Critical Failures III (Caverns and Creatures Book 3) (19 page)

Cooper ripped the pants the rest of the way off his other foot, and picked up the football pants off the floor.

“Do you mind?” Cooper asked Katherine, still covering up his junk.

“Make it quick,” said Katherine. She turned around.

Cooper stepped into the elastic football pants and pulled them up, careful to avoid ripping them. Donny’s father helped him strap on the rest of his equipment, and then he finally slipped on his jersey.

“There you go,” said Donny’s father. “Why if you ain’t the spittin’ image of Drew Brees!”

“Is that whose jersey this is?” asked Cooper.

“Well sure it is. There’s a big ol’ number 9 right there.”

“Sweet!”

There was a loud, creaking groan from behind as footballs and helmets began to fall from the shelves.

“What the hell?” asked Donny’s father.

Before Cooper knew it, the entire shelving unit came crashing down on them. It might have squashed them all like bugs if it hadn’t first hit the unit on the other side of the aisle. Still they were trapped in a triangle too small to move around in.

Katherine lay on her back, pushing against the shelving unit with her feet. She raised it a few inches, just enough for Cooper to spot little naked Ginfizzle making a run for the exit.

“He’s going to get away!” said Cooper.

“Like hell he is!” said Katherine, letting go of the shelving unit. It fell onto Cooper’s helmeted head.

“Ow.”

Katherine dissolved into a mist and seeped out of the aisle through the gaps between shelves and football equipment.

“Her too?” asked Donny’s father. “Can you do that?”

“No,” said Cooper. “But I can do this.” He lay down on his back, braced his feet against the shelving unit, and said, “I’m really angry!”

His heart raced, feeding blood to his expanding mass of muscles. His helmet fit tighter on his head. His football pants felt like they had stretched to their limit. His shoulder pads fit like he had accidentally put on a child’s pair. He kicked the shelving unit so hard that it overcorrected itself and fell the other way.

“Goddamn!” said Donny’s father.

Cooper ran after Katherine and Ginfizzle, who were both in their corporal forms again. As fast as he was, he wasn’t going to catch them before Ginfizzle escaped into the night again.

“What’s with these fucking rats?” said a police officer as he entered the store. “Everyone calm down!” he said, addressing the crowd of people standing on top of the checkout conveyers. “Can somebody tell me what the hell all of this commotion is about?”

“There!” said a young Asian woman, pointing Cooper’s way.

The officer looked first at Ginfizzle. “What the hell?”

Katherine threw a billiard ball at Ginfizzle’s head, hitting it pretty fucking hard.

“Yaaaaaah!” cried Ginfizzle as he tumbled forward.

“Hey!” said the police officer, putting his hand on the gun in his belt holster, but then looked quizzically at Ginfizzle, who barely missed a step and was back up and running again.

When the officer finally noticed Cooper, he drew his weapon and fired, catching Cooper in the chest.

Cooper knew he’d been hit, but the pain barely registered.

“No!” Katherine cried. She stopped and gave the police officer a good hard stare. When their eyes were locked, she said, “Shoot the boy.”

“As my master commands,” said the police officer. He pointed his gun at the defenseless, naked little boy and pulled the trigger.

Just as the shot was fired, Ginfizzle took his mist form again. It was impossible to tell whether he caught the bullet first or not.

“Holy shit!” said the police officer. “He exploded!

Everyone on top of the checkout conveyers screamed. They screamed at what they thought were tiny particles of vaporized little boy hanging among them in the air. Some of them still screamed about the rats. But mostly they screamed at the huge monster still running toward them after having taken a bullet to the chest. Cooper couldn’t blame them.

“Stay behind me, Master,” said the police officer, pointing his gun at Cooper.

“No!” Katherine pushed him, but the gun fired, hitting Cooper in his right arm. She spun the officer around and took the gun out of his hand. “Stop shooting Drew Brees!”

“That’s Drew Brees?” said the officer. “Forgive me, Master, but I don’t think –”

“Do you doubt me!” said Katherine.

“Never, Master! I am your humble serv— Holy shit! I just shot Drew Brees!” He spun around toward Cooper. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Brees! Oh my God, is that your throwing arm?”

“It’s cool,” said Cooper. “I’ll be good as new in a day.”

