I hold the phone while Hollyhock speeds to where Larkspur is. They fill her in on the details,
“You know about the DeadNettles organ running scheme?”
“I should, I’m the one who found out about it,” Hollyhock points out.
“Sorry to ask, but Tamara told me you blacked out and forgot again.”
Hollyhock is silent at that for a moment. She makes a face.
“Fair,” she says after a pause.
“Anyway, a few of the people they took broke out and they’re on the run. Some of them tried to get back home, others have nowhere to go. I got them all together, and I’m tryna get them on a train to GoldenRod City.”
“You bought them all train tickets?” Hollyhock asks.
“Paid in cash through a third party, I’m not an idiot, Holly. I hid them away but one of the kids was hungry and went out to get some food. A cop saw him, and now we got dirty plainclothes after us, a few DeadNettles too. From what I picked up on their chatter.”
Hollyhock sighs.
“How long ‘til they’re there?”
“Ten.” Hollyhock slams down on the gas. The car violently speeds up.
“I’ll be there in five,” she responds. “What gear you got?”
“Nothing loud,” they answer. “Wasn’t expecting a fight but here we are. I got a G24, two clips for it, and a PK74. Just one clip for it. Whatcha got?” I don’t understand a word of it.
“Whatever’s in the trunk, I got the green car. You got a mask?”
“Nah.”
“There should be a couple in the back. What’s the plan?”
“Fry the pigs, pluck the nettles and scrub any evidence of us being there. They don’t want anyone else to know about this fuck up, so it shouldn’t spread more than this.”
“And then?”
“I got a van and I’ll drive them to the train station by myself, I just need to not get shot on the way there.”
“Picky, picky, picky,” Hollyhock says while swerving around a corner. “I’ll be there soon.”
After more haphazard driving we arrive at the location. It’s a wide building with two floors. Hollyhock gets out of the car hardly a second after she parks it. The assassin quickly maneuvers to the rear of the car and pops open the trunk. By the time I get back there, Hollyhock pushes a button that flips the compartment around and reveals a hidden cache of weapons. It’s a veritable arsenal of deadly-looking things and things that I’m sure help with killing.
“You’ve been driving with all this, the whole time?”
“Yeah, all our vehicles have weapons stocked. Don’t want to be caught with our pants down.” She grabs what I think is a rifle. The assassin checks that the weapon is functioning properly. “Listen, we’ve had this talk before but this time I’m serious; you have to stay here.”
She holds up her hand as I open my mouth.
“It’s not that you can’t defend yourself, but you don’t know how to use guns and Larkspur is in there. ‘Less you want them to see you do magic, you’re staying here,” she asserts.
“That’s fair, but I don’t like the idea of you getting into a gunfight,” I counter.
“I’ve been doing this shit for years, I’ll be fine and you being here will be one less thing to worry about.”
The summer heat weighs on us both for a moment.
“Fine,” I utter.
“The windows are bulletproof, if you see someone sketchy then you duck down,” she instructs while grabbing and checking more weapons. “I’m leaving the keys with you, if you feel you’re in danger press that square button on the dash.”
“What does it do?” I ask. Hollyhock straps a holster to her thigh with quick and practiced ease. She then tucks a pistol into it.
“I don’t have much time, just stay safe, please.”
“Only if you do the same.”
The assassin picks up a durable-looking mask and puts it on.
“No promises,” her voice is muffled through the mask. It’s a frightening matte black visage, a few scratches indicate it’s been used before and that it works. She grabs a vest and tightens it around herself. She’s loaded up with weapons, ammo, and protective gear for her and Larkspur in a short time. “Stay,” she reiterates.
I oblige, sitting in the car I can’t help but feel the littlest bit impotent. Though I suppose I’ve interfered with her world enough.
🌿💀🌿
While I doubt she’ll stay in the car, but for now I have peace of mind.
‘Plausible deniability is the best kind of deniability.’
Thankfully there’s no one out in the streets to see me walking around with a small armory. I approach the side door of the warehouse that Larkspur told me about. I knock twice then once so they know it’s me.
