Mid-Arc Read online

  Jumping off his chair, he goes to the coffee maker and pours me a steaming cup.

  “Ye know I donna care for it without a shot of the spirits meself, but who’s to judge.”

  I raise my mug in agreement of differing tastes.

  Arix already sits at the kitchen table, book in hand and still in human appearance. He raises his mug in acknowledgment. Arix does love coffee, along with red bull, monster energy drinks and most anything with caffeine, though you’d never see him jittery or jumpy. He’d probably love meth.

  Note to self: keep meth and crack away from Arix.

  Pffif brings that huge mound of eggs, bacon, sausage, and biscuits to the table. It smells great and cold eggs do lose their luster, so I dig in, as does Pffif. Arix takes a strip of bacon, examines it, and goes back to his book, taking dainty bites.

  Then we are joined.

  No doubt, the smell of food brings Vets around. Vets, as I call her, is the muscle of our group. Standing almost six and a half feet tall and muscled like nobody’s business. Vets, or the Vetisghar as Arix and Silithes refer to her, is my personal bodyguard and shock troop all rolled into one. Wearing the enchantment Arix puts upon her, she is a blunt-faced Amazon woman. In reality, she is a black skinned, overly muscled warrior with catlike features, tail, fangs, and claws.

  She’s a true badass, with the personality of a cardboard box to boot. To Vets, as best I could tell, preparation for battle and servitude is all she knows and all she cares for. Honor is paramount to her. Duty, honor, servitude is her mantra. In our seventy plus years together, she is the one who is most like today how she was yesterday. Most of us have grown and adapted with the time. Vets… not as much.

  She sits at the table and asks, “May I feed?”

  Yes, feed. Of course, I say, “yes.”

  That takes care of most of the eggs, half of the bacon and a chunk of the sausage links. Good thing I got my plate when I did. She curls her arm around her plate, and a casts a feral look at both Arix and Pffif. Arix smiles at her. Pffif, of course, can’t resist the opportunity to taunt. He ever so deftly stabs a fork at her eggs. This results in Vets hissing at him and stabbing at him with her fork. But Pffif is a slippery character and avoids the move, hopping away and taunting her by waving the fork of eggs under his nose and acting like it was the most savory morsel he would ever sample.

  Vets immediately covers her plate with her body, turns to Arix and hisses at him. Totally un-phased, Arix looks up from his book stares her in the eyes and asks only one word – “Really?”

  He’s seen this too many times before and I think he’s less than amused.

  A low guttural growl emits from somewhere in Vets.

  “Vets, Pffif does this to you all the time, chill out. We can make more if you are still hungry,” I say.

  She sits up slowly from her plate and acknowledges me.

  “Yes, Master,” is her only response. She begins to chow down her food, eyes darting to Arix and Pffif defensively. It always makes me wonder what dinnertime was like with her family.

  “Pffif, do you always have to antagonize her like that?”

  Vets’ eyes bore a hole in the little guy in between gulps.

  He just smiles in his usual disarming manner and says, “Now how can I pass up such sport?”

  Before I can say a word, Vets responds, but not to him – to me.

  “The whelp needs more lessons in respect.”

  She turns her glare to him while licking the last morsel of egg from her plate. With Vets, table manners have to be somewhat flexible.

  Those two have been at each other since day one – mostly because Pffif finds her to be such an easy mark. And as far as lessons go, Vets has administered a few very violent ones. The last one consisted of surprising the little guy and cleaving him in two with her sword. One does not sneak up on a leprechaun easily; much less cleave one in half with a great sword. Luckily, when any of my summonlings is killed, they just return to the white and I can summon them back.

  But still, who wants to experience being cleaved in half?

  Vets’ eyes dart from Pffif to the hall as Silithes comes sauntering in. Of course, she couldn’t be fully dressed, wearing only one of my dress shirts that barely covers, much less buttons up. Upon examination, it’s the shirt I wore yesterday.

  “Did the Vetisghar leave anything?” she asks, making her way to the coffee maker.

  Vets’ eyes are following her entry into the room, and she pushes the plate of biscuits forward, which Sil acknowledges with a smirk.

