The Dream

It was a weird dream. Jack was normal sized and sitting in the work area of a tattoo shop. Flash decorated the walls and the placed smelled of isopropyl alcohol. Looking down, his left arm was draped over an armrest. There was a kid who looked like he could not have been more than seventeen working away on the inside of Jack’s forearm. Everything seemed so real, the sight, sound, smell, even the sensation in his arm.

The machine buzzed as the kid freehanded some intricate design.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked, keeping his arm rigid.

“It’s a protective sigil. Some of my finest work,” boasted the kid.

“You an apprentice?”

“Nope, but this is my first time,” he replied with a wink.

“Oh,” Jack responded, still watching the kid as he worked. “Do you know Smiley at Blood and Ink Tattoo? He does all my work,” added Jack.

He stopped and favored Jack with a big grin, powder blue eyes full of mischief. “Speaking of blood, do you know what blood magic is?”

Jack shook his head.

“Sex magic?”

Again Jack shook no.

“They are very old forms of magic using either blood or sex as a conduit to do magic, the purer the blood the stronger the magic, like throwing virgins into volcanos, that kind of thing.”

“Ok,” Jack said, confused and not understanding the direction the conversation was headed.

“Well, you my friend, you climbed inside a fledgling goddess, popping her cherry not just with your penis, but with ALL of you, then brought her to orgasm while you were still marinating inside of her newly opened maidenhood. Imagine swimming in a sea of rocket fuel and then throwing a match on it. That’s what you did.”

“What do you mean?”

The kid laughed. Looking down at Jack’s arm, the kid said, “Done.”

Jack looked down, but there was no evidence of any new work. He looked for the kid, but he was gone. Everything started to fade, the dream fragmented into indistinct threads of vapor, born aloft then lost to the breeze as he climbed back toward consciousness. Definitely weird.

Round-up

Situated on a fairly extensive piece of property, the 17th century manor house nestled in sedately amongst neatly manicured shrubbery. The property had been in the Halston family for nearly seven decades. A stone fence encircled the grounds, high enough to keep livestock in though there had been none in over a century.

Samuel returned to the estate to fortify a defensive position. Hiring an armed private security force for the grounds, he used the upper echelon of his following to magically ward the interior of the manor.

Samuel was at his desk reviewing an ancient tome when the door to his personal study opened.

“I left instructions I was not to be disturbed,” he said, looking up from the manuscript. A blonde haired woman dressed in business attire walked in, followed by two other women. He recognized Clarissa Heller’s assistant Hildegarde at once. He did not know the other two behind her. One possessed white hair, braided and tied back, eyes the color of ice. The other woman, slightly taller than her two companions had dark hair and vibrant amethyst colored eyes. The two women were both slender and quite comely though they appeared quite young to him, early twenties perhaps.

Samuel leaned back from his desk, elbows on the arms of his chair, fingers tented over his chest.

“Mr. Halston, allow me to introduce myself, my name is Hildegarde,” she said. “My associates are Serah,” she introduced, the white haired woman nodded slightly, “and Selene.” The dark haired woman smiled and nodded.

“I know who you are,” Samuel replied directly to Hildegarde.

“Then it should come as little surprise as to why were are here,” she said.

He smiled, a tired expression on his weary face. “You are here sooner than expected, very efficient.”

Hilde smiled, “Thank you,” she said, acknowledging the compliment.

“I had hoped my defenses would have made a better showing,” he added.

“Besides your local defenses, the balance of your inner circle has been neutralized,” she said.

“Killed?” he asked.

“There were some casualties, though minimal,” she informed.

“Unfortunate,” he commented, not out of some moral connection to those lost, but because replacing them would take time and effort.

Reaching into her purse, she withdrew a small cloth pouch. Loosening the drawstring, she poured out a faceted black stone into her palm.

“Is that it?” he asked, leaning forward.

She nodded. Walking forward, she set it down on the edge of his desk.

He reached out and took the stone in his hands, rolling it from one hand to the other before cradling it between them. He could feel it pulsate in his grip, power seeping into his fingers. The sensation was electric. He looked up at Hilde. “This truly is one of the stones of power,” he breathed.

Hilde smiled.

“I think you have made a very telling mistake Hildegarde,” he said. Channeling his magic through the stone, he lashed a killing spell at Hilde. Nothing happened. He held the stone up and tried another spell. As before, she remained untouched, unharmed. He looked at the stone in his hand and frowned. “I have spent a lifetime harnessing my skills.”

Hilde nodded, “One small fleeting lifetime.”

“But this is the source of her power,” he said, eyes still transfixed on the stone.

Hilde smiled. “Her power outstrips that stone thousands of times over. To her, the stone is a meaningless bauble. She likes it because of the striations in the stone, blacker than black, nothing more.”

Setting the stone back down on the desk, “What now then?” he asked, leaning back in the broad backed antique leather chair.

“I am to escort you to my mistress,” replied Hilde.

“Very well,” he replied, straightening the chair he stood upright and buttoned his suit jacket.

