The Wielder: Sworn Vengeance (The Wielder Series) (2 page)

Greg Inosanto, the man monikered as the sword of balance, is enjoying his vacation.  The hotel has been amazing, the dining remarkable and the nightlife fun.  Karen Redditch – “the red witch” a friend, sorceress and Protectorate general had suggested Milan to him, emphasizing the shopping.  Greg couldn’t give a flip about shopping, but here he was in the Corso Buenos Aires shopping area all the same – for the people watching.

And the watching
is good. He strolls the streets taking in the various tourists, locals and shop owners, musing to himself about their back-stories. One middle aged couple he was watching he envisions as being from the U.S. Midwest, on their vacation of a lifetime, with her dragging him from place to place met only with a sheepish, “yes dear.”

He continues to stroll, taking in the bustle
. Then he stops.  Something feels very wrong.  He looks over his shoulder and sees a beige Mercedes Benz slowly moving up to him with the rear window rolling down.  The barrel of a huge gun sticks out. 

No, not a gun – a blunderbuss…
cannon.

Instinctively Greg engage
s his special ability.  The one that makes him the sword of balance; the ability to accelerate himself slightly in time.  He sees the gun fire, rapid at first, then slowing to a crawl with numerous razor-like projectiles coming from the barrel followed by a plume of smoke.

He realizes someone just fired
flechette cannon at him.  A weapon designed for maximum short range damage and minimal survivability. Now in touch with his power fully, he engages it more deeply, buying time to get out of the way of the killing spray.  He strides forward, every step like he is walking through a pool of paste; using his gift takes effort and concentration. Step by labored step he walks well away from the fray.  He turns to see the projectiles spinning slowly towards the passer-bys who appear to be frozen.

Knowing he can do nothing to stop it, he releases his power.  People’s bodies are shredded in a wide swath of damage.  Storefront glass explodes.  The car guns it and the shooter takes aim at Greg again.  Greg
once more touches his power and labors his way into the street to the other side of the car.  He lightens his touch on his power and the world speeds up around him.  The car is moving forward, slowly.  The cannon fires again.

“What the hell!” he thinks.  The cannon
is obviously cartridge fed, semi-automatic and very custom.   But as the world speeds up, the pressure on him lessens also. He reaches into his jacket with some effort and pulls out a throwing star.  Star in hand he engages his power to its fullest and throws the star at the rear tire of the Mercedes Benz.  It is like a slow motion throw, as Greg has to concentrate and put full effort into it.   After the star having leaves his hand and begins its way to the vehicle he releases his power.

The star,
now moving much faster than any bullet rips into the tire and tears the wheel from the axle, causing the car to skid into traffic.   Greg does his best to look away from the carnage caused by the second cannon firing.  His blood is boiling in rage.

The doors to the Mercedes fly open.  The driver is
out first and Greg can see the fear in his eyes.  And he should be afraid too.  The sword of balance is aware of them.  Their surprise attack has long lost its surprise and the advantage is now Greg’s.  Before the driver can level his gun on Greg, he has again engaged his power and begins his approach.

Greg
first, steps to the side and then very deliberately stalks towards the driver - frozen from Greg’s perspective - he puts himself in front of the driver, then throws a hammer fist punch to the side of the man’s head.  The punch feels like it takes forever to connect moving slowly through what feels like thick jello.  When it does make contact, he feels the man’s skull break, cave-in and deform around his fist, which to the rest of the world is nothing more than a blur. Knowing the damage is done; he pulls his fist back and takes six labored steps away from the vehicle.

Releasing his power he sees the driver’s head explode from the impact and the rear passenger door open
s.  Cannon man has come out to play. Greg gives him almost the time needed to train the weapon on him before engaging his power. With great effort he stalks around the vehicle, reaching the man and taking grip of the cannon.  Releasing his power slightly again, Greg rips the cannon from his hands and takes four steps back before releasing his power completely.

The gun rip
s so violently from his hands the shooter screams in pain.  Then he looks up to see the flechette cannon trained on him.  “Screw you Dzemond killer!” are the last words he spoke before Greg pulls the trigger and reduces him to a dark brown fleshy mass.

“Damn tainted
,” Greg mutters.  He drops the cannon and looks about at the eyes staring at him.  Then to them, just like that, he is gone.

But the t
ruth is he has stopped only a block away, breathing heavily from the exertion of having to walk there.

The kitchen is trashed.  Piles of broken plates are about the floor along with coffee grinds and scatterings of wheat-Os.  Shey told me the plates were like her heart.  The rest of it tells me she’s a mess. That’s our girl.