  Vets is decidedly carnivorous; the biscuits were safe.

  Vets gets up from the table, bows her head to me, and proceeds to leave. I smile at her, goodness knows if that nicety is really understood.

  Sil, like the others, is in her human appearance; jet black hair with perpetual bed-head, every inch of her a screaming a Jessica Rabbit va-va-voom. But this one wasn’t drawn bad; she just is. In reality, she is just as well proportioned, accented by pale white skin, and purple lips. Punctuating all of that are, tail, wings, small horns, claws, sharp teeth and striking green alligator-like eyes.

  She is an interesting mélange of the disturbing and alluring indeed.

  She pours her coffee, carefully adds her cream and sugar, then eases to the table. Sitting down where Vets was, right across from me, she peers from atop both hands on her mug. A coy, knowing smile finds its way to her mouth, and she takes a slow sip.

  Arix looks up from his book.

  “You presume much,” Arix says.

  Smile not fading an inch or eyes leaving me, she says, “I always look at him that way.” She turns to Arix, smile fading. “There is some consolation in routine, right?”

  “As I have said… She is…”

  “Incorrigible” we all three say at the same time – followed by a good round of laughter.

  Sil reaches for a biscuit and some jelly, while Arix produces a clipboard from under the table.

  “I took the liberty of making team recommendations and packing instructions, by room. Each room is assigned two people to ensure maximum efficiency.”

  He hands me the clipboard. That is Arix, always a step ahead.

  “I’m sure this is great, Arix, only one change…”

  “Yes, yes,” he interrupts. “I will assign Silithes to someone other than you.”

  Sil sighs dramatically and cocks her head toward me in disapproval. “Why in the name of the…”

  Arix’s hand slams on the table before she could finish the sentence, jumping her and me somewhat too.

  “His beloved is not a day in the earth. Show some consideration, Temptress!” he proclaims in a voice that booms and shakes the room.

  Damn, it’s been a while since Arix used the old voice of doom trick. It doesn’t get old.

  His eyes bore into her, and I am pretty sure that third one is wide open too under whatever spell he is using to appear human. Sil’s expression turns from shock to sheepishness.

  “Master, I mean no disrespect, my nature is well known. Sometimes I forget myself. I hope…”

  I wave her off mid-sentence and look over to Arix, who has not taken his eyes off of her.

  “Let me excuse myself,” Sil says and proceeds to take her biscuit and coffee elsewhere.

  “Be presentable for family,” I call out before she gets too far.

  “Of course.”

  “That was dramatic, Arix,” I say.

  Smiling, he takes a deep breath and his eyes off Sil, “This is a hard time for you my wielder; we of the Helterezen realm do not fully comprehend the depth of your pain. She needed a reminder to think with her brain, not her… man-trap.”

  “Man-trap… Really?”

  Arix actually laughs, and his laugh was contagious enough I have to chuckle too. Arix composes himself and then looks at me with all seriousness, “perhaps I should have called it something even more descriptive; there are, after all, so many names for that particular part of the female anatomy.”
br />   More chuckles ensue, which from Arix are few and far between.

  He stands up, puts his hand on my shoulder, and says, “Family arrives.”

  And sure as shootin’, up come the cars and a big yellow rental truck. Hjuul, in a more regular wolf form, thanks to Arix, goes tearing down the driveway to greet them barking all the way.

  Time to pack me up. I give a brief thanks for not having to go through Dory’s things. Jerry and family will deal with that. I wonder for a moment if I am acting selfishly. But then I remember, it’s all part of Dory’s plan.

  She’s still taking care of me.

  Chapter 4

  The packing itself is blissfully short, and the goodbyes go by too damned fast. I should have lingered more, taken more time with the grandchildren and the great grandbabies, even though many now are approaching adults. The littlest ones would never truly know who I am. But dang-nabbit if they don’t know that they’re loved. We make some tentative plans for a family get-together in the fall. Marge says she will do the planning.

  I plan to make sure she does. I really don’t want to be away from them.

