alcohol had washed away the last of the anxiety from the dream, and Thompson felt positively buoyant. The feeling didn’t last very long after he tried the radio again. He still heard only static and was beginning to think that the antenna had snapped off. It could still be atmospheric conditions, if the storm was raging. No noise filtered down through the mud and stone, so he had no idea. Getting up from the radio, he discovered that the bottle was empty. He shrugged and put the bottle next to the first one. A feeling that no one would ever find him and that he would die down here alone overtook him and he wept.
“It’s going to be alright little brother.” The flat voice came from the ether and felt like a dash of cold water in his face. Tears dried up as he looked around like a startled animal.
“It’s that dream, just a dream’s echo.” Thompson sat back on the cot and unwrapped another bottle. The first swallow was down before he even knew the cork was out. Glass rapped his teeth as he jerked it out. He recorked it and set the bottle down. He lay down again and thought about sleep. It didn’t come easily this time and wouldn’t anytime soon. The bottle called to him promising respite. “I’m not gonna give in to this thing.”
He tried playing solitaire by the lamp’s light, but couldn’t focus. Visions of the possibility of warning Clive danced in his brain. “Well, I’ve got naught else to do.” As soon as the bottle got to his lips he went after it like a hungry baby. Going down it was a cleansing fire, and it blossomed in his stomach. The taste didn’t even register. Once again his eyes closed, and he drifted off almost immediately.
His eyes opened to reveal the roof of his cave. At first he thought nothing had changed, but he realized that the rock was growing closer. Looking down he saw his body on the cot, arms crossed. Returning his gaze upward, he saw that the ceiling was almost on him. His arm thrust forward to stop the advance. It passed through the solid mass, disappearing up to his elbow in seconds, and kept going. Just before he passed through, he screamed but no sound came out.
His vision went murky for a moment, but soon cleared as Thompson found himself flying over the battlefield. Bodies were strewn about; cast here and there by cannon. Broken limbs, blood, and carrion stretched as far as the eye could see. Where the cave mouth had been, he saw nothing but a field of mud and shattered rock. Germans marched across the broken field searching for anything of value amongst the dead.
Thompson swooped down and came to a rest beside Captain Haggarty. The old man had been an incredible mentor to him. Now his body lay mangled by an enemy round. This close to a dead body he should be able to smell the blood and gunpowder, but there was nothing. The cold wind blowing across the fields likewise had no effect on him. He felt as though he should be crying at the sense of loss; even that part of him was as dead as the captain.
“Hello, my dearest brother,” came a voice as chill as the north wind, but welcome as spring rain.
Thompson slowly turned to see his brother standing just a few feet away. Clive’s body was translucent, and in an advanced state of decomposition, but Will could still make out details. “Clive? What happened?”
“Why, I’m dead of course.” A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth.
Confusion filled Thompson's brain with muslin. “I saw your body at the funeral, and it was whole and sound.”
“You see me as I now am, lying in the grave moldering.” The specter gestured at the death all around.
“Am I dead too?” Relief and fear mixed in his voice.
“No, little one. You are still among the living, but for how long I can’t say.” He drew closer. “You tried so hard to help me, Will. Now it’s my turn.”
“Did I really warn you? I thought that was all a dream.”
“Who can explain these things? Yes, you really did, but I ignored your ramblings as those of a sick little boy. I want to help you now. You must get out of the ground.”
“But I can’t.” Will shook his head. “I’m trapped.”
“Follow the green fairy. She will lead you out.”
“Green fairy? What’s that?” Before Clive could answer everything began to fade and Thompson felt himself pulled back to the underground.
His eyes snapped open and the lamplight revealed nothing had changed. He sat up and was plagued by the headache and dry mouth again. Three bottles remained, swaddled in canvas, and teased him. The thought of drinking water or eating any more tinned beef made him nauseous.
Time ceased to have any meaning. No doubt the lamp oil would need to be refilled. A series of mindless tasks along those lines filled what could have easily been minutes or hours. Grumbling from his stomach reminded him of the necessity for food but it still didn’t appeal to him. He opened a tin anyway and tried to eat. It was flat on his tongue.
