Four on the Floor, Part Sixteen - Steemit Exclusive Urban Fantasy
Part Sixteen
I rest my back against the alley’s wall, patting over my various pockets just in case. No luck.
“Val? By any chance did you pick up my phone?”
“Hm? No, why?” He looks across the street, and then slowly turns his gaze to me. “A.J.? Your phone is a burner, right? I mean, if you’re working with the dead, you aren’t using a phone that’s easily traced, are you?”
My mouth parts a few times, but this has never been an issue before. I don’t what words are supposed to come out.
Oh fuck, I am going to jail.
“I’ll take that as a no. Billing address? Same as where you live?”
I shake my head. “P.O. box.”
“In your name?”
I shrug. I’ve been paying the bill online with prepaid debit cards since I can’t seem to open a bank account anywhere. The P.O. box hasn’t been an issue.
“Okay, whatever the answer ends up being, we need to get out of here. Quickly. I’m carrying a sword and you’ve got corpse gunk on your clothes, it won’t look good for either of us, and I’m not pretty enough to talk our way out of murder charges.”
“Really? You’re joking about that, now?”
“If I were full-blooded, it’d be true. We have to go now.”
“Where, Val? Where are we supposed to go? I can’t go home if there’s a chance the police will show up looking for me. And I doubt Bjorn will let us in if we’re murder suspects.”
“Just… anywhere that isn’t across the street from police who are going to find your phone in a few minutes?”
He has a point, so we start heading in the opposite direction as casually as one can when walking away from the police who are investigating a crime scene where they’ll find a phone filled with all of your photos and playlists. It’s a few minutes of traversing alleys and empty lots until I feel comfortable enough to talk.
We’re heading into the more barren sections of the Benedict, now, where closed factories were torn down or gutted so thoroughly that they’re just vacant shells. It’s not that quiet, maybe some construction’s finally going on somewhere. This particular vacant shell still has the poured concrete floor, though there are cracks here and there where grass is attempting to valiantly grow from this rotting industrial corpse. On another day I’d wonder about what they made, back when St. Benedict was thriving, and then ask a spirit who could remember because they appreciate any chance to talk about the “good ol’ days”, possibly be remembered, or know that at least one living person still knows their name.
“Okay,” I say while walking alongside Val. Is there a low-flying plane or something? It’s starting to get loud. “What’s the next step? There’s another necromancer out there, but I don’t know how to find-“
I’m on my back a moment later, Val on top of me. Both of us are coughing, the smell acrid, air smoky, the patch of poured concrete a few feet away bubbling as it dissolves and melts.
“What the fu-“
Val gets to his feet and pulls me toward the wall, looking skyward, and when I match the action…
That is not a low-flying plane.
Planes don’t hover. Normally, at least. They also don’t have heads and eyes unless they’re in a failed attempt at a sequel cash-in. Or scales black as pitch. Or feet with really sharp looking talons.
“Dragons.” I start giggling. “Of course. Dragons. There have to be dragons! Why not?” My giggling is turning into hysterics despite all earnest attempts by Val to shush me. “Let’s go bigger! Like… rats that are really people! And maybe some gargoyles are actually living stone, and hey! We’ve already got a Greek god running a law firm, let’s appropriate more cultures and bring in some First Nation gods too!”
At some point I sunk to my knees, laughing, crying.
“A.J., we… really need to get out of here.” He’s tugging at me, but the moment’s just too hilarious for me to move. Nothing is making sense anymore. Nothing is making sense.
“You’re telling me…” I catch my breath, strain to keep from laughing as a shadow, a large shadow, flows across the floor, over the gap in the non-existent roof. “That there are dragons, and one’s trying to kill us right now.”
Val nods, solemnly, and draws his sword.
I, on the other hand, collapse to the floor and resume laughing. Val drags me out of the way just in time to avoid another splash of acid, droplets hitting the soles of my Doc Martens, melting through the heel and turning it into goo. Frantically, I unlace and yank the shoe off before the acid eats too far in, which is an accomplishment in Docs, and throw it away before it melts completely.
Another low-flying plane sound, that I now realize is a roar. It’s coming back for another pass. We can’t run. It’ll melt the building if we hide, and kill us easily if we run.
I walk out into the open space, my gait altered because I’ve only got one shoe on. The dragon is flying toward me, while Val is screaming at me to run, get out of the way. I’m not expecting him to jump in front of me, which he doesn’t, we barely know each other, and I didn’t ask him to.
But reality has been giving me the finger and several other gestures all day.
I’m giving it back.
The idea that this won’t work doesn’t enter my mind. It’s life or death, and I’m not going to die, not today.
I stare down the dragon. I can do this. I will do this, because if I’ve got a fancy name now, then I’m the hero, and a hero can get away with anything because no one will ask inconvenient questions.
I raise my hand, turn the palm toward it.
“Stop. Land. Now.” The words flow out, channeled through the tone my mother would take when I’d get home two hours after curfew.
There’s a rush of wind as it beats its wings heavily, slowing itself, straining as it wasn’t expecting the sudden command. The earth rumbles as the dragon lands on the floor, the concrete crackling and crumbling under its claws, wings folding in, tail curling across one of the acid puddles, unaffected. It’s still looking directly at me, red serpent eyes crossed slightly to meet my own. It’s difficult to not start laughing at the look, but I don’t want to lose my momentum.
It’s teeth are showing. Mine aren’t.
Okay, Abby, you got this far. Now?
I stride up to it, while Val gapes in shock, and hook my fingers into the nostril of its SUV-sized head and pull down so it’s still looking at me.
“How DARE you? Attacking without provocation? Without introduction, like some cowardly snake? DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? You will cease this at once and apologize to me.”
Holy fuck, I’m scolding an organic magical engine of destruction it’s like a puppy who chewed up one of my shoes. Which it didn’t. It melted one of my shoes.
Later in my life, I’ll look back on this moment and realize I lost my grip on sanity. Temporarily, of course.
But it’s trembling, just barely, but with my hand still pulling down on it’s nose, I feel it. I have to go in for the kill.
“I am very disappointed in you.”