Random Synapses: Book 1 of Short Attention Span Theatre, page 10
“I don’t care how it happened,” I snarled. “You shot down an innocent girl without provocation! I’m placing a call to the local news media and to Waffle Haus corporate as soon as I hang up. I’m sure they’d all love to see the security camera footage of you mowing down an innocent employee,” I bluffed.
“How… uh… how is your waitress?” Spurgle asked. “May I ask her condition?”
“Barely alive, asshole! How do you think she’s doing?”
“We… um… we could get her medical attention if you give yourselves up, Mr. Mage. You don’t want this to escalate into –“
I seriously doubt Blanco County Community Hospital has an ichthyologist on staff, but thanks anyway.
“Screw you, Spurgle,” I replied. “The last one of our people that tried to talk peacefully with you is lying here riddled with bullet holes. Go fuck yourself.”
I hung up the phone and looked around the restaurant. Everyone stared at me with grave expressions; the straights in the corner booth were still wide-eyed with fright.
“You kids don’t need to stay in here,” I sighed, nodding toward the door. “This isn’t your fight, and I could get Spurgle back on the line and arrange for your release.”
They looked at each other questioningly, and then the oldest of the girls raised her hand. “Mister…”
“Al,” I furnished. “I’m the Sher – er, manager here. Do you want to leave, miss?”
“What will they do to you if we’re not here?” the girl asked.
I shrugged and met her eyes. “I’m not sure, but you all saw what they did to Serena. Probably nothing good. I’d have to defend us, and people might get hurt.”
“Then we’ll stay,” the girl said decisively. She looked to her compatriots for support, and they all nodded assent. “They shot Miss Serena for no reason. That ain’t right.”
One of the boys raised his hand tentatively. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.
“It ain’t school, son,” I grunted. “Say what you wanna say.”
“An hour ago I didn’t believe in elves and hobbits and dwarves,” he started to say, “and I reckon they’re all right, but…” his voice trailed off and he gestured vaguely toward the others, the ones that didn’t resemble the cute Rankin Bass cartoon images from their childhood. You could tell he didn’t want to say it aloud, but there might as well have been a little cartoon thought bubble hanging over his head that read: Monsters.
I cocked an eyebrow and turned to face the luska. “Miggy, you want to handle this?”
The luska slid out of its booth and turned to face the human teenagers. He rose onto his tentacles, inclined his head in a courtly bow and said in a lilting Jamaican accent, “I am Miguel Gonzalez, of Ocho Rios, Jamaica. My people fled there from Spain over three hundred years ago. I am honored to meet you.”
Behind him, the shoggoth burbled something unintelligible. The luska inclined his head toward his friend, nodded, and turned back to the teenagers with a sharklike grin. “My dining companion does not have a name that is pronounceable by human tongues, but he says you may call him Lester. He is also pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Pleased to meet you,” the kids said automatically.
Kharzak rose hesitantly from where he was slumped in his booth and unwrapped the shemagh from his face. He took off his straw cowboy hat and held it in both hands, nervously twisting the brim so hard I worried that he’d tear it off. “I am Kharzak, chieftain of Hill Country tribe of Uruk. I honored to meet human younglings.”
One of the boy’s eyes widened in recognition. “You work at my dad’s winery in Fredericksburg! That’s your dually outside!”
Kharzak smiled gently. If you didn’t know orcs you’d swear it was a snarl, but his voice echoed the sentiment. “Mr. Chapman good to Kharzak’s folk. We proud to work for Harvest Moon Winery.”
I looked at all the faces turned to me for guidance. “Okay,” I announced, “since we’re all one big happy family now, let’s figure out a way to get out of this mess.” I picked up the phone to call W.H.I.S.S.C. headquarters for reinforcements and guidance.
The phone was dead.
Before I could hang up, I heard a heavy “thunk” against one of the windows. Charlie pushed the edge of the steel curtain aside and reported, “Big box on a long cable leading back to the police cars. There’s a deputy out there making ‘call me’ motions with his hand.”
“It’s a throw phone,” I realized. “Can you drag it inside without exposing yourself?”