The door opens with a horrible groan, and there they are with a PainKiller submachine gun aimed in my direction.
“Thought you said you’d be here in five?” They start.
“‘Hello Hollyhock, thank you for coming to help me in this inconvenient and dangerous ass plan’,” I dictate. Larkspur sighs.
“‘Hello Hollyhock, thank you for coming to help me in this inconvenient and dangerous ass plan,” they say back to me, albeit flatly. We shut the door and place a large steel security bar over it.
The building is an old warehouse, it seems like it violates a lot of work safety laws. But for our approaching fight, it works well. There are large crates all over the place and rusted shelves stocked with various products that aren’t for sale anymore.
“I had to make sure no one saw me walking around with this stuff, ok?” I lie. Larkspur wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I said I brought Witch-Hazel with me.
I hand over the gear and help put it on at record speed. With the helmet on we turn on the radios near the ears. A bit of static comes through first.
“Check,” I say.
“Copy,” Larkspur replies.
“You want the Koji-52 or the Balsam-45?” I offer both assault rifles to Larkspur who looks them over.
“I’ll take the Balsam,” they grab the rifle from me and do a quick check. The Balsam-45 is a sturdy Russian rifle, heavier than most, but unlikely to jam and shoots straight. And if you run out of bullets it can cave in a skull with ease.
“I always liked these steadfast workhorses,” Larkspur comments. I hand over the clips for the Balsam and move the clips for the Koji further up my vest. The Koji-52 is a fast-spitting gun that can empty a clip quickly with precision, but rushing the reload leads to disaster.
Tamara made us train day and night with this gun to make sure we never fuck it up. Just holding it in my hands reminds me of the sessions of just taking the clip out and putting it back in.
“Just admit you’re scared of the Koji,” I barb.
“Yeah, I don’t feel like having a gun exploding in my hands,” they counter. I have one clip for the PK74 to give and one backup for mine. We attach the submachine guns to straps and clip them to our side. I have two GoldenSeal Pistols on my thigh holsters.
I make sure the G24’s are on full auto and hand over a clip to Larkspur. Pulse flashlights of 60,000 lumens, and a couple of Karambits, all our gear is loaded up.
Larkspur tugs at the collar of the vest.
“This shit is so hot, you didn’t have any jackets?”
“My jacket isn’t ready yet. Where’s yours?”
“Needs to be treated,” they answer. “I’ll tough it out.”
We’re ready.
“What’s the sitch?” I ask.
“Besides the side door you just came in, there’s only one entrance to this place. They know we’re here, but they’re expecting a bunch of scared people. They’re not going to be on guard. The undercover cops are here just to keep whatever cops that are still somewhat decent in this town away. And the DeadNettles coming are hoping to fix this before they get blamed for this shitshow.”
“How many?”
“Five cops and six Nettles.”
This amount of recon lets me know that this wasn’t just a series of random events. And Tamara didn’t order this. Larkspur got Digit to bug the phones of everyone involved and planned this. Except for the shootout part.
“So we wait for them all to come in and take them out quickly before they can get their bearings,” I suggest. Larkspur nods.
“Hard and fast. Like that job back in winter.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me, that one guy died and fell on my leg. Needed a brace for a month.”
“And Holly...thanks, seriously. I-”
I cut them off with a raise of the hand.
“Think nothing of it,” I say.
I know that Larkspur lost someone dear to them due to human trafficking. To them, it’s the most fucked up thing to do to another person. I knew after I uncovered this organ-running scheme something like this would happen.
There’s no professional necessity behind this; this is a personal vendetta.
But Larkspur has always had my back, so I’ll have theirs.
Larkspur nods in appreciation that I spared us both a mushy gratitude fest.
“We make it through this, you’re taking the heat from Tamara and you’re buying me dinner for a month.”
“Christ, hopefully, one of them will kill me,” they joke. I almost make a joke back about the necromancer, forgetting that Larkspur doesn’t know about it.
‘Wonder how they’d take the fact that magic is real. Barely feels real to me.’