“Do you think I could get you to sign an autograph for my son? He’s a big fan.”

Cooper thought. Would Drew Brees want people to think he was illiterate, or just an asshole? It was a conundrum. Cooper made a judgment call. “No,” he said. “Fuck off.”

“Come on!” said Katherine. “Ginny’s getting away.”

The pink cloud had reached the glass front doors and was slowly seeping between the gap between them. Once the mist got outside it made a hard right, traveling in a thin stream much faster than it had been traveling inside, disappearing behind the brick wall. The mist that hadn’t yet escaped through the door began to coalesce into quasi-corporal forms. Two hands, clutching at the double doors, trying to pull itself back inside. Just above the hands, it took on the form of Ginfizzle’s desperate, panicked face. These forms melted as more and more of the mist seeped through the crack in the doors.

Cooper and Katherine followed it outside, but there was no cloud of mist. No dire wolves or bats. Just a groundskeeper standing behind Tim, who was holding a running leaf blower.

“Open the bag,” said Tim.

Cooper pulled out the Bag of Holding. Tim put the end of the leaf blower into the bag, changed the setting from ‘suck’ to ‘blow’, and blew Ginfizzle into captivity.

Chapter 24

“Some chick we found wandering around on the mountain,” said the one who had grabbed Stacy on the mountain. His voice wasn’t like the others. It was rougher and throatier, like Cooper’s, but without any of the kindness or swearing. “Mordred says we’re supposed to keep her safe and keep our hands off her.”

That was some small consolation, though the one who had frisked her and tied her up did more thorough a job checking her for weapons than was strictly necessary. Still, wherever she was, it was better than the fate she’d thought she had in store. Nerd rape in an Olive Garden bathroom.

The big one lifted her up off the carpet and set her down on cold, hard stone. The bag was yanked off her head. She was determined not to cry or show any fear, but four pairs of eyes staring back at her overrode her determination. The gag kept her from crying out, but she had no doubt that her own eyes were positively radiating fear, just as surely as her captors’ eyes broadcasted their own emotions.

The big one with the monster face and shiny armor sneered at her. He just flat out hated her.

The tall, skinny guy next to him was the one she had to watch out for. He licked his lips. His rat-like eyes were full of lust. He was the one who had frisked her and curled her hair around his fingers while they traveled. Stacy had no doubt the wheels inside his head were turning, looking for a loophole around Mordred’s orders. She made it her first priority to never be alone with him.

The pale one in the black hooded robe was the one who frightened her most. He looked at her with cold, calculating disinterest. She wasn’t a person to him, or even a disposable piece of ass. She was a card to be played at a more opportune moment.

Only the new guy, the one who hadn’t been with the group when she was taken, appeared to have any humanity in him. His eyes darted back and forth between Stacy and his companions, and the concern she saw in them told her that he shared her assessment of their feelings toward her. Or else he could be drunk.

“I’m going to go back and finish off that nest of dragons,” said the big one. “Are you guys coming, or are you going to stay here and jerk off to your new pet?”

“You all go,” said the thin one. “I’ll stay here and watch over her.”

“No!” said the new guy, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. The rest of them looked at him. “You need to level up.”
Good save, dude.

“Scott is correct,” said the pale one. He turned to the thin one. “You’ve done too much whoring and too little fighting. You’re at least three levels below the rest of us, and you’re only a rogue.”

“
Only a rogue?
” said the thin one. “Was I
only a rogue
when I disarmed the trap that would have filled you with poisoned darts?”

“Your skills are useful,” said the pale one. “But only in very specific circumstances. You must be ready for the coming battle.”

The thin one scoffed. “I could take down any of you before you even knew I was –”

“Rot!” said the pale one.

The thin one collapsed to a heap on the floor, coughing up blood. His skin turned yellow, bubbling with pus-filled sores.

“Come on, man,” said the new guy. “Not this again.”

The pale one ignored him, walking in a circle around his companion writhing on the floor. “Is that how you intend to seize control of the gulf coast? Hide behind some bushes with a crossbow? Scott’s fireballs will create hundreds of dead for me to animate. Eric’s got enough Hit Points to shrug off a cruise missile. How many dart traps do you expect the National Guard to set when they descend upon us?”