Nodding, Charlie lay on his stomach and wormed his way toward the door. He extended a mop handle out the door and carefully dragged the phone inside. When I picked it up, Spurgle was on the other end.
“We’ve cut off your communications,” he announced unnecessarily. “We’ve blocked access to all local cell towers as well. There’s nobody to talk to but us, Mr. Mage. Come on out.”
“Why?” I asked pointedly. “What assurances do we have that you won’t open fire again? Not only that, what probably cause do you have to even be here? The only crime committed was attempted murder by one of your deputies against my waitress.”
“My men opened fire on a monster,” he said flatly. “We had multiple credible reports of creatures that invaded the local Waffle Haus, among them…” his voice trailed off and I could hear pages flipping as he consulted his notes, “… a goblin, a sharkopus, a mermaid, a man with a dog snout, and um, Arwen of Rivendell.”
“A sharkopus?” I echoed incredulously.
“Half-shark, half-octopus,” he snapped testily, “plus a seven-foot-tall Gandalf wannabe carrying a big wooden stick that calls himself Mr. Mage. That sounds pretty sketchy to me, and it’s my duty to investigate such reports in Blanco County!”
I shook my head. “Go ahead and report that to your headquarters, lieutenant,” I chortled. “Tell ‘em Gandalf and the rest of the Fellowship of the Ring dropped in for some scattered, smothered and covered on the way to Mordor. See how that plays with your boss. Go ahead, call him. I’ll wait.”
There was a long silence. Finally, Spurgle came back on. “We want to know who all is in there. Where is Mr. Fortenberry, the manager? What about Kurth LeForte and Serena Soothsayer, the other employees? Have you harmed any of the customers?”
“The only person here who is wounded is the one shot by your deputies,” I spat.
And myself, but the less he knows the better. We can still contain this if we’re careful.
“… and that’s the way we want to keep it, Mr. Mage. Violence is only going to make this more difficult. That’s a line that is very hard to pull back from, okay? Let’s talk about this.”
“So talk,” I said shortly.
“What are your demands?” he asked. “Let’s start with that.”
“I demand you leave this property forthwith,” I said immediately. I knew he wouldn’t, but it was worth a shot.
“You know I can’t do that, Mr. Mage,” he said regretfully. “Let’s be realistic here.”
My head spun and I was having trouble concentrating. Think, Al. You’ve got to think of a way out of this. Normally I’d rely on my siren to dazzle the mortal authorities, but she was currently lying on my counter with a bullet in her chest.
“Let’s make a deal,” Spurgle suggested. “Let a hostage go, and we’ll get the wounded girl medical attention. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
I can’t do that. No way can I let Serena off this property without the glamour. They’ll spot her for a supernatural creature right away, and she’s too incapacitated to work her own illusion magic. She might die if she stays here, but it’ll be a fate worse than death if she falls into their hands. They’ll cut her up, experiment on her…
“No way,” I shook my head. “I don’t trust you.”
“Then let me talk to one of the staff,” Spurgle pressed. “Convince me that everyone in there is alive and unharmed. That’s not so much to ask, is it?”
I considered. Kharz couldn’t sound human on his best day, and Lester’s language was utterly inhuman, but the rest of us could fake it. The problem was, he also wanted to talk to Serena and Al Fortenberry, and he already knew my voice as Mr. Mage. He’d smell a rat.
I sagged back against the counter and banged my head against it with the phone handset pressed to my chest, trying to think. Mellisara looked at me quizzically and lifted her hands, palms up.
“They want proof of life and a head count of everyone here,” I whispered, “and I suck at illusion magic.”
Mellisara gestured imperiously for me to hand her the phone. “Hello Lieutenant, this is Serena Soothsayer. What in blazes do you think you were doing, shooting at me?” she demanded in a perfect mimicry of Serena’s voice.
I don’t know what Spurgle said on the other end, but Mellisara’s eyes took on a mischievous gleam and she said, “Very well.”
She then proceeded to give the good lieutenant 24 wholly fictitious names, all with completely different voices and accents. They all said they were alive and unharmed, and all of them promised to sue the Blanco County Sheriff’s Department and Lieutenant Andrew Spurgle personally for every damned cent they had.