“We’ve never been lucky our whole lives, I wouldn’t bet on it now,” I say instead.
“Preach.”
The large overhead door at the front rattles as someone tries to open it.
We wordlessly go to the best locations for the ambush. Larkspur waits behind the door on the second floor. I’m on top of a shelf, the shadows hiding me.
No one ever looks up anyway.
The first one through the door, though dressed casually, is very clearly a cop. From the steel toe boots, regulation buzz cut, to the baggy shirt hiding a vest underneath, the only way the guy could look more like a cop is if he was fucking a donut.
The rest amble in, having a dumb conversation that I tune out while I assess them. They couldn’t be more of a mismatched crew. All the cops have heat on them and anxiously look around. I guess they have the most to lose. The DeadNettles leisurely make their way through the warehouse, a couple of them look annoyed if anything. One of them holds the keys to a car, expecting a quick retrieval.
The shot-caller of them holds a Thistle .22 and judging by how he carries the pistol, he knows how to use it too. He doesn’t know we’re here, but he’s prepared for anything.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
All the cops have Palmetto 6’s, standard issue; though I suspect these particular guns have “gone missing” from their inventory.
Having a dirty cop who knows about this scheme in our pocket would be useful, but Tamara refuses to ever work with the police on principle. Besides, none of them can be allowed to survive the day.
I wait with my finger by the trigger as they further ingress.
“Cops all got standard issue irons and vests,” I report to Larkspur. “Four of the Nettles definitely have heat on them. The one in a checker pattern shirt has a Thistle .22.”
“Copy,” Larkspur’s quiet voice says.
“You sure this is the place?” One of the cops asks.
“Saw the kid go in here, it’s gotta be!” a DeadNetttle answers.
“Let’s just get this done quick and quiet before we’re on the chopping block,” the leader of this crew asserts.
They spread out to search, the one with the keys in hand hangs out by the door. I aim at his head.
‘How many people am I going to kill today?’
I immediately push the thought out of my head and tighten my grip on the Koji-52, taking the safety off and making it on semi-auto.
“I’m going to check upstairs!” one of them announces.
“Cop coming your way,” I report to Larkspur.
“Copy. On your signal,” Larkspur says. I brace my shoulder against the stock and close one eye.
“Time to feed the streets,” I say.
✨🔮✨
Even though the AC is on, I’m sweating sitting here in the car. I haven’t heard any gunfire yet. I don’t know if that’s good or not. It’s nerve-wracking just waiting here. My habit of leg bouncing wants to emerge but I instantly hear my mentor’s voice admonishing me.
“Spend your energy on something useful!” She’d say.
It’s hard to find some-
I involuntarily let out a scream of pain as I sense the trembling magical signature of the necromancer. With its intensity, they have to be close and performing powerful magic. I dull the connection to the aura receptor again and look in the direction the pull is coming from.
‘Again? So soon?’ The necromancer being active twice in one day is not a good sign. I hope that Hollyhock will make it through her fight because I can’t let the necromancer slip through my fingers again.
I get out of the car and into the terrible heat I walk. Straightening my back, squaring my shoulders, and tightening my fists I head towards the necromancer.
“Let’s see if my training pays off,” I say to myself.
🌿💀🌿
I pull the trigger and whatever brains the driver had are now decorating the walls. Before he even hits the floor, I pivot to aim at the nearest dirty cop. Two bullets create new airways through his temple. I hear Larkspur’s gun go off upstairs. When the rest of them ascertain the situation, I backflip off the shelf and toss the flashlight to my left. The bright pulsating device catches their attention and they head to it rather than where I am. I take a moment to switch to full auto, look at where I threw the flashlight, and examine the shadows it creates. Two of them took the bait.
A quick bit of trigonometry and I aim for where their torsos should be. Holding down the trigger, a surge of bullets fly out and tear whatever’s on these shelves and the people behind them to shreds. They fall and knock over a shelf which quickly results in a cascading domino effect. The Koji is empty.
A cop moves to my side and has me dead to rights but in the distance, Larkspur gets him in the knee. He falls and I finish him off with the PK74. The gun turns him into a holey, bloody mess.