I hear a sound in the living room and see Hjuul sticking his head over the couch.  He must have been there hiding out the whole time. Hjuul is in his wolf form now, in reality he is a 400 pound hell hound and my best
buddy.  I look back over to him and say, “Really, you just let me endure that?”

His
puts his ears back and makes a “rrrrrr” kind of sound and goes back to hiding behind the sofa.

Traitor.  Well, not really – who woul
d have wanted to deal with that?

I hear the elevator gate open and know who it is – Vets.  I turn back to face the epic mess that is our kitchen.  I hear the
entrance door open and wait to hear the reaction. A moment passes and it is of course a controlled and deliberate response, because, that’s Vets. 

“The fairy
,” she says.

“Yeps.”

I turn to look at her, my bodyguard, shock troop and general warrior all wrapped into one huge very muscled package in human form.  In her true Vetisghar form, she is a just as muscled feline-humanoid with ebon black skin and tail.  “Sorry you missed it,” I tell her.

“I am not” is Vets response.  “I would prefer not to have to clean up her mess
,” follows after a moment’s pause.

That’s my warrior.  Short, to the point.   She’s come a long way since I first acquired her.  A great deal of that comes from her now being considered a being of worth; that is she has her name.  A
demon, who I think has become a friend of mind, helped us with that out of the blue. I’m glad he did.  While Vet’s is still stiff at best, she is now beginning to see life as something other than what she is willing to sacrifice for me.

“I would prefer not to either
,” is my response.

“That one is not right
,” is her observation as she walks away, leaving me to contemplate the mess.

Not right reverberates with me. I am partially to blame for this.  Shey thinks
I’ve taken to disliking her.  Truth is, I just don’t want the pressure of having to be lovey-dovey and I don’t want to make good on my promise to Sil either. I could care less about the things Silithes says she can do for me; which seems really more like to me.

Wanting what Sil offers would be more like the me
I was before I woke up.  Before I was gifted with my summonlings and sobered up. Before I realized that my Dorothy was all I needed.  It’s funny, the very things given to me to corrupt me and intended to turn me into a tool of destruction, instead straightened my ass up.

I figure at this point I
should tell Shey what’s really going on.  I guess the plate thing was just a bit much for me.  I don’t want her heart breaking on my account.

So, I make my way to her room and knock on the door.  No answer.  I check the knob and
its open, so I let myself in.  And there she is.  Sitting on the floor, glaring at me.

“Hey
,” I say.  “Thought I might explain myself a little. It’s not you.  I promise.”

I hold my arms out for a hug, hoping she will come to me.  She stands
and stares at me.  That’s a start at least. So I close the gap, hugging her. She basically accepts my hug and says, “This better be good.”

So I tell her the truth.
I lay it all out about my promise to Sil in 1958.  I remind her of how Sil called “Nexties” in the Cayman Island; and I explain that she meant it.

I was going to tell her how scared I was of falling victim to her powers of persuasion and becoming the man I used to be, but this
is Shey. I never had the chance to say anything.

“That skanky bitch!  I can’t believe she’s ruining this for us!”  Her eyes take on some sympathy
and she touches my cheek.  “I don’t blame you for not wanting to feed yourself to her. You have no idea what she is capable of Arthur, she can change you, make you hers. I’m going to give that bitch a piece of my mind!”

And with that she bolt
s out into the hallway to destination known: Sil’s room.

Crap
a brick.

This is
most likely going to end up with one or both of them dead.  There’s nothing to do but intervene or run away.  I could compel Shey to stop, but I hate interfering with my summonling’s free will; it leaves me feeling like a slave-master bastard.  Since I opened my mouth, I guess I should deal with it.

So
I head back to my room, close the door and pick up the book I’d been reading. Time to wait to see if they end up back in the white, that holding place they go when I dismiss them, or get they killed.   After about 10 minutes pass, I realize that nobody is going to die, so I breathe a sigh of relief.  That is until my door bursts open and Sil enters.

“Really
? I’m the only reason you aren’t laying down with Ms. Pixie Princess?”

At least with Sil, I know I’ll get a word in.  But then I know they’ll be used against me just as well.  I take a deep breath, set my book on the table and sit up to address my succubus.
She’s in her voluptuous human form, but I don’t let that distract me; I never do.  She is quite the demon in her normal form; she is still just as shapely, only with white alabaster skin, punctuated by leathery wings, small horns, sharp teeth, back pointed nailed hands that are almost more like claws, green alligator eyes, and a whip like tail. Of all my summonlings, she is probably one of the most lethal, mostly because of her ability to beguile her prey and get very close. That and she’s just raw-bone strong. But, I don’t have to worry about her killing me though, as she’s my summonling, but I do have to worry about other things; like mind control and addiction to the “pleasures” she is so willing to share.