The only thing that could appease his hunger was the bilious liquid in those bottles. It looked like he might indeed drink himself to death. He undressed one of them and looked at the bottle again. A voluptuous winged woman seemed to wink at him from the label. She was dressed in diaphanous green layers revealing nothing and promising everything. “You must be the green fairy I’ve heard so much about.” How a painted woman could help him, he had no idea. Death would be the only result of any further encounter with the drink. Yet, if he couldn’t trust his brother whom could he trust?
Thompson pulled the cork with his teeth and drank down the bitter nectar. The last three bottles went down with astonishing speed. Once again his body filled with a feeling of peace and the cave spun into blackness.
His eyes opened and a blaze of wild flowers filled a meadow that stretched forever. The beautiful redheaded fairy creature lounged on a blanket stretched out on the grass. A picnic basket - overflowing with fruit, roasted chicken, and loaves of bread - sat by her feet. She gestured for him to sit on the blanket beside her. He practically fell down in his eagerness.
“Welcome to my world Will. You will find peace here. Eat, my beloved. You are starved.” His appetite returned with a vengeance and he tore into the food, crumbs of bread and orange rinds began to litter the blanket. “Slow down, my love. You have time.” He stopped and put the food down.
“How long have I been down in the ground?”
“Days and days, the men above have come and gone, but let us not talk of these things.” Jasmine and vanilla filled the air around this creature, stirring his heart. His hand reached out for her shoulder, and she drew him into an embrace. He sobbed into her breast like a lost child.
“I know mon cher, you have seen such awfulness in your short time. Let me take it all from you.” The fairy woman kissed and stroked his hair as Thompson quieted. Birdsong filled the trees, and a warm breeze stirred the grass. They spent that afternoon like two young lovers and time bled away. The evening came with a moon and stars that one could read by.
“My brother said you could lead me to safety. That you would help me.”
“I will help you my love. Help you as I have helped so many. The world is an evil place, and I want to take you from it.” She caressed his face.
“Is this really happening?” He asked as the crickets chirped their age-old song.
“It is as real as you want it to be, love. Stay with me and share this bliss away from man’s war.” She lifted up on her elbow and stared down into his eyes. Her skin was like the finest porcelain. “Will you?”
“I don’t want to die up there. I want this life.” He lifted his head from the grass and drank deep of her kisses.
~~~~~
The crunch of shovels from above echoed down from the cave’s original entrance. Grunting and groaning preceded a blast of light, as the stones were lifted away. “I told you the cave was here. Those maps I found in the library were right all along.”
“Shut up, Matthieu. You like to brag too much.” A rope dropped down into the darkness, followed by a glow stick. The two college students rappelled down the ropes, avoiding the ruins of a ladder that had once led to the top. Marie frowned at the dust in the air. She was glad that the bandanna protected her dark hair from the dirt, and she turned on her small flashlight. “So, this was a bunker during the first war, eh?”
“Yeah. There was a network of trenches the Germans had overtaken, but they never found this. It was buried by a cannon blast.”
Marie screamed as her light played over what appeared to be a body on some green cloth. “My God!”
“Easy, girl. He can’t hurt you. Must have been down here when the place got buried.” He unclipped his own light from his belt and went closer. “That’s odd.”
“What?”
“Come over here and look at this.”
“God no. You could not get me over there for all the tea in China.”
“Oh don’t be such a goose. He can’t hurt you. Come here.”
The young lady crept forward and played her light over the rickety bed. On it laid an empty uniform she had mistaken for a body. She picked up the old bottle resting beside it and marveled at the beautiful couple on its label.
Hole card
Death walked out of the rain and into Lucky’s Bar and Grill in scenic downtown Lumiere. He snuck to the table in the back room hoping to come in under Fate’s radar. The beautiful, petite Greek woman didn’t miss much though and the lanky guy in a black Member’s Only jacket was no exception.
She cocked her head at him. “It’s about damn time you got here. You’re always late to the Game. What’s up with that?”
He shook rain from close-cropped white hair. His dark eyes smoldered. “Don’t give me your crap woman. I made it here before Love did.” His look softened and he gave her a friendly hug.