“Six down,” I say.
“Five to go,” Larkspur responds.
✨🔮✨
I hear guns going off in the distance but decide to concentrate on the task at hand. Getting closer I see where the necromancer is committing their latest heinous act. A surprisingly large house that seems out of place in this city area. It’s dilapidated with plants growing and dying all over it. A man is lying in the overgrown grass in front. I think he is alive, with a strange rubber hose tied tight around his bicep and a needle protruding from a vein. He looks in my direction vaguely, but his mind is miles away.
‘This isn’t who I’m looking for.’ I walk past him and head inside the house. It smells horrible here and I find some more people who are also hardly aware of my presence. Most are alarmingly thin and visibly ill. Upstairs I hear footsteps and sense the magic stronger than I ever have.
I pass more fatigued people and ascend the stairs. In a room that probably once served as some kind of parlor, I see the magician I’ve been hunting.
Their back is to me as they’re hunched over what I assume to be their latest victim, the necromancer does their twisted magic. They have long, dark and shiny hair that’s tied up in a messy bun. One long, dangly gold earring catches the fading sunlight and reflects onto their flawless olive-toned skin. Broad shoulders, strong and lithe muscles do their work.
There’s a distinct shimmer in the air around them that climate magic produces. It explains the outfit they’re wearing in this absurd heat. High-waisted pants with black, red, and white vertical stripes. The pants are tight enough to show off thick thighs with a shapely ass. A black long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Hot pink leather heeled boots. But the main draw of their attire is the iridescent crushed velvet half cape. It’s a glistening chartreuse thing that reaches down to their hips.
I feel like I’m getting a heat stroke just looking at them. A stair creaks under my weight and the necromancer snaps around to look at me. The front of their shirt has a deep cut that goes past the sternum. Their exposed chest is lathered with glitter-infused oil. A sharp jaw frames their face with prominent cheekbones. Thick eyebrows and long luscious lashes sit above piercing violet eyes that stare at me.
“Get rid of her,” their sensual voice commands. From my right, a colossal man steps into view. It doesn’t take more than a second to see that this is a corpse. His unnaturally pale skin hangs too loose from his body and there’s no light in his brown eyes.
It doesn’t change the fact that the walking corpse is the tallest human I’ve ever seen. He towers over me as a monolith of undead muscle. Whatever he did when he was alive serves him well in death, giant hands ball up into fists. Behind him the necromancer teleports away with their latest acquisition, leaving me with the giant.
“Not that matters,” I say to the recycled bodyguard. “But you’re just a pawn.” I clench my fists.
🌿💀🌿
Larkspur shot last so now all the attention is on them. The last remaining five have grouped together, creating a makeshift cover with knocked over shelves and large crates. They all shoot at Larkspur who only has a steel beam for cover. I reload the Koji-52 and advance on them. When I think they’ve forgotten about me, the DeadNettle in the checkered shirt turns around in my direction.
I somersault into the shadows again as bullets sail by and hit the wall instead of me. Larkspur turns on their flashlight and tosses it right behind the group. Instinctively, they all turn to look at it and are dazed by the bright light. Two of them move out from behind their cover and Larkspur vacates their skulls with the Balsam. One of them falls on the flashlight, bringing darkness back to the warehouse.
“Three left, two cops and a Nettle,” I report. “Watch out, the Nettle is sharp.”
“Copy.”
One of the cops comes towards me or where he thinks I am. I wait around the corner. His rapid breathing gives me a good idea of where he is. He shifts his weight in my direction. I dash out, moving his gun away from me with my left hand. My right hand has the Karambit in a reverse grip. I slash his throat before he can even process what’s going to happen. A river of red flows from his neck.
He’ll bleed out in seconds.
He futilely grabs at his throat and I grab the collar of his hidden vest. I let him fall back slowly to quietly get him out of the fight. His blood spills all over my hands.
“One more down.”
✨🔮✨
The lumbering giant swings his fists slowly but I can feel the immense strength behind each of them. He could kill me with just one punch.
