My eyes felt puffy, as I sat on the bed. I hung my head a little, while Lusu sat on an armchair.

“So it’s the gun that could stop Val,” Lusu said.

“Not sure,” I said. “That’s what The Hero seems to think.”

“Either way, we have to get it. To be sure, if nothing else.”

“I guess.”

“You think The Hero tried to break into the smithy last night?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe. Probably, but I don’t know.”

“We don’t know much about this gun, do we?”

“No,” I said. “We don’t know much at all.”

She nodded her head. Thinking about it, I realized she knew more than I did.

“Val’s alive,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“But how do you know? What did you see?”

She took a long, deep drag off her cigarette, sighing smoke.

“That’s not an answer,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “I can’t say I love the question.”

“I wouldn’t have to ask it if you’d just told me already.”

“At the funeral,” Lusu said, “something broke out of Val’s coffin.”

“It wasn’t Val?”

“No,” she said.

“What was it?”

“A machine,” she said. “Some abomination. I don’t know. It didn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe they switched out the corpse,” I said.

“Maybe,” she said, “but it looked just like him.”

I sat there. “I didn’t kill him.”

“I believe you,” she said.

“I never would have killed him.”

She didn’t respond. Truth be told, I didn’t want her to.

“The Angel of Death told me he wasn’t dead,” she said, “so I don’t think he is.”

“You trust her,” I said.

“Not really,” Lusu said. “I don’t think she’s a liar. I wonder if she isn’t just a pawn in a much larger game. But that doesn’t mean I trust her.”

I leaned back a little. Somehow, that comforted me. I felt the same way: I loved the Angel of Death, but hated her. I trusted her, but I didn’t. I missed her when she was gone, dreaded her when she stood right before me.

Lusu sighed, her eyes no longer focused on me. Instead, she stared blankly at the wall behind me. “What an awful picture,” she said.

I was thankful for the change of subject. Looked up and spied the painting above me. It was Demersi, clad in his trademark spacesuit. He sat in the office I remembered him sitting in so many years ago.

He sat next to Stellavia.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think it looks nice.”

“It’s just strange to see someone’s image not long after they’ve died,” Lusu said. “Seems haunted.”

“The past suffocating the present.” Looking at that picture, I thought I wanted to see Demersi again. “I’m going to go downstairs,” I said, feeling vertiginous.

“You may want to try and find The Hero.”

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes, seeming to view me with a mix of annoyance and boredom. “As we were just suggesting, he might’ve broken into the smithy last night. Talk to him. See if he has any idea who else might be interested in the gun.”

I rubbed my forehead. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about that.”

I moved to leave, but when my hand was on the door, Lusu said, “You seem tired. Have you been sleeping well?”

I scratched my head, leaning some of my weight against the door knob. “Not really. No.”

“You may want to try and fix that,” she said. “I have the feeling this is the beginning of a long trip.”

I nodded my head. “You know what? I think you’re right.”

“That’s the thing, George. I’m always right.”

She let out a soft sort of chuckle as I walked out the room. I walked through the cramped hallway, shoes knocking against the hardwood floor. From the top of the staircase, on the second story, I could see the bar on the ground-level.

The Hero sat there, his broad shoulders hunched over. He whipped his head back, to drink a shot of something or other. A bottle of whiskey sat on the bar, within his reach.

I made my way down the stairs.

Before I reached the bottom, he looked up and said, “Here’s to the elf of the hour.” He poured another shot and kicked it back.

I reached the bottom of the staircase and began to walk towards him. “I don’t understand.”

“Sue’s been talking about you,” The Hero said.

“Sue?”

“The bartender,” The Hero said.

“Right.”

“Went to talk to Jewel, to see if she could patch things over.”

“Patch things over?”

The Hero laughed. At what, I wasn’t sure.

“Sue says Jewell’s going to be pissed,” The Hero said.

“Because she thinks I’m the one who tried to break into the smithy.”

The Hero blushed, looking back at the glass as he poured himself another shot.

“You always drink this much in the morning?” I asked.

The Hero shrugged. Drinking his guilt away. If it hadn’t been obvious who’d tried to break into the smithy before, it sure was now.

“Usually Diamond is the first at the bar,” The Hero said.

“Diamond?”

“Lead guitarist,” The Hero said. “Of Deus ex Apocalyptico. They were playing here last night.”

“Right,” I said.

“He’s an alcoholic,” The Hero whispered.

What does it say about you when you start drinking before the alcoholic? I thought. But I figured it best to keep that one to myself. No use making an enemy I didn’t need to make, even if he was a jack-ass. I had enough trouble already.

“Must be tough,” I said.

“Ah,” The Hero said, swatting his hand away. “There are worse troubles in the world than the shit our own mind comes up with.”

I shrugged.

Roughly a full minute passed, the two of us sitting there with nothing to say or do. The Hero looked uncomfortable, a little sweaty, a little red in the face. Thinking about it, he probably hadn’t slept since last night. If he had, there was no way he’d slept for very long.

I placed my hand on the smooth white bar. Marble. Strong.

“I’m sorry,” The Hero said, “that you got blamed for trying to break into the smithy.”

“I talked to Jewel,” I said. “She knows it isn’t me.”

“That’s good,” The Hero said, furrowing his brow as if the mere act of thought confused him. “That’s good.” He sighed, moving his hand to grab the bottle of whiskey again. He decided against it, moving his hand back, to let it rest on the bartop. “I want to break in.”

“What?”

“I want to break into her smithy, and get that gun.”

“Why?”

He furrowed his brow again. “I haven’t been a part of something important in a long, long time. I thought I was okay with that. And I was, for a while. For a good long while, I had no problem with the idea of retirement. Not like things weren’t exciting. When you’re around liquor and guns all the time, it’s hard to be bored, you know?”

“I can’t imagine,” I said.

He looked at the bottle of whiskey, not talking. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to think of something to say, or if he didn’t want to say anything.

I opened my mouth, but he spoke first: “Guess it can get boring, doing the same thing day after day. Even if it’s with some of your favorite things in the world, you get bored.”

“So you want to take the gun?”

“I want to get the gun,” he said. “I want to help you. I want to be part of a prophesy, again.”

That makes one of us.

“You have any ideas?” I asked.

“Sure,” The Hero said. “I think I know how to get inside.”

A bell rang.

Diamond, entering the bar.

“Brother!” he yelled, walking towards us.

“Brother,” The Hero said, raising his empty shot glass at Diamond.

“This is pretty early for you, isn’t it?” he asked, sitting down.

“Or late,” I said.

“What?” Diamond asked.

“Nothing.”

Diamond said, “Did you want to meet this pretty little thing at the bar?” He flashed a grin and let out a thin short of chuckle.

An ugly lump sat in my throat.

“No,” he said. “She found me down here, actually.”

“What, you wanted to meet an old, washed-up man at the bar?” Diamond asked me. That smile of his was sickening. He combed his fingers through his shock of bright blue hair. It looked like a failed mohawk, since it was just one straight line, starting just above the forehead and making its way across his head and down to his neck.

“No,” I said, hoping the statement sounded firm, final. I hoped Diamond wouldn’t keep going down this road. The look in his eyes convinced me he was done. “Nice show you had, last night.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Though the way I hear it, my show wasn’t the most interesting thing happening last night.”

“You talking about the break-in?” The Hero asked.

“Yeah,” Diamond said, his smile turned into a smirk, “Well, the attempted break-in.”

“Right,” The Hero said, looking down at the ground.

“It’s not that interesting,” Diamond said. “A failed crime isn’t really much of a crime at all.”

“I don’t know if the law agrees with you,” I said.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know if I agree with the law.”

The day passed like that, Diamond, The Hero, and I chatting away, not saying anything of consequence, but just talking. It was nice, actually. Relaxing. Sometimes I forgot I was an elf. Sometimes I forgot about my gender.

Lusu walked through at one point, I have no idea where to. She walked by without saying a word.

Eventually it got late and I was plenty drunk. Diamond’s band wasn’t playing until tomorrow, so I shambled my way up the steps.