While she toyed with the lieutenant, she spun around gaily on her stool, rolled her eyes theatrically, and made jerking-off motions with her hand. Even Kharzak found that funny.
“My name?’ Mellisara smiled sweetly into the phone. “Why certainly, lieutenant. My name is Minerva Hardcastle, chairperson of the Blanco County Board of Supervisors. The next time this phone rings, there had better be the Sheriff or a hostage negotiator from the Texas Department of Public Safety Criminal Investigations Division on the other end, or you will have served your last day as a deputy in Blanco County. Goodbye, lieutenant.”
“You’re not Minerva Hardcastle,” I pointed out as soon as she hung up the phone.
“I might as well be,” Mellisara smirked. “Minerva Hardcastle is a legend wholly constructed by my people to protect the interests of the Noldor of central Texas. One of my handmaidens attends the County Supervisors meetings in her guise, and she answers only to me.”
“Okay, so you’ve got political clout,” I allowed, “but I fail to see what the point was.”
“Why, to buy you time, Sheriff,” she answered. “It will take an hour at least to get a hostage negotiator here, and in the meantime any calls to Mrs. Hardcastle’s office will go directly to voicemail. Her phone is forwarded to my cellular, and as the good lieutenant pointed out, they have locked down the cell towers.”
“Mellisara, you are one devious elf,” I said admiringly.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” she inclined her head graciously. “May I suggest you set to paralyzing the rest of their communications capabilities? Lieutenant Spurgle may seem to be a window-licking dullard, but even he will eventually realize he is out of his depth and seek guidance from his superiors.”
“Way ahead of you, elf,” I smiled grimly. “Why do you think I’ve been sitting here gathering my strength?”
“First, all of you check your cell phones,” I ordered. “Make sure you can’t place any calls.” One by one, they all checked and shook their heads. Kharzak pulled an Iridium satellite phone from the front pocket of his jeans.
“Little phones not work at many places in vineyard,” he explained. “Mr. Campbell give Kharzak this for emergencies. It, ahhh, talk to sky spirits?”
“Kharzak, if your woman wouldn’t kill me for it, I’d kiss you!” I cried happily. “Give me that.”
I took the sat phone from him, placed it on the counter and gathered everyone else’s phones, placing them all in a pile. “If you’ve got any other electronics, put it in the pile,” I warned. “If it’s not shielded, it’s going to get fried.”
Several of them tossed their watches and electronic devices on the pile, and I quickly drew a circle around it in table salt. With a minor effort of will I empowered the circle and felt it surge into place.
“Okay, here goes nothing,” I breathed. I’m a pretty fair hand at elemental magic and channeling kinetic energy, and I can generally make fire and wind do my bidding. Water is tougher because water tends to cancel out magical energies and I don’t have the horsepower, metaphysically speaking, to overcome it.
On the other hand, I have an affinity for electricity even though I’m loathe to use that power. I rarely need it, and the few times I’ve tried to call down lightning made me feel like those squirrels and mice you sometimes see fried to a crisp in electrical panels. But, I reasoned, I should be able to channel electrical potential on a smaller scale.
Like batteries, for example.
I centered myself and closed my eyes, questing outward with my senses. In an ever-expanding circle in my mind’s eye, I could see brightly glowing spots of electrical potential; the electronic optics on the deputies’ patrol rifles, the patrol cars themselves, their portable radios…
I lowered my head and extended my left hand outward, fingers spread. I focused my will and whispered a word of Command. Immediately I felt my hair begin to rise, felt my skin begin to tingle. My teeth clacked together, vibrating so hard I thought they’d leap out of my skull and go skittering across the floor like those gag teeth, clackety-clack.
The power continued to build and I felt my hair stand straight up in a wicked impression of Don King. I smelled ozone, and I felt a red haze creep over my Sight, shot with arcs and streaks of crimson lightning. Finally I felt the power surge drop off to a trickle, and I gasped and opened my eyes.
“Al, you okay?” Charlie the necromancer asked with concern, a stethoscope in his ears as he checked Serena’s vital signs.