She snorted and pushed against his chest.. “This’ll be the first time death came before love I can promise you that. Now sit your skinny butt down and drink.” Small hands smoothed down her brief, white silk dress now rumpled from their contact.
That was the nice thing about her; she always knew what you wanted. He took his place at the large round table. The pint glass waiting there was as good as a place marker. A deep pull from the Guinness elicited a sigh. The senses and appetites that came with human form were a nice change. It was the closest thing to a holiday they ever got.
A pudgy balding man with skin the color of a really good cappuccino sat across the table. His loud, ill-fitting suit was that of either a used car salesman or a recently released mental patient.
Death cocked an eyebrow. “So that’s the best you could do Chance?”
The big man shrugged and the burnt orange jacket’s seams protested. “Hey, I was under the gun.”
“What? The Game happens like clockwork.” Humans had monuments built, just to measure the time between games. The brief period where they were off the clock was unique to say the least.
“Look, Big D, some of us are a little busy.” His head and double chins shook with the movement of speaking.
The man in black just leveled a glare at him. “Busy. I have gigs in the Middle East you wouldn’t believe. You don’t know from busy.”
The scent of sandalwood and musk stopped their argument from going further. Both heads swiveled towards the flimsy partition wall that separated them from the restaurant. The woman’s strawberry blond hair fell to her waist in even rings. Her blue eyes sparkled with merriment. “Hello, boys.”
Death felt the biological urges of his borrowed frame try to take over as his eyes wandered over her tight blue jeans and diaphanous white tee-shirt. He shook his head, clearing it. “Hey, no fair. Rule violation.”
She frowned, the illusion of ethereal beauty dispelled. “Oh pooh. You are such a spoilsport. I would have stopped before we started the game.”
Fate’s teeth flashed against her olive skin. “Have a seat, sis and stop giving the boys such a hard time. It always takes them longer to acclimate.”
Her pout turned into a warm smile. “Sorry fellas. I’ll play nice.”
Chance smirked. “That’ll be a first.” He sipped at his scotch. “So are we gonna play or what?”
Fate produced the cards and started to deal. “Don’t be so impatient. We have all night. Time is on our side.”
Death finished his Guinness. “Well the old codger owes it to us. We work hard and deserve the occasional break.” He looked at Fate. There was something in her eyes that wasn’t right. “So how’d you find this hole in the wall, anyway?”
The easy grin came to her face again. Her smile didn’t make it north of her pert nose. “This place is something of a science project for me. I’ve been playing here for a while now.”
“Ahem, excuse me folks.” All heads turned to a young man in khaki’s and a jade golf shirt standing in the doorway.
Fate spoke first. “We’re good on drinks, thanks.”
He smiled and waved his hands. “Umm, no I don’t work here. I was wondering if I could join your little game?”
The entities looked at each other and Fate nodded her head. Love slid over making a space between her and Chance. “Pull up a chair, you can sit beside me.”
“Thanks. My name’s Jeff Richards.” He made a small wave.
Fate’s eyes drilled into Jeff. “Well, welcome Jeff. I’m Chloe. This is Morris, Herman, and Erin.” Death nodded his head, Chance stood and shook hands, and Love winked.
“Nice to meet you all.” He pulled up a chair and asked,”So what’s the game?”
Death, now dubbed Morris, reclined a bit in his chair and answered. “Dealer’s choice poker. We just play for the chips and the winner at the end of the night gets to ask a favor of all of the others. It can be just about anything really and you have to do it. You game?”
Jeff looked around the table gauging the faces. “You guys seem on the up and up. Why not?”
Chance pushed a stack of chips towards him. “So what do you do Jeff?”
He raked the pile in front of him and began making even stacks. “I’m a grad student. What do you guys do?”
Death smirked. “I guess you could say I’m in the export business. I’ll take two cards.” He tapped the table in front of him
Chance grinned. “I’m between jobs right now. I usually take whatever comes up. Give me four.” Four cards slid from his hand face down on the table.
“Pretty flexible, huh? That’s cool. I’m good.” Jeff looked at the other two present. “What about you ladies?”
Love smiled warmly. “I’m a massage therapist, poet, entertainer. One please, sweetie.”
“Kind of a free spirit?” Jeff winked.