Right around the eighth time Diamond went to the bathroom, The Hero and I finalized our agreement to break into the smithy tomorrow. Though break-in was a strong word for what The Hero’s plan was. Turns out he knew a guy who worked at the smithy some days. The friend was working tomorrow, so the plan was to pay the guy some cash, walk on in, take the gun and walk out.

I stumbled through the door, flopping on the bed.

The robbery would be easy, if I could remember how to walk tomorrow.

I dreamed. It was a better way of living.

— — —

“Really, we’re the Gun Generation,” Val said, his hands gripping the wheel, his eyes on the road. There was a sort of passion in his movements, a madness in his body.

“Gun Generation,” I said, chewing the thought, letting it roll over my tongue. “What do you mean?”

“Things move so fast these days, like a bullet out of a gun,” Val said, pushing just a little on the ignition, making the car rev a bit, flinging us into the future. I couldn’t tell if he was making a point, or doing it unconsciously. Either idea worried me. I held tight to the seat of the car.

Val went on, “The gods try to kill an innocent human, so The Hero kills most of the gods. Then Hostem’s all alone — tries to kill himself and take the whole world with him. But now we have to take him. What then? Bang, bang, bang. It’s a bloodbath — tiny, in terms of the age of the world, but probably the biggest thing that’s ever happened. We’re killing the gods, because they tried to kill us. What happens after all that? Where can society go? It’s like the silence after a gunshot. It just doesn’t make sense. No one knows what to do. Too much impact, and not enough time to think.”

“Can’t get worse,” I said. Soon as the words slipped off my tongue, I wasn’t so sure.

“Hope you’re right,” he said. “Some days, I just feel like a match, you know? I’m going to strike and burn bright — kill a god, which is no small feet. But then, soon as my purpose is done, I’m gonna get snuffed out.”

“Then you’ll be smoke,” I said. “Smoke isn’t so bad, is it?”

“Smoke,” he said, easing his foot off the ignition pedal. “It’s something.”

“It’s enough,” I said, taking out a pack of cigarettes. “Here’s to smoking.”

I took a cigarette out of the pack, slipping it in my mouth while I slipped the pack back into my pocket. Rolled down the car window with one hand, while snapping with my other.

“Fiat lux,” I mumbled. A spark flew from my fingers and onto the cigarette. I took in a lungful of smoke, then blew it out the car window. We sped past the smoke, though. I didn’t get a good look at it.

— — —

I woke to the sound of a knock on the door. Felt like a pattern — one I didn’t like.

I almost expected my skin to slough off. My heart beat a little too quickly as I placed my hand on my cheek.

I was fine, not shedding.

The sound of a key entering the keyhole. A turn, and then the opening of the door. I sprung up, only to find Sue standing there, looking mad as hell for who knows what reason.

“I want you two out of here,” she said, jabbing her finger at me.

“Why?” I asked. “What happened?”

“What happened?” she repeated. “What happened? What happened is that you two have been nothing but trouble since you got here. I want you out, today. Now.”

“I…” I didn’t know what to say. What had we done?

Lusu seemed to have less trouble. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her get up, sliding up a little so that her back could rest on the bedpost.

“We paid for a full week,” she said, sounding unamused. “We’ll stay here for the full week.”

“You’ll get a full refund,” she said. “But you’ll also get the fuck out of here.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” Sue asked.

“We paid for a full week,” Lusu said. “We’ll stay here for the full week.”

“I’ve been talking to people,” Sue said. “You know what I’ve found? Nobody likes you. Nobody wants a goddamn elf in the bar, and we sure as hell don’t want a Hyalu.” She walked over to the bar and got in Lusu’s face. “That makes me the voice of the people, telling you to fuck off.”

Lusu sighed, taking off the covers and slid her legs off the bed, so that they were on the floor. She stood up, wearing nothing but her underwear, staring Sue directly in the eyes.

“I was married to Blake Reiner,” she said. “Am married, actually, since he never filed for divorce. Obviously you know the stories surrounding him. We all do. And I assume you’re not a complete moron, which means that you can pick up what’s at the heart of every one of those tales: violence. A wrong is perceived, so he kills the wrongdoer. Again and again, story after story. Some of the stories are false, of course: false memories created by a society that didn’t witness things firsthand. But some of those stories? They’re dangerously true.”

“Of course,” Lusu said, walking in a circle so that she was now behind Sue, forcing Sue to turn with Lusu, follow Lusu’s lead, “you’ve no reason to worry about him. I’m not threatening to sic him on you, though he does resemble a mad dog. No, what I’m trying to explain to you is that I survived. Every day I lived with a man who loved killing. At first, it wasn’t a problem. I loved him, and he loved me. How could there possibly be a problem? But the years moved on, and doubts began to creep in. Yes, I loved him for how much he changed my world. But after a while, the changed world became the norm. And I couldn’t help but wonder: was this man capable of stability? Did he want a changed world, or did he just love to change things?”

“I don’t know,” Lusu said. “I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now. What I do know is that I survived. And in surviving, I learned from the best. I lived with the best killer the world has ever known. I saw the depravity in his heart, the darkness in his eyes. I learned from the best. Question is, do you want me to show you what I’ve learned?”

Sue stuttered, trying to say something but ending up with a mess of useless syllables.

Lusu took in some air, getting ready to say something. But she was interrupted by Jewell, who came in through the doorway.

“I told you I’d take care of this,” Sue said.

“I know,” Jewell replied, her voice softer than usual, her goggles resting just a little below her hairline, her eyes plagued by red lines. “But this is more important than all that. I need to know. I can’t just sit by and wait.”

I had trouble saying the words: “The gun’s gone?”

Jewell barely nodded. Her head tilted half an inch up, then half an inch down. “You took it, or you know who did.”

“I didn’t take it,” I said. “We didn’t take it.”

“I kept that gun locked up for a lot of years,” she said.

“We need it,” I said, “but we didn’t take it.”

“You don’t need that blood weapon.”

“Your friend was killed for a reason,” I said, voice shaking.

“Don’t justify murder. Don’t you dare.”

“It’s…” I searched for the word. Was there one? “Sacrifice.”

“I don’t give a shit what it is,” Sue said. “I want you out of here.”

“Haven’t you been listening?” Lusu said. “I’ll eat you alive, bitch.”

“Val’s trying to end the world,” I said. “We’re the only ones who can stop him. That gun is the only way we can do it.”

“Nothing good can come from those crazy elves. You’re one of those elves,” Jewell said. “And you expect me to trust you? You expect me to trust you?”

“That gun,” I began. “I used to be a journalist, before I was an Elf Guard. And I wrote obituaries — a lot of them. And do you know what I found? People leave bits of themselves, when they go. They impact an environment. That gun is your friend’s legacy. That gun is your friend’s direct impact on the world. By fighting us, you fight his destiny.”

“You elves have a lot to say about destiny, don’t you?” Sue asked.

“I wish I didn’t,” I said, softly. Because wasn’t that what had fucked me over, time and time again? Wasn’t the problem with this goddamn destiny — this goddamn destiny that kept me on this godawful trail, killing a god only to have to later kill a Godkiller?

“Doesn’t matter whether or not I need the gun,” I said. “Not to you, anyway. I don’t have it.”

“Who else knew about the gun?” Jewell asked.

“The Hero’s the one who told me about it,” I said. “Then there’s Diamond.”

“Diamond,” Jewell said, chewing the name. “What would he want with the gun?”

“No idea,” I said.

Jewell and Sue looked at each other.

“Do you know anything about the gun that we don’t?” Jewell asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t even know if it’s the gun we’re looking for.”

“Bullshit,” Sue said. “Cut the elf crap and tell us: what’s going to happen with that gun?”

I retreated into myself a bit. How could people get things so wrong?

“You know I can’t say.”

“What do you see?” Sue asked.

“Not good things,” I told them.

Jewell seemed to believe me, and Sue believed Jewell.

— — —

Jewell barreled down the stairs. Sue followed her, I followed Sue, and Lusu followed me.