“Sil, I am in no way ready to make go
od on my promise to be with you,” I protest. “So yea, you’re a reason I’m not laying down with Shey.  The whole neuromancy thing just unnerves me.”

Sil’s kind, the
Cubati, both succubus and incubus, employ a form a magic that manipulates their victim’s neural processes.  That magic requires physical contact to allow connection with the victim’s neural workings.  They can make you horny, happy, angry, sad, and more. That while feasting on your life energy, their third, favorite food group.  It’s scary, scary stuff.  At least to me… even though I’ve been told kings and such have given away untold riches for one safe night with one of them.

Amazing what people will pay for.

“I should have never told you about that Arthur,” she says referring to her neuromantic skills. “But still, I thought we were open to each other and past you looking at me as some kind of monster out to eat your soul. I could have had you… remember? You kissed me back, you wanted me.”

Damn if
Shey just laid that one on me too.  But with Sil, it’s different – she can make you want her.  I’ve seen her make people beg to have their soul eaten more just for the pleasure she made them associate with it.  Those are some messed up memories; but then, so many from World War II are.

“I’m not good with having my head messed with Sil
.” That response gets her dander up even more.

“Really Arthur?  Well I don’t like
to be used as an excuse for your lack of intimacy issues,” Sil says, squaring up to me.  “So, good news! I’m going to solve two of your problems.  First, is you worrying about me tempting you.  I’ll make my outside look as disgusting as you think my inside is.”

With that she shape shift
s into a hag-like form, complete with liver spots, warts, cataracts on her eyes and sagging everything.  She steps in closer and gets in my face and says in a creaking hag-like voice. “Now I’ll solve your second issue.”

I almost barf for her halitosis.  Damn, if sh
e’s isn’t a stickler for the details, she’s got so much more than just the look down.

“I release you Arthur MacInerny from your promise to me long ago, that I would be the next you’d have sexual intercourse with
, should you stray from Dorothy.”  She stares at me with her cataract eyes.  “So either you tell the damn fairy or I will. I am no excuse for your choice to avoid intimacy.  And by the way, your body is screaming for it too. It has been for quite a while and it’s distracting. So, turn off that hundred year old brain and listen to the teenage body for a change. It knows what you need.”

Dumbfounded I
stand there looking at Hag-Sil, not even remotely expecting that response.  She tells me to screw myself in so many words and leaves.

I hear
an “Ach!” from Pffif in the hall; he apparently has met the new Sil.

He sticks his head in the door.  “Ye Ok master Arthur?”

“Yea Pffif”

“Temptress isna lookin’ too temptin’ is she?”

“Well Pffif, there’s someone for everyone isn’t there?” I respond.

“Not for that, master Arthur
– toads and snakes she be lookin like one spiteful hag!”

Pffif and I share a silent moment on that
observation, then agree on his assessment with knowing nods.  He wishes me well and moves on to his room which leaves me alone to contemplate the truth.

I am released from my promise.

I have no excuses anymore, except that I miss my Dory.  I wish she was here.  If she was here, none of this nonsense would be happening.  But then, she and Shey were as thick as thieves.  I can hear Dory saying something like, “Why not give her a thrill?”  Heck she even gave us “permission.”  Not that I took advantage of that.

So, I know what I have to do
. I head back to Shey’s room.

I don’t bother knocking.  I just let myself in and call for her.  After a bit she comes from her bedroom and asks me what I need.  I tell her
, “I have a surprise for you” then take her by the hand down the hall to the kitchen. 

She tells me that’s not much of a surprise
and I let her know that’s not the surprise. “You have to clean this up first.” I go to the living room and sit down in front of the television.  Apparently there’s been some kind of a terrorist attack in Milan.  It sounds strange and bad.

Time passes and Shey completes her task and presents herself to me, standing in front of the television with her hands behind her back and standing on her tip-toes.

“What’s my surprise Arthur?” she asks me in a sing song voice.

I stand and take her by the hand, leading her to the hallway.

“What? I want to know Arthur, what’s my surprise?”

I stop, look at my
now ever so cute fairy in her eyes and tell her, “Silithes released me from my promise to her. I thought we might take some time in the bedroom.”