She looked into midair and nodded. “Yes. I like that, a free spirit.”
“And Dealer takes two. I dabble in the stock market, futures mostly.” Fate dealt the new cards.
“Quite a diverse group. I don’t recognize any of you from around town. What brings you to Lumiere?” Jeff sipped his beer.
“We’ve been friends for a long time. We have this poker game periodically and one of us picks a place. I picked Lumiere this time. Looks like dealer takes it. Straight flush.” The clatter of chips covered verbal jabs as Fate raked them in. She passed the cards to Chance.
The first hour passed quickly. Death kept a close eye on the human. There was something about him that stunk. It lurked under that “oh gosh” frat boy exterior and made Death’s skin tingle uncomfortably.
He wasn’t the only one that seemed distrustful either. Every once in a while Fate would shoot her eyes at Jeff in a way that was uncharacteristic. He was finally able to nail it down. The woman was worried. Over the millennium that he’d seen her take on flesh, worry was one emotion foreign to her.
Fortunes rose and fell and the sound of pleasant conversation mixed with the groans and squeals that accompany any good group activity. Well into the second hour, Fate got up and headed towards the restrooms. Death rose to shadow her.
He passed his door and she turned and held out her hand. “Sorry, Morris, this is for ladies only. You’re not equipped this time.”
He chuckled darkly. The last few dozen times he’d picked variations on goth chicks. It was a look and a cloak of flesh that he enjoyed. “I know, I know.” The smile on his face was as false as hers. “Is there anything I should know about our fifth wheel out there?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look... sis, you’ve never been very good at fooling me. We’ve worked too closely over time. Something’s up. I wish you’d just tell me.”
A tear trembled at the corner of her left eye. She shrugged. “I think it’s this body. Hormones, you know? No longer than we wear them, it’s always hard to get used to being a person.”
He felt his shoulders tense. With an effort he shrugged them loose. “I guess.” Fate took a step toward him, her hand flat on his chest. He relished the contact.
“It’s gonna be okay Morris.” She smiled again. This time it looked real. “I mean I should know, right?”
He took her in his arms and hugged her close. She returned the embrace and they stood there for no more than a score of heartbeats. The constant rhythm, the reminder that they were really alive, thrilled him. So many hearts were stilled in his presence. He liked his job as much as any of the eternal beings could really “like” the thing they were made for, but he would give all of that up for more of this. His lips pressed against the crown of her hair.
“Morris.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt. “Morris, I really do have to pee.”
He cleared his throat, suddenly thick with unfamiliar emotions. “Yeah. Okay. You go do that.” He smiled uncertainly. “See you back at the table.” She turned and he watched her go. If only they had more than one night, but then how much would be enough?
His thoughts returned to the table in advance of his body. One hand brushed the hip pocket of his dark jeans. There was a jade handled switchblade there. He could take the mortal out easily, even without manifesting his abilities. There was no good reason to though, and he knew, better than almost anyone, that it simply wasn’t Jeff’s time.
The game resumed when all the players were present at the table. Death worked hard to push his misgivings off to one side and tried to simply enjoy the time.
By the end of the night all of the chips were stacked in front of Jeff neatly and evenly. “Well I guess I’m a better poker player than I thought. Good game guys.”
At a nod from the others, Death got up and walked around behind him. He made sure that the door separating them from the rest of the bar was closed. Meanwhile, the others got up and surrounded the young grad student.
“Ummm guys, is everything OK?”
Fate spoke first, the grim look on her face reflected in the faces surrounding Jeff. “Everything is fine Jeff. There’s something you have to know about us. I’m afraid we haven’t been completely honest.”
Jeff’s face flushed and he began to stand. “It’s alright guys, not like we were playing for money or anything right? And that favors thing, well you can just…”
Death hissed. “Silence mortal. Remain seated.” The young man sat back down.
“Now there’s no need to be so rough, Dea…I mean Morris.” Erin chided the man in black.
“Mortal? Dea…death? What the hell’s going on here?” He stood. “This was just a card game for crying out loud.”
Love’s crimson nailed hand rested lightly on his shoulder. “Easy Jeff, its OK.” She nodded at her companions and they let some of their essence shine through.