Well, she didn’t quite follow me. She seemed to be working a lot of stuff out. I don’t know where her mind was at, what she was following.

The Hero was sitting at the bar, drinking a cup of something — beer, probably.

Jewell smacked him across the back of the head. He spat out his drink, which was actually clear.

Then he asked, “What was that for?”

“You don’t have the gun?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Your gun?”

“The gun you couldn’t shut your mouth about,” she said.

A single heartbeat. Then he said, “No, I don’t have it.”

“If you’re lying–” Sue began.

But The Hero cut her off: “You guys have known me to be a liar, sure. I’ve said a lot of things I shouldn’ta said, but have you known me to be a good liar?”

Jewell nodded her head, gazing deep into his eyes. “No, I haven’t.”

“Alright, then,” he said. “Then you can trust me.”

“Stop drinking,” Sue said. “I don’t want my liquor clouding your mind anymore than it already has. We’ve got a problem, and we’re going to need a fighter.”

“It’s water,” The Hero said, raising up his cup. “Just water. Why? What’s going on?”

“Diamond has the gun,” Jewell said.

“Ah, shit,” The Hero said. He grabbed his water and threw it back, taking a huge gulp. Then he slammed it on the bar.

“What?” Sue asked.

“Diamond owes Demersi a lot of money,” The Hero said. “He’s supposed to be over there right now, playing a gig.”

“You think he has it in him to kill someone?” I asked.

“All that fucking band of his sings about is death,” Sue said.

I wondered if that was so bad.

Next

Previous

“How’d you get the sword?”

“This thing?” The Hero asked, pointing at the sword hanging by his side. The two of us sat at the bar, having drinks.

Dumb-ass, I thought. Out loud I said, “Yeah.”

“Got it from Jewel,” The Hero said. “Not quite as good as the one her mother made me, but it does most jobs well enough.”

“Her mother?”

“Yeah, Jewell’s mother. Jewell Senior. She ran the shop — oh, I don’t know how long ago. A couple decades, maybe. And to a little thing like you, what’s a couple decades?”

“Not much, I guess.” It felt so strange. I was an elf, now. People treated me like a fucking elf.

“You guess? The elf that guesses,” The Hero asked. He let out a bomb of a laugh, which he only interrupted in order to guzzle down some more beer.

The bartender set my drink down.

“Thanks,” I said, but she’d already walked away. I looked at The Hero. “You don’t think Jewell is as good as her mother?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not looking to start anything.”

I leaned in a little bit. “I’ve been wondering something.”

The Hero smirked. It was the loose sort of smirk that only a drunk person could make. “You’re wondering if I’m The Hero?”

Truth was, I knew he was The Hero. I’d heard Beckett describe him so many times, there was no way I wouldn’t be able to recognize him. But sometimes it was better for people to think you stupid.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’d heard about you, but I wasn’t sure, to be honest.”

“It’s me,” he said. He leaned over a bit, smiling wide. “I’m The Hero. It’s nice, in a lot of ways. Having people recognize you, I mean. Makes me feel important. Of course, I am important, but sometimes I can forget that. We all forget how important we are.”

“You’re important here?” I asked.

“I’m important everywhere,” he said. “Here’s just where I like to hang out. A place to drink, a place to sleep, a place to fight, a place to fuck.”

“A place to fight?”

“Sure,” he said. “We have fights outside in the parking lot all the time. New kid gets a weapon, we’ll ask if he wants to try it out.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“He doesn’t have to,” The Hero said, looking at me like I was crazy. “What’s wrong with you? Why you have to ask so many questions?”

“Nature of the job, I guess.” Realizing what I’d said, I tried to recover. “Elf Guard.”

The Hero laughed again. At this point it seemed like the laugh came out more due to reflex, than actual enjoyment. He put his hands in the air. “I’m sorry, Officer. Am I in trouble?”

“No,” I said. “Not with me, anyway.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been a law-abiding citizen for…” he paused. “Well, it’s been a long fucking time. The number doesn’t matter.”

“Was it worth it?” I asked.

“What?”

“Following the law.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” he said. “Not with so much attention being put on me. Hell, this Blake Reiner kid. He had it lucky. Played the part of a hero, then got to go home and keep his anonymity. Ha. No, I wasn’t so lucky. I saved the world — fought the War to End All Wars. That is, the war of gods against men. But what good did that do me? Personally, I mean. Oh, sure. I got a reputation. But every punk from here to the Celestial Wall wanted to beat the crap out of me, just to prove that he could. Heck, I didn’t even want to fight when I was young. But those damn Elf Ladies — no offense.”

“None taken,” I said.

“Those damn Elf Ladies,” he said, barely registering my presence at this point. “They said I had to be The Hero. So I was. But they didn’t say how much I’d wish to do other things, afterward. Fuck, I mean. If that bitch Beckett Winters hadn’t been so fucking honest, maybe I could’ve lived a real life, you know?”

He paused for a moment, looking at me, expecting me to say something. I didn’t want to argue for Beckett here and now. But I wasn’t going to argue against her, either.

He continued, “There was no way that had to happen. She had the story of her fucking lifetime — none of that alien shit. So I had to camp out here, forever. Hoped people would forget about me, and in a lot of ways they did. But not enough, and too late anyways. I’m old now, you know? Not by your standards, but I’m old. And there’s no going back. No becoming who I really wanted to be.”

“Who’d you want to be?”

He laughed, chewing his lip and looking away from me. “A tailor. I know it’s kind of gay, but I’m not, you know. It’s just that clothes are so important. They say a lot about a guy. Or a lady, too, I guess. That’s a nice three-piece suit, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said, noticing his leather jacket and torn jeans. “Mind if I ask what your outfit says about you?”

He looked down. “Good question. Good question. You ain’t so bad, you know that? What this outfit is… What I’m trying to say. I don’t know. Nothing, at this point. My life’s so far gone. I gave up so long ago. Kind of like the cow this leather came from. I’m dead, but somehow still here.”

“Why here?” I asked.

“Everyone here’s looking for a fight, anyway. Everyone’s got weaponry, you know? Someone wants to start something with me, they also gotta contend with everyone else. It’s protection, really. Comfort, too, I guess. And of course, the drinking’s not bad.” He swigged it, then laughed, looking into his empty mug. “No, it’s not bad at all.”

I looked at my untouched beer and took a sip.

“Not a fan?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said. “If I’m going to drink piss, might as well just drink my own. That way it’s free, at least.”

He roared with laughter. “You’re funny. You’re funny. What the fuck you sitting around here for, anyway? You looking to fight someone? You’re not looking to fight me, are you?”

“No,” I said. “Looking for a weapon.”

“Wrong building,” he said, turning around and pointing in the direction of the smithy.

“Already been,” I said. “Jewell said she couldn’t help me.”

“You can’t get the weapon there, you can’t get it anywhere,” The Hero said. “What the fuck you looking for, anyway?”

“Blake Reiner,” I said.

The Hero snapped. “Leave the kid alone. Trust me. He’s done enough for this world.”

“Too much, perhaps,” I said. “He wants to get past the Celestial Wall.”

The Hero looked at me, incredulous. He caught the eye of the bartender and tapped his finger on the marble bar top.

“You’re crazy,” he said.

“I’m Elf Guard,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to, but I’m not doing it for the thrills. Really, I wish I wasn’t doing it at all. But I am, I’m here, and I need a weapon that can take down The Godkiller.”

“Impossible,” he said. But there was something odd in his eyes when I mentioned the Godkiller. A small change in his voice.

“You’re probably right,” I said. Took another sip of beer. Figured it might be a good idea to press the issue. “But there has to be something in the world that could destroy it. Nothing’s invincible. Everything can be destroyed.”

“Maybe,” The Hero said. The one-eyed bartender set a new mug down on the table. Without even looking, The Hero grabbed it and took a gulp.

“I think you know how to break the Godkiller,” I said.

“Ballsy,” The Hero said. “I can appreciate a lady with balls.” He scratched his chin. Looked at the bartender, then leaned in a bit. “You know, we talk about you at the bar sometimes.”