  The road is tedious. There isn’t much room in the front of the rental truck, so I am joined by Arix and Sheyliene. Sheyliene is in what I call Tinkerbelle Mode – a tiny, tiny little fairy with lithe gossamer wings. And by tiny I mean able to sit on my shoulder tiny. Shey, as I call her, can grow and shrink as she pleases in a cascade of fairy dust. For now, I am her seat as she lays curled up in my lap, smaller than a Barbie doll. Dory’s passing hit her very hard. They were close – very close. Shey was Dory’s favorite, despite the fairy’s explosive temper and many-times erratic behavior. They would garden and chat and shop and cook and bother me about things I wished they wouldn’t.

  Thick as thieves, those two.

  Shey’s been very quiet. Which for her is unusual – normally she’s quite the chatterbox. But I understand – I’m in no mood for idle banter either. Arix knows this; his face has been in a book the entire ride.

  The rest of the crew, less Vets, is stuffed into my minivan, which was being towed off the back. Vets has no issues with being sent to the white. In fact, she prefers to travel that way, mentioning something about being able to train and meditate without interruption.

  We’ve clocked about three hundred miles before Pffif radios in from the minivan with a request to stop soon: “The doggie is lookin’ at me with hungry eyes, and he’s starting to look kinda yummy too.”

  “Message received, Pffif. We will stop at the next restaurant.”

  I could just send them back to the white. It would eliminate their hunger and generally rejuvenate them. But, as Pffif has told me before – where’s the fun in that? They all enjoy earthly pleasures more or less, except maybe for Vets; goodness knows what makes that one happy – decapitation of her foes?

  So, my eyes are peeled, and I look for billboards, road signs, etc. for where we might take a meal.

  We’ve just passed through Deming and goodness knows what we might find. Eventually, I spy a sign for a place called “Hondo’s – home of the Hondo Mondo Burger.” I’m sold, so I radio back to Pffif that relief is in sight. That gets a Huzzah from Pffif and a woof from Hjuul.

  We pull off the exit and find Hondo’s bar and grill – a nondescript concrete block building in the midst of nowhere except for the gas station across the street. Painted across the front of the building is “Home of the Hondo Mondo Burger!” and another sign with changeable letters proclaiming Tuesday was karaoke night and that there were two for one pitchers before six.

  But the sign that really mattered said “Open.”

  We all exit from our vehicles. Hjuul tears off running; I suppose nature calls. Shey, before exiting the vehicle, expands to her more normal size, by reaching up to her hair and tousling it. Then in a shimmering white downfall, she transforms fully human too. No solid gold eyes, no cute pointy ears, no silver/green luminescence to her skin – just a teeny, skinny young lady in a light, almost gossamer dress.

  She looks at the building –“Burgers?” She wrinkles her nose in disapproval.

  “Where they have burgers, they have fries,” I add.

  That gets a smile, a “yum,” and some applause from her.

  “Ye daft Pixie,” Pffif pushes her lightly “We got to tell ye of the potato every time?”

  Shey looks at him, hurt. She pouts, brushes off her dress where he touched her, then sticks her tongue out at him.

  “I don’t see Hondo Mondo fries on the wall – do you?”

  She puts her hands on her hips as if that proves everything.

  Pffif erupts in bawdy laughter while Arix just glowers at them like little misbehaving children. Arix looks to Sil for support. She just shrugs back at him, and then goes back to looking at her nails. Shey joins in Pffif’s laughter for a moment. Then suddenly, something pretty and shiny catches her eye.

  “Bikeys!” she exclaims and runs over to the row of five motorcycles near the entrance. She stops for a moment to look them over, with ooh's and aah’s in her eyes, running her hands over the one she was closest to.

  Next thing you know, she’s on the motorcycle making “vroom-vroom” noises.

  I look over to Arix, “I need to get Hjuul his lunch. Can you?”

  “Yes, I will remove the pixie from the motorcycle and get us a table.”

  “Thanks, Arix.”

  I go to the back of the rental truck with Hjuul close at my heels. “Wish you could come in, buddy, but you know how it is.”

  Hjuul makes a whiney sound in response. I open the gate to the truck, pull out Hjuul’s dish and reach pull out a chub of ground beef from the cooler.