The guy on the floor convulsed with less fervor. His face had turned green and looked like it might just fall off.

“Dude,” said the new guy. “You’re killing him!”

The pale one snapped his fingers. “Restore.”

The thin one’s skin became healthy. The open sores closed. The color returned to normal. He turned his head and vomited a torrent of blood and bile, then gasped for air until he got his breathing under control.

“Do not squander what opportunities you are given,” said the pale one, stepping onto the red, rectangular carpet, which seemed to be the only decorative effort anyone had thought to put into this house. “Come.”

The thin one obediently hopped onto the carpet, followed by the big one.

The pale one turned to the new guy, the one called Scott. “If the girl tries anything, use a Sleep or Hold Person spell to secure her. You must let no harm come to her. She is to be Mordred’s queen.”

“I understand,” said the new guy. He gave a halfhearted salute as the carpet levitated through the air and flew out the window. He walked over to the window and watched his friends fly away for a while. Then he kneeled in front of Stacy. “I’m going to take this gag off. There ain’t no point in screaming, ‘cause there’s no one around to hear you. Got it?”

Stacy nodded. The new guy untied the knot at the back of her head, and the gag came loose. Stacy took a few deep breaths, just because she could.

“Your name’s Scott?” she asked.
Establish a personal connection.

“You call me…” he started heatedly, then thought better of it. He nodded. “Yeah, Scott’s fine.”

“I’m Stacy.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Stacy,” said Scott. “But listen. I’ve really got to pee. Can you just hang out here and not get into any trouble for a minute?”

Stacy nodded.

“Do you want a drink or something?”

A drink sounded really good right about now. The intoxicating effects of six Manhattans had disappeared when she arrived in this world. And she might be able to use the ol’ drink-your-captor-under-the-table gambit and escape. “I’d kill for a drink.”

Scott smiled. “I’ve got just the thing. Be right back!” He hurried out of the room.

Stacy took stock of her surroundings. Her first priority was getting her arms free. With them being tied behind her back, she could keep pretending she was bound as long as she had to. The stone floor was too smooth to fray the rope, but there were weapons lying around everywhere. She spotted a dagger, mentally planned out a roll which would put her hands on it, and then carried out the act.

She had misjudged the placement of her hands by an inch or two due to her breasts being slightly larger than what she was used to. She thought of Julian and hoped her ears weren’t all weird. With a bit of scooting around, she secured a grip on the dagger’s handle, then inchwormed back into her original place.

Stacy’s hands were free by the time Scott arrived with two large glasses of something blue. And for what little it was probably worth, she was armed.

“You’ll have to help me,” said Stacy. She gave him a perky grin and shrugged. “I’m all tied up.”

“Oh right,” said Scott. He held Stacy’s glass to her lips and tipped it toward her. She kept her eyes fixed on his. His mouth hung open as he concentrated on not spilling the drink. The temptation to shove her dagger straight into his throat was a very real one, but Stacy couldn’t work up the nerve just yet. She’d never stabbed anyone before, and this was too big a gamble. If she missed somehow, she was as good as dead with her feet still tied up. Besides, she still had some time. If the others were going to the same place they had just come from, that was at least half an hour by flying carpet each way. She’d see how the drinking scenario worked out before rushing into straight-up murder.

Stacy dipped her tongue into the drink. It was cool and sweet, and there was definitely some booze in it. She slurped some of it into her mouth, but let some dribble down her chin and drip down on her chest.

“Oh man, I’m sorry!” said Scott. He wiped her chin with his thumb, but hesitated before wiping her upper boob.

“It’s okay,” said Stacy, deliberately keeping it vague as to whether she was responding to his apology or granting him permission to touch her.

Scott took the bait, thoroughly wiping away the spilled drink from the top of her breasts with the palm of his hand.

“Watch those paws, tiger,” said Stacy. She squeezed the handle of the dagger in her hand.

Scott jerked his hand back as if Stacy’s breasts had turned into snakes. “I’m so sorry.” His face was beet red. He took a long swig of his own drink.

“That’s good,” said Stacy. “Did you make that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Scott. He gulped back the rest of his glass.

Yes, ma’am? How old was this guy? How old did she look, for that matter?
She needed a mirror.

“Can I have some more?”