“I only just got here.”

“Elf Lady,” he said, and that was all too good of an explanation. “Came here once. Said someone like you was gonna come along. Didn’t say when or where or what you’d look like. But you’d want to break the Godkiller.”

“I do.

“Gonna have a shitty time doing it.”

“What’s that mean?”

The Hero leaned in even closer and began to whisper. “That Elf Lady came here a long time ago — ten years, maybe,” he said. “Entered the smithy wielding a gun. The way the guy told it to me, it was around noon. She came in there, wielding the gun, and there were about three people there: two guys, and Jewell. Now, Jewell was probably crapping her pants, but she didn’t show it. No, she looked the Elf Lady right in the eyes and asked, ‘Can I help you?’

“The Elf Lady shot one of the guys in the head.

“‘No,” she said, ‘But I’d like to help you.’

“She unloads the gun on the guy’s corpse, shooting him six more times. Reloads the gun, does it again. Ends up shooting the guy forty-nine times.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Guy who told me said something about a prophecy. Apparently the Elf Lady said the Godkiller would need to be destroyed at some point, and the metal in those bullets would do the trick. Told Jewell to melt the bullets into a gun that could destroy the Godkiller. Of course, I never thought it’d be in Val’s hands when it had to get broken. Always figured it would’ve been stolen. Or maybe he’d have a shit kid that’d misuse it, or something.”

He began sagging a little, his shoulders beginning to fall, his eyelids beginning to droop, like gravity was too much to handle in this late day and age.

“So Jewell did it? She took the metal and forged a gun that could destroy the Godkiller?”

“Yeah,” The Hero said. “Sure. Keeps it in her drawer and everything. I’ve seen a lot of fucked up shit. I’ve seen a lot of fucked up shit. But nothing that seemed so damn,” he paused, took a deep breath, “shitty.”

“Yeah.” I nodded my head. “You alright to get home?”

“Just a flight of steps.”

“Alright,” I said, patting him on the back. “Thanks again.”

I walked up the steps, contemplating the impossible.

— — —

I dreamed. It was a better way of living.

Val was there, in the passenger’s seat. We drove, looking at long fields of green.

I had one hand on the wheel, the other holding a blunt. I took a toke, blowing it out the car window. “You ever think about The Hero?’

Val nodded his head, arm hanging out the window. “Sure.”

“I was just thinking, because you two are so similar and all.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Val said, “in one sense, at least.”

“You think you guys are different?”

“In some ways,” Val said, “though I understand your point. The Elf Lady said that The Hero would save the world, and he did. She said I would save the world, and that’s what I’m doing.”

“Beckett said he was a miserable bastard.”

“I wouldn’t put too much stock in that,” Val said. “Beckett’s the sort of person that makes people miserable. I don’t mean to disparage her — I know you like her. I just mean that in a broader sense of the term, miserable is a state of mind. And I’ve seen a number of people get into that state of mind because of Beckett. Loud, intoxicated, and ready to say something offensive works great for you, but not most people in this world.”

“Maybe,” I said. “That makes sense. I just think about what fame must do to a man like that.” I took another drag. “You go and kill all of Hostem’s kids — all ten of ‘em, each of ‘em the god of something or other, and then everyone rewards you for it. You’re used to killing gods, but you can’t kill the biggest one of them all — you can’t kill Hostem. You’ve lost all sense of purpose. What does that do, you know? How do you cope?”

Val shrugged his shoulder, eyes focused on the scene outside the window. “You drink.”

“You gotta do more than that,” I said. “You can’t just get drunk.”

Val shrugged his shoulder again. “From what I’ve read, that’s all The Hero does, these days. He goes to the bar and gets drunk, a godkiller among men. He sits there while I go to kill Hostem. He sits while I kill the ultimate enemy.”

“Must be sad.”

“For him, anyway.”

— — —

I woke up to the sound of knocking.

Was I drowning?

I took in a deep breath of air, only to feel something in my mouth. I spat it out, coughing. Felt like my face was cocooned. I scratched it, only to have dead skin come off.

I got up and saw half of my face on the pillow.

Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t scream.

More knocking.

This is normal. This is what happens to elves. They shed.

The sound of Lusu’s voice: “I was having such a good dream, too.”

“Can you get the door?” I asked, feet on the floor as I tried scratching this dead skin off of me.

“Sounds like you’re already up,” she said.

“I’ve got to do something,” I said, making my way to the bathroom.

“This is a nice-looking door,” Jewell said, “but I’m not afraid to bust it down.”

Lusu got up and went to the front door, while I closed the bathroom door.

My reflection stared back at me. I didn’t like it.

“You try and break into my shop last night?” I heard Jewel ask, in the other room.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lusu responded.

“Someone hacked at the door of my smithy last night,” Jewell said. “Didn’t manage to break through, but that wasn’t for lack of trying.”

I should’ve been thinking about what Jewell was saying. I should’ve been planning on how to get that gun of hers. But instead, I merely met the glare of my reflection. I saw myself: the bleach blond hair, the button-down shirt, the body that didn’t belong to me.

“I’ve been here all night,” Lusu said.

“What about that elf you were with?”

“She was at the bar for a while, then came up and went right to sleep.”

“And where is she now?” Jewell asked.

“In the bathroom,” I yelled.

“I’d like you to come out here so we can have a chat,” Jewell yelled back.

“She’s shedding right now.”

“So?” Jewell said. “Elves shed, that’s just a fact of life. What sort of elf isn’t used to shedding?”

I bit my lip, holding back tears. Still couldn’t escape the gaze of the mirror.

This isn’t who I am. This isn’t who I am.

My hair looked all wrong. I could see why the elf had gelled it back: it was thin, oddly frizzy.

“She has a condition,” Lusu said. “Doesn’t shed as often as the rest of them. It’s a bit of a shock whenever it happens.”

“Well,” Jewell said, “I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m still going to need to see her. Someone tried robbing me the day after you two came into town, and that’s too much of a coincidence to just label it a coincidence. I need to look at that elf, look into her eyes and figure out if she’s the sort of thing that would try and steal.”

“You’re certain I didn’t do it?” Lusu asked.

“You don’t look like the sort of thing that would bust down a door like that,” Jewell said.

“Too innocent, or something?” Lusu asked.

“Or something,” Jewell replied.

I took a breath, then opened the bathroom door.

Jewell stared at me. It was almost worse, looking at her when she didn’t have the goggles on. I saw the anger in her eyes. I saw the pain.

“Did you try to break into my shop last night?” she asked.

“No,” I said. As soon as I said it, I felt regret: I sounded so unconfident, so hurt.

Still, Jewell said, “I believe you.” She turned for the front door.

“What now?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” Jewell replied.

“You know we didn’t do it. So what’s the next step for you?”

Jewell sighed. “They’ll try doing it again. Eventually, they’ll either get inside, or they’ll get themselves in some deep shit.”

“Must be something real special, to warrant such trouble,” Lusu purred.

“I guess so,” Jewell said. She opened the door and left.

“I wonder what that was about,” Lusu said.

I stood there for a few moments, wanting to tell Lusu about the gun. I hadn’t gotten the chance to tell her last night, since she’d been asleep. But now, the words just didn’t seem to want to come out.

I stood there for a few moments, searching for words until I finally managed to spit out, “Yeah.”

I rushed back into the bathroom, slamming the door closed.

“You alright?” Lusu asked, on the other side of the door.

“Yeah,” I said. My breath felt short. My body felt short.

I ran a hand through my bleach blonde hair. Ran the other one through it, too. It was soft. Too soft. Just a little softer than it used to be. I pulled at it, just hard enough to make it hurt.

I let go, tears welling up.

Looked at the button-down shirt. I’d been wearing it to bed every day, since I didn’t have any other clothes. It was wrinkled. It’d looked so nice on somebody else. But now that it was on me? It just didn’t fit.

I wanted to tear it off, but refrained. Instead, I unbuttoned it slowly, each action revealing just a bit more pale elven skin. Seeing my breasts wasn’t shocking, just disappointing. My shirt fell to the cold bathroom floor.