I could easily end this fight with magic… but I shouldn’t.
Another punch glacially moves past me.
‘How hard can it be to kill someone with just your hands? Hollyhock does it.’ I wish she was here with me. After I duck under another punch I try to remember what the assassin caught me.
‘Keep your wrist straight,’ her voice says in my head. I punch the giant corpse in the side of the knee like I’ve seen Hollyhock do. It was a bad idea as my entire forearm hurts the second I make contact. I might as well have punched a brick wall. If it even registers to the giant it doesn’t matter as he slaps me with the back of his hand. The impact knocks me clean off my feet and I feel my jaw dislocate. I spin through the air and roll on the floor to get some distance between us.
Pain lights up the nerves in my face. I take a deep breath, put both my hands on my jaw, and push up quickly. The bone painfully pops back into the joint. I suppress a groan, open and close my jaw quickly to check. The giant lurks over to me and lifts a mighty foot up to stomp me to death. Just before it crushes my rib cage I roll out of the way. His foot goes through the floorboards. I kick him in the side to knock him further off balance and run into another to look for anything to use against him. Like the rest of the house, this room has been stripped bare.
‘Isn’t this America? Aren’t there supposed to be guns everywhere?!’
The giant has gotten out of the hole and is coming over to me. The only thing I see that’s useful is a large bookshelf that is devoid of books.
“It’ll have to do.”
When the undead goliath comes into the room and approaches me I think for almost a second that he looks annoyed. I wait till he gets close enough and push the bookshelf with all my strength.
It breaks apart as it hits him. I pick up a plank that came loose and bash it over his head. The wood splinters fly back into my eyes.
“FUCKING WRATH OF HORUS!” I stumble back and try to get them out of my eyes. Then I feel his massive hand on my chest and shoves me back. I bear the pain of opening my eyes and I’m glad I did because I almost took a trip down a flight of stairs. Instead of falling down and breaking my neck, I hit my back on the doorframe.
The burn mark between my shoulder blades flares in agony at the contact. Pain makes my knees tremble and blurs my vision for a moment. My opponent has cleared the debris off of him and gotten back up to his feet. I’m in worse condition than he is from this fight. Sweat drips from my forehead and rolls into my eyes. It doesn’t help get the splinters out.
“This is what I get for not wearing sunglasses,” I mutter to myself.
The undead man starts running at me. If I don’t get out of the way he’ll surely crush me. This is why I’d love for my legs to act like they know what they’re doing.
At quite literally the last possible second I sidestep him. He tears through the door frame and plummets down the stairs, but not before his foot hooks mine and pulls me with him.
We tumble down the stairs and I hit every single part of my body on the way to the ground floor. With a resounding boom, he lands first and scares some of the more conscious occupants of this old house. They get up and run away from the fight, some carry out others.
A gash has opened up on my forehead, blood leaks over my left eye. The parts of me that weren’t in pain before join the chorus of screaming nerves.
It’s at this point that I realize I can’t win this fight without magic.
I’ll have to be quick.
‘Pain is the greatest distraction for the mind,’ my mentor always says. I don’t have time to prime spells for both combat and recovery, so with a deep breath, I push the pain away to the furthest corners of my mind. It won’t make me feel better, but I’ll be able to concentrate.
The giant gets to his knees.
‘You’ll have all the time in the world if you prime the spell right. Never rush it,’ my mentor advised me once. I straighten my hands and small intense flames come out of my fingertips, focusing on pulling in more oxygen. The flames get hotter and hotter until they change color. When they turn a white-blue I connect each of the flames; forming an arrow shape around my hands.
‘This is relatively small magic, it should be fine.’
The giant stands up, looking only somewhat hurt. He jabs right at me and I sidestep closer for my attack. Thrusting my right hand forward, flames thousands of degrees hot sear through undead flesh and bone. I extinguish the flames on that hand. His thick arm is severed and the wound is cauterized instantly. Though I doubt blood would’ve come out anyway. With the limb gone he’s off balance, falling forward. I spin out of the way and he slams flat on his face. I maneuver behind him.