Chance looked at Jeff and smiled warmly. “You are in a very good spot son. You own favors from four of the most powerful forces in the universe.
Jeff returned his smile. It was a sickly thing. “Well I guess I was right. Let’s see if I’ve got this straight. I know Morris is Death. Chloe must be one of the Fates. The lovely redhead is Love and you must be Luck?”
“Chance, actually.” The fat man’s brow furrowed.
Death stood there impassively. His thumb was hooked in his hip pocket and brushed the jade handle. Somehow he felt like it would be more satisfying to handle this the mortal way, rather than reaching out and taking his life force, prematurity be damned. He would have too were he not bound by the agreement they had to pay the winner. More pact than promise, failing to deliver wasn’t an option. “How did you know?”
“Well I wasn’t sure until you showed yourselves. I knew about your game. In fact, that’s what my thesis is on. My father’s library contains some rather obscure documents that have been passed down in my family for centuries. I found them when I was in High School and have done a considerable amount of research since then.”
Love cocked her head. “What sort of research?“
Jeff’s smile broadened and an odd gleam appeared in his eye. “The meat of it’s not really that important. It did require some travel; Tibet, Egypt, Machu Pichu, a rather obscure little University in Massachusetts. But it told me all I needed to know. You see I want more than a little favor. I want your essence.” Like a conjurer playing a trick, he opened his hand and blew a fine dust into the room.
Tiny motes danced in the air and coalesced on the four beings. They all fell to their knees screaming and energy flowed from them into a small pentacle now hanging free from around Jeff’s neck. He began to laugh. It was a laugh that owed more to the mad house than the fun house.
Death struggled to get to his feet, managing to get the switchblade out as he stood. The pain was immense and something completely alien to him. It was followed by a bizarre sense of being completely empty. “What did you do to us?”
“I told you. I took your essence.”
Love stood slowly. “What does that mean?” Her voice trembled.
“It means that you are mortals just like me.”
Morris lunged, the knife blade springing out as he moved. “I’m gonna wipe that smug look off your face.”
Jeff moved faster with an athlete's sure grace. A loud smack reverberated in the room followed by the sound of the knife sliding across the floor.
A glowing red hand print appeared on Morris’ face. “Owww. You hurt me. Ow.” He placed his hand on the spot where Jeff had hit him and felt the heat radiating from it.
“Get used to the pain and everything else that goes with it.”
From the floor Chance asked. “Why? How?”
Death had seen his share of heart attack victims and the fat man was teetering on the edge. Of course if he was right there would be no dying for anyone for a while.
Jeff’s own face was pinking up and he panted. “Well for the why you can ask Miss Chloe.”
The three looked at Chloe who still sat on the floor with her hands covering her face. Her muffled voice leaked out around her fingers. “We deserved it. It’s our destiny.”
Jeff practically glowed. “That’s right. You four have royally screwed up this whole deal. Just look at my life as an example. A stray bullet killed my fiancée. My mother’s been married four times. The only time I’ve ever won anything was tonight. I have a brother that can’t feed or dress himself. I got tired of seeing all of the pain you’ve caused and decided to take matters into my own hands. My research into the Old Ones told me how to end your reigns.”
Death snorted in derision. “So you think you can do our job better?” The hubris of these mortals shouldn’t surprise him anymore.
Jeff looked at him. “Your job? You guys are just personifications, figureheads. Those elder forces I talked about created you to pick up some slack and give them a break. They’ll return to the old ways of doing things for a while.”
“The old ways?” Herman stood up. “And how long is a while?”
“That’s right, the old ways of doing business. Don’t know what that means exactly, but it can’t be any worse than the present ways. As for how long, the spell should last for a couple of decades at least.” His bravado diminished.
“You don’t have a clue...” Death shook his head. The forces that this young man had mucked about in would result in a worse fate than he could have handed out an hour ago.
“No, I don’t have all the details. I’ll admit that.” Jeff took a deep breath and they gleam came back. “Doesn’t matter though. And hey, it won’t be all bad. Think of it as penance. You get to see what it’s like to be powerless, one of us poor meat sacks. In the end you’ll get your old jobs back. Might even let you off early if you behave.” He laughed that horrible laugh again.