I unbuttoned my pants. Unzipped them, and they fell to the ground.

I stood there, braless, but still wearing my underwear. This was the hardest part, wasn’t it? But it was necessary, if I really wanted to understand myself.

I slipped my fingers around the cloth of the panties. My hands were trembling. One of my tears hit the bathroom floor. I tilted my head upwards, closing my eyes to try and contain the tears. Took the panties off without looking.

I opened my eyes. Then, slowly, I turned my gaze towards the reflection.

Took in a deep breath, trying to ignore the absence in-between my legs. I reached out with my right hand and leaned on my reflection.

Next

Previous

“It really is good to see you,” Val told me, his sword drenched in blood, his face lit up by a smirk. Lusu sat there, looking more than a little confused.

I sat there too, mad as hell. Madder than I’d expected to be.

“You piece of shit,” I said, standing up and walking towards him. “You ruined this world, you know that? You killed a god. A god.” I grabbed him by his shoulders and shook him. “How could we fuck up so bad?”

He laughed. “Always the tortured poet, eh?”

Standing there, his muscles in my arms, I realized how little the vagaries of time had done to him. His hair was a bit snowy, his face a bit craggy. But he was still strong — as strong as he’d been forty years ago.

And there I was, feeling weak, like my body would give out on me the first chance it got.

“You said you’d never talk to me again.”

“After the things you wrote in your book, are you surprised?” he asked.

“What’s so different now?” I asked.

“It’s been decades,” he said. “A lot of things changed.”

I let go of his arms. For some reason, those words really made me think.

“A lot of things didn’t,” I said.

“I can see that,” he purred. “Get my friend a drink, would you?” he asked Lusu.

“Already offered and declined,” she said.

“I didn’t ask whether or not you already offered,” he said, not deigning to look at her. His eyes were focused on me. “You still a brandy drinker?”

“Yeah,” I said, “among other things.”

Lusu got up to make me a drink. I didn’t notice any emotion on her face as she walked into the kitchen.

“What brings you here, now?” he asked.

“Stellavia is dead,” I said.

“Damn,” Val said. “She’ll be missed.”

“Not by everyone,” I said. “She was murdered.”

“You know who did it?”

“No,” I said. “Do you?”

“I’m not sure I catch your meaning.”

“Did you kill Stellavia?”

“Looking for another bestseller?” he asked, voice drenched with condescension. “Has your literary career been anything other than trashing my name?”

“Last time I gave you a pseudonym,” I said. “Last time people didn’t know that Blake Reiner the hero was in fact Val Rador. But I swear to God, Val. If you killed her, I’ll tell them everything. I’ll tell everyone who fucked this world over.”

“I didn’t kill her.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I didn’t kill her,” he said, his pitch the same as before.

“Then why the fuck is there blood on your sword?”

“Slayed a dragon,” he said. “Government job. You can ask around, if you want. I didn’t kill her.”

I paused. Sounded like he was telling the truth, but I didn’t want to believe him. Still, the blood on the sword wasn’t Stellavia’s. It didn’t have that glimmer.

“I can’t ask around,” I said. “Nobody that high up would talk to me.”

“Sounds like your problem,” he said. “That’s what happens when you write all these books.”

Lusu came back from the kitchen. She handed me a drink. It tasted damn good.

“You sure she was murdered?” he asked.

“The massive hole in her flesh didn’t leave much doubt.”

Soon as I said that, things got quiet for a while. They got quiet for a good long while, and I wondered if any of this was worth it: digging up the past that I’d fought so hard to bury. Digging up a past that I never should have lived through in the first place.

“I want to tell you something,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“And you can’t tell anyone,” he said.

“Okay.”

“Keep in mind, if you act like a journalist and publish this secret, I will be guilty of murder.”

“Again,” I said.

A spark of anger flashed across his face. Then, just as quickly, he regained his composure — a degree of sadness. I couldn’t tell whether it was actual or feigned.

“It’s about my son,” he said.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s–” he began. But he lost track of the thought. “I wasn’t a good father.”

Can’t say I was surprised to hear that.

“Val,” Lusu said. “Don’t–”

“It’s true,” he said, loudly. “I wasn’t a good father.”

The Angel of Death didn’t make a very good mother, either, but I wasn’t about to say that. I’d pushed my luck enough here already.

“Evan’s always been troubled,” Val said. “You know how he got his metal arm?”

“No,” I said.

“He wanted to meet his mother,” Val said. He put his finger on the bottom of his palm. Then he dragged it down across his vein.

“Cut his arm open?” I asked.

He nodded his head. “Nearly hacked it off himself.”

“Did she see him?”

“He thought he could get close to death,” Val said. “Didn’t actually want to kill himself. He didn’t die, so she didn’t come.”

“You’re saying he killed Stellavia to see his mother.”

“I don’t know,” Val said. “Maybe. It’s certainly worth a thought, wouldn’t you say?”

“I saw the Angel of Death take the soul away,” I said. “He wasn’t there.”

“She probably waited until he had to leave,” Val said. “She didn’t want to see him.”

“How do you know?”

“We talk, sometimes.”

I glanced over at Lusu. No emotion.

I came straight out and asked, “You’re not jealous?”

“Of what?” she said.

“Your husband’s talking to his ex, a supernatural creature that he had a kid with. And you’re okay with that?”

“Sure I am,” she said.

“Get out of my house,” Val said.

“Don’t let the gnat bother you, Val. He’s nobody. Blew away most of his cash on booze and drugs. Now he’s nothing,” she said.

“I thought you would’ve changed in forty years,” he said.

“Only got older,” I said.

Only got sadder, I thought.

“I’m used to you accusing me of murder,” he said. “At this point, it’s expected. But accusing me of cheating? Get out of my house.”

“Had to ask,” I said. “It’s a valid question.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

I did. Val followed me like a guard dog, looking me up and down. I walked into the vestibule and looked up at one of the tapestries hanging there. It featured a tall muscular man, sword arcing towards the Angel of Death.

An inscription under it read, “Blake Reiner fought the Angel of Death for three days and nights. They reached a draw, and she agreed to let him live.”

“Imagine if they knew the truth,” I said.

He opened the door and grabbed my arm, throwing me out. The door slammed just as my head slammed against the concrete. Getting up, I felt woozy. But that wasn’t anything new.

“Pictures don’t look anything like you,” I said.

I puked on his fake grass.

— — —

Had a couple hours to kill until the bar re-opened, so I drove to Beckett’s place. She was rich, though you wouldn’t know it. Lived in a decently-sized house that needed a few repairs. White paint was chipped, roof had a few tiles missing.

“Fiat Lux,” I said, snapping my fingers and lighting a cigarette. She hated to see people who didn’t have a vice within reach.

I knocked three times, then waited.

She opened the door. Looked as good as always, vibrant for a woman in her 80s. Her signature black pinstripe suit was splattered with neon green paint. A blunt dangled from her wrinkled fingers. She smiled and said, “Gimme a hug, you stupid bitch.”

I bent down to give her a hug.

“How are you today?” she asked, rolling her wheelchair out of the doorway and into the living room. I closed the door and followed.

“Interesting,” I said.

“Shit,” she said. “Last time you called a day ‘Interesting’ you were naked, drugged, and hanging by your ankle. Raving about that awful suicide business.”

“I went through a rough patch,” I said.

“Life’s a rough patch, kid. And if I didn’t teach you that, I didn’t teach you anything.”

I sat down on her sofa.

“What’ll you have?” she asked. “I’ve got coffee, mushrooms, LSD–”

“Mind if I take a toke?”

She took a drag off her blunt, breathing in deep. The tail-end of it lit up. She craned her neck towards the ceiling and let the smoke out, a thin column of smoke shooting for the sky.

“I’ll trade you,” she said. I handed her my cigarette, she handed me her blunt. We took our sweet time with the sins, then traded back.

“I painted a wild thing last night, George. Fuckin’ wild. You want to see it?”

“Sure.” I had plenty of time. A couple hours before the bar re-opened, and about twenty hours before I’d get chased out of town.