I shook my head and staggered a little. It felt like my entire body was about to go off like a Roman candle, and I had to find a place to discharge all that energy. I finally settled on the throw phone.
Pointing my right index finger at it, I croaked, “Everybody get back,” and then let it loose. An arc of brilliant blue light leapt from my finger to the phone, exploding it in a blizzard of sparks, bits of circuitry and melted plastic. Outside, I heard a pained yelp from the direction of the police lines.
“Serves the smarmy little bastard right,” I muttered, then the worn tile floor rose up and smacked me in the face and everything went black.
I came to with an excellent view of the underside of the counter and noted that there was a constellation of wads of gum plastered there.
Ugh. Gonna have to get Kurth on that if we survive this.
“How long was I out?” I groaned.
“Only a couple of minutes,” Charlie answered. “Your hair looks like it was hair sprayed in a wind tunnel.”
I struggled to sit up, and Kharzak and one of the teenagers pulled me to my feet. I swayed on my feet and shook my head to clear the cobwebs. My thoughts felt mired in molasses and I tasted the tang of blood in my mouth. I had bitten my tongue, apparently.
“Cops are freaking out,” one of the other teenagers reported, peeking out the window. “That Lieutenant with the bullhorn is shouting at everybody, waving his hands like he’s in a full-on panic.”
“He ought to be,” I chuckled grimly. “I just drained every battery they’ve got; radios, car batteries, everything. If they want to summon reinforcements or talk to headquarters, they’re gonna have to use smoke signals.”
“What is next, Sheriff?” Mellisara asked pointedly. “I presume you have an end game in mind?”
“Containment,” I nodded. “I can’t just blast these guys, and it would attract too much attention no matter what I do. We really, really need our siren. Serena’s the one who handles keeping the public oblivious. I’m more of a ‘blow things up and scare the shit out of the bad guys’ kind of operative.”
“Do you not have other operatives nearby?” she asked. “Where is the next closest Waffle Haus?”
“Dallas,” I answered. “Hand me the phone.”
I picked up Kharzak’s sat phone and dialed the number for Waffle Haus 814. No answer. Frowning, I dialed the W.H.I.S.S.C. operational hotline at Waffle Haus headquarters in Atlanta. It rang briefly and someone answered, but the connection was so laden with static and ghost voices that I couldn’t hear anything. I pressed the phone to my ear and stuck one finger in the other, straining to hear. “Hello? HELLO?” I said loudly. “This is Al Fortenberry, ID #73542 requesting an Omega tasking for a containment team and operative medevac at store #1347 in Johnson City, Texas! Hello? CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME?”
“Crap,” I muttered, exasperated, and tossed the phone back to Kharzak. “Looks like we’re on our own. Dammit, I’d love to know what happened to the glamour!”
Kurth stared at me, his eyes worried. “Is it possible that we have angered Faerie somehow, and they’ve taken back the glamour?”
“Doesn’t work that way,” I shook my head. “Faerie queens take their word very seriously; if Morrigan Ban Righ agreed ‘in perpetuity’ she meant exactly that. There will be Faerie glamour as long as there are Waffle Hauses. Besides, the absence of glamour wouldn’t inhibit my magical perception. It’s almost as if something is blocking it somehow.”
Stymied, I blew out a breath in frustration and ran my hands through my fried hair. That’s when I noticed something white and yellow on my hands.
Curiously I turned my hands over, examining my palms. “What the Hell?”
“You’ve got it in your hair too, Al,” Charlie said. “You look like a skunk, only with yellow stripes instead of white.”
The substance was chalky, with an almost glittery, metallic texture. Apparently I had gotten it on my hands when I went outside to rescue Serena. I rubbed at it and it smeared easily. If it was paint, it was of damned poor quality.
“Friggin’ Julian,” I muttered. “Leave it to him to hire the most cut-rate, cheap…” My voice trailed off as something occurred to me. Frowning, I stared at my hands and quested out gently with my magical senses. Everyone else stood out like neon in the diner, but when I looked down at myself, all I could perceive was a ghostly halo as if my arms ended at the wrist and my hands were a fragile scaffolding made of mist and cobwebs.