“Yes ma’am.” He brought the glass to Stacy’s lips again. This time she drank in earnest, not letting any of it spill. She didn’t want to drink so much that she lost her wits, but she could sure use some liquid nerve.

Stacy tilted her chin forward to signal that she’d had enough after she drank back half the glass. Scott set it down on the floor between them.

“Do you have anything to eat?” asked Stacy. She was genuinely hungry, but more concerned about getting Scott out of the room. There was a small, wooden box to her left that was nagging at her curiosity. It was about the size of a breadbox, the lid adorned with red-specked black opals in the shape of a skull.
Poison.

“We’ve got some hippogriff meat left over from a couple of days ago,” said Scott. “It’s kind of chewy, but it’s not so bad if you dip it in some honey.”

That sounded revolting.
“Mmm,” said Stacy. “That sounds delicious. I’m starving.”

Scott hopped up like he’d just sat on a tack. “I’ll be right back.”

When she deemed it safe enough to do so, Stacy scooted toward the box and opened the lid. The inside was lined with racks holding test tubes. The test tubes were filled with liquids of varying colors. The ones Stacy was most interested in were the ones with no color at all, and maybe the lighter blue ones.

She pulled the cork out of a clear tube and gave it a sniff. It had a faint minty aroma, but it would easily be overpowered by booze. She quickly poured the liquid into Scott’s glass, where it mingled nicely with the last little bit of drink he’d left in there.

There was a whoosh and a sudden orange glow from the other room. Stacy hurriedly placed the empty tube back in the box, closed the lid, and scooted back to her original position.

She hoped the poison was something that would just knock him unconscious for a while or, at worst, make him really sick. She’d feel bad if it killed him. But the choice between killing a guy or waiting around for his psychopath friends to come back was no choice at all.

Scott returned with a dish full of sizzling, bite-sized chunks of meat, a small bowl of honey, a fork, and a pitcher full of the blue drink.

“I had to reheat it,” he said. “I used a fireball spell. I’m a wizard.”

The look he gave her suggested that she was supposed to be impressed by this information, so she played along. “Oh my! You can do
magic
?”

“Um… yeah.” Scott’s enthusiasm faltered. She’d overplayed it. She must have sounded sarcastic. They were both from a world where women were not impressed by magicians.

“That’s not all I can do,” Scott continued. “I can hold my own in a fight too. Check this out!” He pulled a shiny metallic rod out from under his robe. It looked kind of like a high-end flashlight, only with a studded head. He pushed a button on the shaft, and a ginormous fiery blade sprang out of the top. He waved it around, making
vrumm vrumm
noises with his mouth. “FIRE SWORD!”

Stacy felt the wussy little dagger in her hands, and felt better about not engaging in hand-to-hand combat with this lunatic. He was drunk and waving this extremely dangerous weapon around like a kid with his dad’s gun. She needed to bring this under control.

“I’m more interested in the magic,” said Stacy, hoping she could sell it better this time. “Can you show me some tricks?”

Scott stopped waving his fire sword and grinned from ear to ear. “Sure!”
He bought it.

He pushed a button on the shaft again, causing the flaming blade to retract back into the rod. Sitting down on the floor, he placed the weapon down next to him.

He picked up the fork and his face turned serious. “You’ll notice there are no strings or wires attached to this fork.”

Oh my God. He’s actually doing a magician routine.
Stacy briefly reconsidered taking her chances with hand-to-hand combat.

He poked the fork into a chunk of meat, but left it there on the dish. After mumbling some incoherent words, he waved his hands, and the fork rose from the dish and hung in the air. It wobbled a bit, then steadied. The fork dipped the meat into the honey and hovered over the bowl until it stopped dripping. Scott swirled his hands around one another, and the fork pointed the meat directly at Stacy. Slowly, the fork advanced, stopping just short of her mouth. It stayed there until she accepted the meat. The fork tugged back, as if not wanting to let go. Stacy looked awkwardly at him, not knowing what to do with the fork in her mouth.

“Sorry,” he said. He grabbed the fork with his hand and pulled it out of her mouth.

“Impressive,” said Stacy, her mouth full of meat. It was chewy like he said it would be, but it tasted a lot better than she’d expected. “You said this is hippo?”