She wheeled her way into her workroom, then wheeled her way back to me. She held onto her painting. When she was closer, she held it out for me.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Looks like my morning,” I said. The painting showed Stellavia bleeding on the altar.

“What the hell do you mean?” she asked, nearly scowling at me. “You never did handle your weed well, you stupid piece of–”

“She’s dead,” I said. A silence hung over the room. I didn’t know what to say.

“She–” Beckett began, but she didn’t finish the sentence. The silence hung for a little while longer.

“Murdered,” I said, “just like in your painting.”

“Well,” she said. “That sure as shit can’t be a coincidence.”

“What made you decide to paint that?”

“Came to me in a dream,” she said.

“Did you see who killed her, in the dream?”

“No,” she said. “Just saw Stellavia bleeding all over the altar.”

“Weird dream.”

“That’s what made me want to paint it,” she said. “Fuck.” She broke into laughter. “It’s the end of the world. The fucking end. Isn’t that beautiful?”

“You don’t really buy that apoca–”

“When Stellavia dies, so does our universe,” she said. “That’s what The Hero told me.”

“Bullshit,” I said. “The world’s not ending. The world’s not– It’s not ending.”

“Don’t be so worried,” she said. “You always have to get so anxious about things. But isn’t there something beautiful about all this? The end of it all. The culmination of everything. This is what life’s been building up to over eons and eons.”

“I don’t give a shit what life’s been building up towards,” I said. “I’m not ready to die.”

“You better get ready,” she said. “This is the end. God, I can’t wait to tell Vicky.”

“She already knows,” I said. “Your daughter arrested me this morning.”

“What’d you do, act like your charming self?”

I put my head in-between my knees and muttered, “I’m not ready to die.”

— — —

Took a drive through the streets, killing time before the bar opened.

Damn.

I’d gone to Beckett to get some help with this murder: to try and figure out who did it. But all I got was another suspect.

“End of the world,” I muttered to no one in particular. “I finally accept my life, and the whole fucking world decides to end.” Guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’d seen a man kill a god. But even a god was small, compared to the whole damn universe.

I tried to focus less on the apocalypse and more on the murder. At that point I had four suspects.

There was Evan, the literal child of Death who wanted to see his mother for once in his life, who might have planned an apocalypse to facilitate just that.

There was Val Rador, ultimate hero and bloodthirsty champion, a paid killer who’d already killed creatures like these.

There was Lusu, who might’ve killed Stellavia out of jealousy for the way Val looked at other supernatural creatures.

And there was Beckett, my mentor, who was excited for the apocalypse and somehow predicted its catalyst ahead of time.

In the middle of it all was me, some old piece of shit who’d grown too fond of dangerous questions.

I checked my watch. It was time for the bar to open.

— — —

Evan glared at me as I walked in. He was ready, this time. There was no surprising him.

“Fuck you,” he said.

“Didn’t even let me say anything,” I replied.

“Don’t need to,” he said. “Don’t care. You’re writing an article, and probably another damned book. The more you talk to me, the more likely it is I’m going to be involved in it.”

“Just looking for the truth about who killed Stellavia,” I said. “So long as it wasn’t you, you should be fine.”

“Truth,” he spat. “Were you looking for the truth when you wrote Godkiller?”

“I was.”

“Why all the lies, then?” he asked.

“No lies,” I said, lying. “Left out some truths to hide your father’s identity, but there weren’t any lies.”

“You’re worse than your mentor,” he said.

“Beckett’s written some great books.”

“You don’t believe in all her alien shit, do you?”

“No,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean the theory isn’t interesting.”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “What do you want? What’s the quickest way I can get you out of here?”

“What are your thoughts on the apocalypse?”

“Not a fan,” he said.

“Even if it’d bring you closer to your mother? With an apocalypse out there, there’s no way you’d miss her. She’d finally take you. Heck, if you started it–”

“I didn’t start an apocalypse to see my mother,” he said. “If she cares so little to see me, I’m not going to fight so hard to find her.”

“Would you kill the world out of spite?”

“No,” he said. “How ‘bout you ask me a question that doesn’t confirm my suspicions that you’re just a stupid asshole?”

That sounded like a tall order, so I asked the question I’d been asking myself: “Who do you think killed Stellavia?”

“Honestly?” Evan said.

“Wouldn’t ask if I wanted a lie,” I said.

“I think you did it.”

“Me?” I asked. “What makes you think–”

“Don’t be an ass,” Evan said. “You’re the one who found the body, and you’re the one who’s at the worst place in his life.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know how you got the arm,” I said.

Evan stood there, not saying anything. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Who talked?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter–”

“It does matter,” he said. “Who told you?”

“I could have figured it out.”

“Thing is, you didn’t figure it out. Someone told you.”

“Don’t–”

“Not many people know,” he said. Then, insight hit him like a train. “You talked to Val.” I didn’t respond, so he said it again, “You talked to Val.”

There was hurt in his eyes — something that made me feel bad for him. I told him the truth. “I talked to Val.”

“He told you everything?”

“Not everything,” I said. “Told me about your arm, but he didn’t tell me everything.”

Evan was holding back tears, but I tried not to notice. His metal arm hung there, limp.

“I’ve never seen you use your right arm,” I asked. “What are the wires and pistons for? Isn’t it supposed to work?”

“It’s supposed to,” he said. “It does, but it hurts.”

“Can I see?” I asked.

“Fuck you,” he said.

“I’m trying to figure something out,” I said. “Can you show me how your arm works?”

He looked like a caged animal, vicious but broken. Talking about the arm must’ve thrown him off.

A small whirring sound could be heard in the darkness. I watched, as Evan’s arm began to move. He raised his shoulder up in the air, the shoulder seeming to struggle with the weight. Evan groaned but persisted. His arm reached about my height, his middle finger less than an inch from my throat.

He closed his hand finger by finger, curling it into a fist. It shined in the light of the bar. The whole process took a minute, maybe two.

“It hurts?” I asked.

“It reminds me,” he said, “of what I’ve lost.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know it doesn’t matter, but I’m sorry.”

“It does matter. Just doesn’t matter enough.” He paused, as if he wanted to give me time to think about that. Then he asked, “You think I killed her?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think you killed her. But I know who did.”

— — —

The Sun was setting as I walked up the sidewalk, passing the fake green grass, gun drawn. The second the dragon knocker saw me, I pointed my gun at it. It sat there, frozen. I’d never seen stone look so afraid. I walked up to the door and slipped my gun into its maw. The place still smelled like puke.

“Make a sound, and I’ll shoot,” I said. My shadow covering it, I noticed my pinky glimmer in the darkness. An orange fluorescent light turned on, flickering.

“D-”

*BANG*

It made a sound, so I fired.

Ears ringing, I took a deep breath. I raised my foot and slammed it, hitting right underneath the doorknob. The door cracked, swinging open. I ran in.

“Where the fuck are you?” I yelled, looking at the long winding staircase, the tapestries of Val Rador, the large hanging chandelier. There were three directions I could go: into the living room, up the staircase, or through the unmarked door on my left.

I checked the unmarked door first. Locked.

I shot off the lock and pushed it open. It was a weapons closet. Val had it all: swords, a mace, a crossbow. Handguns, shotguns, a rocket launcher. And, of course, a sword that glimmered. There were two empty spaces where weapons should’ve been.

“You know,” she whispered. I turned around and saw Lusu. My gun was aimed at her heart. The white swirls on her skin swirled quicker and quicker. She looked like a human hurricane, a hurricane of pigment swirling around, trapped, unsure what to do. She looked capable of anything in that moment, and I made sure to take notice of those eyes, those pale grey eyes of her that looked like they’d finally found emotion, finally found tears.

“I know.”

Next

Previous

She bled stars.

Stellavia bled all over the altar, her mouth hung open, blood oozing from her back and onto the temple floor. The trail of blood led to a small groove in the stage merely a few inches away, where a puddle of it sat. I dipped my pinky in the puddle, then looked at it. In the dim light, my finger lit up.