  Hey, he’s my buddy, and he deserves good road food too.

  Tail wagging, he waits patiently for me to split it open and present it to him. Rather than just digging in, he makes eye contact with me.

  “No, thank you,” I say. I get the other bowl and fill it with water. “You know the drill,” I tell him. He does. For appearances, I attach a flimsy collar and a long flimsier leash to the truck.

  It’s time for my lunch, and I realize that I am hungry too. I also notice that each of the bikes has an upside down burning cross on them. I stop and consider the symbolism– does that mean the destruction of evil, the burning of the upside down cross? Maybe it just means “we want to shock you.”

  I conclude it doesn’t matter a whole bunch; I’ve been around bike gangs for ages – don’t mess with them, they don’t mess with you.

  Time to see what this Hondo Mondo burger is all about.

  Chapter 5

  The interior of Hondo’s is just as stripped down as the exterior. It is basically an open space with a bar on one side, flanked by a small stage and bathrooms. Simple picnic tables fill the space between. Arix, Pffif, and Sil sit at one table to the wall opposite the bar. The bikers sit near the stage, obviously having a good time based on the number of empty pitchers and noise. Shey is on the other side of the stage from them in front of the jukebox with a hand full of quarters, grooving to the music.

  I sit down next to Arix, back against the wall. Inadvertently, I make eye contact with one of the bikers who was apparently staring at me first. I smile and nod. He gives me the finger. I look away. No problem. No need to escalate.

  The bartender comes around and greets the table. “You all may want to get the hell out of here,” he whispers, followed by rolling his eyes toward the more raucous table. “Bad news, there.”

  His gaze sets upon Arix, as he appears to be the elder statesman of the table.

  “Oh?” replies Arix nonchalantly, who then looks over across the biker’s table. Not good, they were looking at him too.

  I look at Arix and then the bartender. “Thanks for the advice, let’s pack up, Dad.”

  Arix turns to me with a look that says, “Really?” The bartender turns to leave having delivered his message, then ducks as a plastic pitcher careens off the wall behind us.

  “Beerten
der! Do your fucking job! Reload!” Mr. Middle Finger bellows followed by laughs aplenty from his friends. Our waiter was right, Mr. Middle Finger and his ratty receding hairline needed to be left far, far behind. The music shifts from Metallica to Sheryl Crow, and that is not a good sign. Shey is totally oblivious, just swaying to the music and trying to figure what to spend her next quarter on.

  At that point, one of the bikers, a large, potbellied, hairy one, gets up. He slaps Mr. Middle Finger on the shoulder and begins striding to the jukebox. I look to Pffif, Arix, and Sil

  I whisper the only thing I can think of, “Crap.”

  Beer Belly wastes no time once he gets to the jukebox in reaching out and grabbing Shey on her tiny behind.

  Of course, he has to say something cheesy, “I like how you move that thing.”

  Shey spins around quickly into him, and by quickly I mean blink of an eye fast, knocking his hand on her rump away and with her other hand shoves him by the beer belly back two steps. It was an interesting juxtaposition watching an as-if ninety-pound girl move a three hundred pound gorilla like that. I see the tirade coming, Shey looks him up and down with disgust in her eyes. She takes a step back and lets her mouth fly.

  I cringe.

  “You fat fucking fuck! What the fuck do you think you’re doing putting your fatty fat pig hands on me, you lard belly ugly son of a troll bitch?”

  She bows up as if to say “do something and die.”

  As I start to say something, he moves forward suddenly grabbing her little neck in his large hand and pulling her close.

  “You got quite a little mouth on you, little bitch.” He looks over to his table – they apparently approve – and then back to Shey. Shey’s eyes emanate rage.

  “Good thing it’s a purty little mouth.”

  The table explodes in laughter.

  Shey explodes too.

  Like a flash of lightning, three things happen. Her jaw comes down on his hand holding her throat, trapping it. Then her left arm darts above his arm, while the right goes under it. She turns her whole body, forcing him to turn as well. Now, having taken control of his wrist with her right hand, she hyper-extends his arm and then finishes with a blow crushing his elbow with her free left hand.