He struggles to get back up with one arm but it won’t matter. He straightens his back and I end this fight; thrusting my left hand through his neck. The spine and all that muscle provide little protection against my fire. I extinguish the flame as I snap my hand back. His heavy head rolls off his shoulders, landing with a thud. The giant’s body remains upright for a moment, the smell of burnt flesh stinking up the place. Then like the rest of him, it falls.
With a great big sigh, I dismiss the magic from my hands and the pain washes over me again.
“Okay, back to the car.”
🌿💀🌿
“Last cop is right behind the crate,” I inform Larkspur.
“Got it.” Larkspur brings out their PK and because this isn’t a movie the bullets go right through the wood and into the man hiding behind it. He falls over dead and through the holes, I see something like cotton stuffing inside the crate.
‘Are there toys inside these crates?’
‘Concentrate.’
There’s just one guy left. I’m sure all this gunfire has caught someone’s attention, some unaffiliated police might come and I’d rather avoid the clusterfuck that will be.
“No one lives forever,” I say to myself. Running as fast as I can, I rush towards him. My parkour training pays off as I hop off of and over various objects and close the distance between us. By the time he notices me I breeze by him, and slide on the floor with my G24’s drawn. The fully auto pistols virtually vertically bisect him as I hold down the triggers. His blood splatters onto me and he falls backward. The last one to know about the escapees is dead.
I put the guns in the holsters and sigh.
“Fields of Elysium, that worked.”
“‘Fields of Elysium’?” Larkspur says as they approach.
‘Did I say that out loud?’
“It’s...whatever.”
“That was dumb, stupid, and dangerous,” Larkspur chastises.
“Yeah, but how badass did it look?”
“Pretty fuckin’ badass, not gonna lie.” They offer a hand and help me get up. “Thanks again.”
“Wait ‘til you see the dinner bills you’re paying for,” I say with a chuckle. I give a quick look around at the death and destruction we’ve caused. “You sure you got the clean-up on this?”
“Yeah, cops’ll say this was a shootout between them and some punks. They’ll want to distance themselves from what these fucks were really doing here.”
“Just get those people out of here, and come back safe. I can’t spend your money if you’re dead.”
“Fuck you, Holly,” they say with affection. We give each other dap and separate.
It’s a miracle I make it back to the car without anyone seeing me. I’m drenched in sweat under this vest and mask, can’t wait to get this shit off. That’s when I notice Witch-Hazel isn’t in the car. Can’t say I’m surprised by that.
What does surprise me is when I see her walking, correction, limping back to the car. My heart drops in my chest at the sight of her. Blood is dripping down her gorgeous swollen face, there’s a bruise on her fist, and she looks like she might pass out from pain or heat.
I take my mask off and let it fall in the street.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“Should’ve stayed in the car,” she says.
✨🔮✨
The assassin has blood splattered on her.
“What happened to you?” I ask, pointing to some of it.
“None of it’s mine, or Larkspur’s,” she says sternly. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Figures she wouldn’t let it go that easily.
“While I was waiting in the car, I felt the necromancer’s magic nearby. You had your thing to deal with, so I took care of it,” I explain. The assassin is looking me over, though I know she heard every word I said.
“Did you get them? You stop them?” I shake my head.
“No, this,” I gesture to all of me “was from a fight with their bodyguard. The necromancer got away though. Guess it’s your turn to take care of me now,” I laugh a bit but Hollyhock doesn’t join in. She takes my bruised hand in her bloodied one and holds it dearly like I might slip away.
“You got the motherfucker who did this to you?”
I nod.
“He’s resting in pieces,” I answer. Hollyhock sighs in relief and presses her forehead against mine.
“Good,” she replies. The pain and heat are tremendous, but with Hollyhock here with me now; it seems much more bearable. For a second I wonder if this is how she felt when we met. Bloodied and beaten. Then again, she wasn’t expecting me, and I never expected any of this.
“What did they look like, the necromancer?” She asks.
“Kinda sexy, to be honest.”
“What?!”
Ch. 18 End