I brought the blood to my nose and sniffed it. It smelled like a cold summer night. Put the smallest bit on the tip of my tongue. It tasted like sugar water.

Crouched there in the temple just before the Sun was about to rise, I caught a glimpse of my badge. It made me proud of who I was, or rather who I pretended to be.

I used to be a man stuck in the past. Now, at least, I pretended I had a life here in the present.

This lady was one of a kind in this part of the world. How the hell was I supposed to figure out her time of death? It couldn’t have been too long; the blood hadn’t coagulated. Yesterday’s worship had taken place in the evening, which meant there was only a seven or eight hour window.

Long ago she had told me her body was only an accurate representation of the stars when she was living. When she died, she became something more static, like a map.

I walked up to the body. Studied her corpse, looking for our planet. It didn’t take long to find: it was the area with the least number of stars. In fact, it only had one star. The planet was a hair’s width above the belly button. Our Sun was about two inches from it. And when I squinted, I saw our two moons. They were less than half an inch from each other. Given their location, and given their daily rotation around the planet, I figured she must’ve died about two hours ago.

I glanced at the temple’s stained glass window. It featured Val Rador, the creature of light and life, his sword arcing down to kill the Angel of Death.

Bullshit.

I slipped a cigarette in-between my lips. “Fiat lux,” I mumbled, snapping my fingers so that a small flame shot out of them, lighting my cigarette.

I was about to turn for the door, figuring it’d be best to book it before the real cops arrived.

A pillar of light shot up from the ground right next to the corpse.

“Leaving so soon, George?” a booming voice asked from inside the light. The Angel of Death walked out of the pillar, which closed up behind her. I’d never admitted it out loud, but she was beautiful: long red hair, piercing green eyes, and two black wings that stretched across half the width of the church.

“Took you long enough,” I said.

“Death is a busy business, some days,” she replied.

“I bet it is,” I said.

She bent over to the starry corpse. She put her hand in its mouth and pulled a translucent sheet from it.

“I’ve got to take this soul to where it belongs,” she said. “Say hi to Val for me.”

“Fuck you,” I said, walking down the aisle and towards the door.

“Val already did,” she said, laughing.

That goddamn laugh of hers had haunted me for a long time now. It was good to hear it again.

I pushed open the thick wood doors and walked out of the temple, only to be greeted by two angry police officers, and the rising sun. I recognized the older one, Vicky.

“Put your hands on your head,” Vicky said with a bit of a drawl, her gun pointed straight at my heart.

“I didn’t kill Stellavia.”

Vicky’s eyes widened just a little. “Didn’t realize she was dead. Only heard that there was some commotion in the temple.”

Of course, I knew she didn’t know. She’s the one who tipped me off that there might be a story here. But I had to put on a show for the rookie.

“Well, she’s dead,” I said. “But I didn’t kill her.”

“Never said you did,” Vicky told me. “We still got you on tampering with a crime scene and impersonating an officer of the law.” She pointed her gun at the badge hanging from my neck.

“I know when she died,” I said.

“We will too, soon.” She took out a pair of handcuffs while her younger partner kept the gun trained. “Soon as we can take a closer look at the crime scene. Hold your hands out.”

I did.

She cuffed me and said, “Check the crime scene, rookie. I’ll take care of the perp.”

The kid looked nervous. He nodded his head and ran into the police station, while Vicky grabbed my arm and tugged me along.

“Thanks for the tipoff,” I said.

“You were supposed to be gone by the time we got here.”

“Ran into a little trouble,” I said.

“You were two blocks away and we were across town when I called. What kind of trouble could you have gotten into?”

“Angel of Death.”

Vicky stopped for a moment, turning to look at me.

“You didn’t shoot at her, did you?” she asked.

“No.”

“You could have at least taken off the badge,” she said.

“Forgot I had it on.”

“Why’d you put it on in the first place?”

“Nobody asks questions when a cop slips into an empty temple.”

“Nobody except other cops,” she said. She opened the cop car door. I ducked my head and she threw me in. “If I’d realized the commotion was a murder, I never would have called you. I’m going to close this door and check out the crime scene. If you’re gone when I come back, so help me I’ll shoot your dick off.”

I believed her, too.

— — —

People never go to the police station to have a good time. I was no exception, but I’d been there often enough to avoid feeling too nervous.

“You disturb matters beyond your domain,” the Wise Tree said. I sat in a hard plastic chair, Vicky standing to my right. The both of us faced the Wise Tree, whose face was plastered across the police station wall. They’d built the station around the Tree, presumably because of how handy he was for scaring the shit out of perps.

“Death’s my domain. Death, sex, and embarrassment,” I said. “That’s the domain of every journalist from here to the Celestial Wall.”

He grunted at that. He’d been hostile since the first day he met me, because I was a journalist. The fact that I’d written Godkiller didn’t help things.

“Did you kill Stellavia?” the Wise Tree asked.

“No,” I said.

“Even though Death is your domain?” he asked, with more than a hint of irony.

“I didn’t kill her,” I said.

“Who did?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re the best suspect we have,” the Wise Tree said. “We found her blood on your hands.”

“One hand,” I said. “A finger.”

“You were at the scene of the crime.”

“Two hours after she’d died.”

“Doesn’t the killer always return to the scene of the crime?” the Wise Tree asked.

“Not two hours after it happened. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“I’ll insult you however I care to,” he bellowed, his voice shaking my ear drums. I took in a deep breath of air, but the whole place smelled like a rotten forest. I wanted to gag. “You’re a gnat who had the audacity to kill a god. That makes you less than a gnat, in my eyes.”

“And yet a gnat doesn’t get the pleasure of your company,” I said. “You must care a little.”

Vicky cracked a smile while the Wise Tree roared with anger.

“Insolent, incompetent fool. You’d bring about the apocalypse with–”

“You know I didn’t kill her,” I said.

“What makes you so sure?” he asked.

“Because you know me,” I said. “You know I’m no swordsman. Would’ve shot her.”

“You could have a hidden talent,” the Wise Tree said. “Why would we fall for such a simple trick?”

“The swordsman who killed Stellavia was right-handed. I’m a southpaw.”

“Approach, Vicky,” the Wise Tree said.

Vicky did. The Wise Tree mumbled in her ear. She mumbled in his, then he proceeded to mumble into hers again. When they were finished Vicky walked over and unhandcuffed me. My wrists felt relief when the cold metal fell away.

She walked a few steps and turned around, taking a pen out from behind her ear and throwing it at me.

I caught it with my left hand.

“It’s not watertight,” the Wise Tree said. “I could hold you overnight, at least.”

A tense silence filled the air.

“Are you going to?”

“No,” he said. “Frankly, I want you out of my hair, and I don’t think you have the balls for murder.”

That suited me fine. I didn’t want him in my hair, either.

“But this could make things very difficult for you, if I wanted them to,” he said. “Instead, I’m offering you a choice: get out of this town in the next 24 hours, and never come back. Otherwise, you will feel the full force of the law. We’ll look through your life and air out your dirty laundry. I imagine you’ve picked up a lot of baggage in your 60 years.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re right,” I said, muttering “Fiat Lux” as I lit a cigarette. “Wouldn’t say you’re wrong, either.” I blew the smoke to the side.

“Will you take the deal?” the Wise Tree asked.

“Sure,” I said. “I could do for some travel.”

— — —

Arrived at the pub about fifteen minutes later. The first thing I saw when I opened the door was my reflection. Hated that. Baggy eyelids, unshaven face, and a crimson tie that weaved its way across my neck and down to my belt, looking like some open wound. I hated all of it.

The only thing I really liked about this bar was the smell: a cocktail of booze, sweat, and metal. It reminded me of the adventures I’d had with Val Rador. I was ashamed of them now, but I’d be damned if they didn’t comprise the best goddamn time of my life.

“Closed,” Evan said, his back turned as he wiped the bar down. He used his human arm for that, while his metallic right arm hung at his side. The arm looked cumbersome: a patchwork of wires and pistons. It was the sort of magic that went far beyond me.

“You said I could never drink here, anyway,” I said.

The rage built in Evan’s face as soon as he saw me. He was like that: never knowing what to say first, when he wanted to say absolutely everything. I figured he’d start with a curse word.

“Fuck you,” he said. And there it was. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Following a story,” I said.

“Just like a journalist. There’s a reason journalists don’t get access, you know,” Evan said. “Nobody likes a fucking journalist. They’re maggots, worming their way where they don’t belong, messing things up, asking the sorts of questions they shouldn’t ask.”

“How’d you get the arm?” I asked. It was far from the first time I’d asked that question.

“You’re a monster,” he said.

“You’re not wrong,” I said.

He let out a long, deep sigh, rubbing his eyes.

“What’s the story?” he asked.

“Stellavia died,” I said.

“How?”

“Sword through the back.”

“You see my mother?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“She mention me?”

“No,” I said.

“Figures,” he said, shaking his head. He let out a bitter laugh and threw his arms in the air. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“I’m sorry, if it matters.”

“It doesn’t. Death isn’t supposed to make life. She and Val shouldn’t have made me,” he said. His defenses went back up, and he almost looked cavalier as he asked, “You think I killed Stellavia?” It was a challenge, as opposed to a point of curiosity.

“I don’t know. Temple’s only a five minute walk from here.”

“I’ve got the means, if not the motive.” Of course, Evan had motive. He hated everything Val had ever brought to this city at the end of his adventures. And Stellavia had come back with us after our adventure.

Still, I didn’t want to push the point.

“Means but not motive,” I said. “Wondered if you saw anyone here that looked suspicious.”

“No,” he said.

“Nobody drunk and belligerent? Nobody with a sword?”

“Nobody,” he said.

That was a lie, too. Nobody walked into this bar without some means of defending themselves.

“I wanted to talk to your father,” I said.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Evan said.

“I need to talk to him.”

“You don’t need to write that story,” he told me. “You don’t need any of this. You want to know who killed Stellavia. You want to dig up your past yet again. But nobody’s interested, George. You had your adventure forty years ago, and that’s all you were ever good for. You and dad changed the world once. But that’s it. You don’t get to change it again.”

“All I want is an address,” I said.

“Too bad,” he said.

“The cops are going to come to this bar. They’re going to see if the murderer came here.”

“So?” he asked.

“So the article that I’m going to write about the investigation can go one of two ways. Either I write, ‘Police asked Evan Rador a series of questions regarding Stellavia’s murder,’ or I write, ‘Police canvassed the local area to see if anyone saw suspicious activity near the temple at around 3 a.m.’”

“You know her time of death,” Evan said.

“And you know where Val lives these days,” I said. “Help me out here.”

“My name doesn’t end up in your book?” Evan asked.

“Your name is erased from my memory,” I said.

He nodded his head. “Alright.” He searched his pants pockets, then found a pen in his shirt. Turned around to grab a pad of paper.

He wrote Val’s address down and ripped off a sheet, handing it to me.

“Pleasure doing business,” I said.

“Fuck you.”

— — —

Val Rador had a nice place. That shouldn’t have surprised me. It made sense. But still, I’d never known him as a man of luxury. It was strange to think of how much he might have changed. I walked down the cobblestone path, striding between two patches of fake grass. When I reached the door, I saw that they had a dragon knocker.

“Who are you?” the dragon spat out. It wasn’t a full dragon, not really. It was a small, stone head. The knocker, a heavy brass ring, looped around the back of his neck. If I wanted to use it, I had to get his permission.

I flashed my badge, answering his question.

“What do you want?” he asked. He wasn’t getting any nicer.

“What people like me always want,” I told him. “Answers.”

“First I wanna know the questions,” he said.

“You’re not a cop,” I said. “So cut it out, alright?”

“No, I’m not the one who cuts stuff out. I’m not that sort of creature, you see?” he said. “I’m this place’s first and last line of defense. As a dragon, a creature of light and fi–”

I banged on the door, yelling, “Will someone shut this goddamn dragon up?”

A figure opened the door.

It wasn’t Val Rador, it was a Hyalu.

I couldn’t decide if her skin was the ocean or the sky. It was a soft blue, softer in some areas than others. There were small patches of white swirling around, moving across her body like clouds or sea foam.

“You’re not a fan of dragons, I take it,” she said.

“They’re not my favorite,” I admitted.

Of course, they weren’t most people’s favorite, and I couldn’t help but wonder why Val would have a symbol of the Death Cult hanging on his door. I cast the thought to the back of my mind, fishing for her name, “Mrs.–”

“Lusu,” she said. “Lusu Rador. You want to come in?” she asked.

“I’d appreciate it,” I said.

We stood there for several moments, neither of us moving, like we’d both been followers for so long that we’d forgotten how to lead. I made my way into the house. She closed the door and followed.

The house was even more beautiful on the inside: spacious, with tapestries hung everywhere. They displayed Val Rador’s false accomplishments.

“Nice house,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said. It didn’t sound genuine. “Might I ask why you’re here?”

“I have questions,” I said, flashing my badge. “Do you know where your husband was last night?”

“Last night?” she said. “Last night’s barely ended. I just woke up.”

“Then do you know where he’s been for the past five hours?” I asked.

My heart beat four times before she responded.

“I don’t really keep track of his whereabouts,” she said. “He wouldn’t like that. Besides, I trust him.” That sounded like a lie, and I was glad. Trusting Val Rador would be one of the biggest mistakes of her life.

I would know. It was one of mine.

“So you don’t know where he’s been?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Is there any chance we could move into the living room? I’d like to sit down.”

“Certainly,” I said. “Lead the way.”

She hesitated for a moment, then walked. I gladly followed.

“This is a nice house,” I said. “What does your husband do?”

“He’s retired, mostly,” she said, the two of us standing in the living room. “Kills the occasional dragon.”

“Can I have a seat?” I asked, pointing at the red armchair. A small bookcase stood next to the chair. I noticed that my book, Godkiller, was shelved there.

“Certainly,” she said. “Would you care for a drink?”

“Had enough before I got here,” I told her.

“How about a smoke?”

“Got plenty,” I said, taking a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket for just a second to show her. I slipped them back in.

“I’m not sure whether you’re good at living or dying.”

“Mother always said you couldn’t be good at one if you didn’t at least try to be good at the other. Now, do you have any speculations about where your husband might have been last night?”

“No,” she said, sitting down on her white sofa. The white patches of skin peaked out from her white dress, and it looked like the couch was hugging her, enveloping her. “Do you?”

“I think he might’ve broken the law,” I said. “Would that change your opinion of him?”

“Show me a man too in love with the law and I’ll show you a man who doesn’t trust himself,” she said.

“That’s a bold thing to tell a detective.”

“You never said you were a detective,” she said.

“You couldn’t tell?”

“I’m not the detective.”

“Sharp tongue,” I said.

“You’ll forgive me,” she said. “I don’t like being interrogated about my husband’s whereabouts.”

“I can tell.”

“What do you think it is that he did, exactly?” she asked.

“You know Stellavia?”

“Of course,” she said.

“She’s dead.”

“Didn’t die of natural causes, I take it?”

“Stabbed with a sword.”

“That’s sad,” she said.

“Do you think your husband’s capable of such a thing?”

“We all are, aren’t we?” she asked.

I wanted to say no, but I knew better.

“I guess so,” I said.

Her eyes stopped focusing on me. Instead, they focused on something behind me. I turned around and saw a window. Nobody there.

“You’d really better go,” she said. Her eyes looked tense, and the white pigment in her skin seemed to move just a bit quicker.

“What did you just see?” I asked.

“I said you better go. Now.”

“I–”

“I know you’re not a cop,” she said. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but cops don’t ask questions about my husband. So get the hell out of here.”

“What are you hiding?” I asked.

“Get out of my house!” she yelled.

“What are you–”

The door opened. Val Rador stood there, sword in hand, face awash with anger. Then, perhaps recognizing me, his grimace turned into a grin. He let out a slow, menacing sort of laughter.

“George. What a surprise.”

His sword was drenched with blood.

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