“I am glad you understand the situation,” she said with a smile, pleased he did not grovel like so many of his followers.

The Game Board

Jack awoke with a dry mouth and a dull throb in his head. Somewhere nearby he could hear the hum of electricity. Cracking an eyelid, he looked up at the discolored ceiling. It took a second to register, the room was his size, normal sized.  Sitting upright, he found himself atop a bed, pale light with dancing green shone in through the window as a warm breeze fluttered the curtains. The room looked like a rundown hotel room, faded wallpaper stained by years of cigarette smoke decorated the walls. Orange carpet worn bare near the door covered the floor.

“What the…” Had he been restored? He wondered as he swung his legs off the bed. Rubbing his hands over his face, he got up. Walking to the bathroom he passed a set of clothes folded atop the battered desk in the room. He stepped into the bathroom, clicked on the light. The mirror in the room was cracked along one edge. Last he remembered he had been covered in blood, but now he was clean. He turned on the faucet, cool water splashed out into his hands and he washed his face. Leaving the bathroom, he sauntered over to the window, peering out, he saw he was on the second floor of a building. The neon sign just outside his window was attached to the side of the building, blazing ‘Hotel’ in bright green neon. There were maybe a dozen or so buildings, lining either side of the street, the air was warm and dry reminding him of desert. There was a gas station down and across the street to his left, beyond that was darkness. There were a handful people, all men in the street looking around bewildered, as if they too had found themselves somewhere unfamiliar. Leaving the curtains parted, he yawned and went to the clothes. Briefs, jeans, t-shirt, running shoes, and a leather jacket, he didn’t recognize any of the clothes but they fit him perfectly. Dressed, he quit the room. To his right, he saw stairs down at the end of the hall. He could hear a heated voice coming from the stairwell. He recognized the voice, Cyrus. Descending the stairs into what seemed some type of open sitting area, Jack paused a minute to observe the commotion.

Cyrus was standing over top of another man seated on one of the couches lining the wall, “What the fuck have you gotten us into?” he demanded, slapping at the man’s arms as he attempted to defend himself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” squealed Thomas Edwards, desperately trying to fend off the angry gangster.

“Cyrus!” Jack called as he reached the bottom of the stairs

Cyrus turned at the sound of his name. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jack the Hammer Dalton,” he whistled. He ceased his assault on the frightened lawyer and took a couple of steps forward, “You are probably the last motherfucker I expected to see here. Maybe you know what the fuck is going on. One minute I’m talking to some broad about where the fuck you are and the next I’m the size of a goddamn mouse in a fucking shoebox surrounded by giant sized bat shit crazy dames, then I wake up in this shithole.”

“Yeah,” Jack replied, walking passed Cyrus to stand at the door leading onto the main street.

“If you’re here, where’s Tony?” Cyrus asked, casting a glance up the stairs before looking back to Jack.

Surveying the street outside, “He didn’t make it,” answered Jack, not bothering to look back.

“What do you mean, didn’t make it?”

“Big girl ate him, now that piece of shit is really just a piece of shit,” Jack said with a chuckle.

“Ate him?”

Jack turned, lifted his hand to his mouth, “Ate him,” he said then turned back to look out into the street.

“Oh,” acknowledged Cyrus. Turning to the lawyer, he asked, “What about you counsellor?”

Thomas remained curled in a tight unobtrusive ball, “I was in my office and blonde woman with a ponytail shrunk me down, Hilde she called herself, I don’t remember anything else until I woke up and found you down here,” wheedled the lawyer.

“Hilde, yeah, that’s what the cunt called herself,” Cyrus added, nodding.

A bad feeling started gnawing away at the back of Jack’s brain, he suspected what was happening. This town looked impressive but he suspected it was a bullshit construct, he was still little and soon there would be a swarm frenzied giant women ripping the town apart to catch all the tiny people hiding here. He figured he needed somewhere to hole up and fast. There was no telling, maybe the hunt had already started.

“We still got unfinished business, you and me,” Cyrus said as he walked up behind Jack and pushed his shoulder.

“Now isn’t the time,” cautioned Jack, voice full of menace.

Cyrus grabbed Jack and spun the larger man around, “Looks like time is all I got right now,” he growled.

Jack pushed Cyrus back, easily overpowering the man, “Listen fuck face, we are out of time and death is about to ride into this little dump of a town in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. I don’t know how much time we got, but I bet you it’s not much. We survive this, you and me can figure this shit out.” Jack turned away from Cyrus and walked back to the door.

Exiting the hotel he walked to the middle of the road that ran through the center of town. One way in, one way out, and the road vanished into darkness to either direction just beyond the illumination of the town. A side road on the east end of town ended in a mobile home trailer park, a handful of houses lined the road on the west. The sinking feeling moved to his gut. Everything in the town had a genuine feel, but possessed a wrongness, just felt off. That niggling voice in the back of his mind told him what it was, the town was a killing field. This was the environment for the hunt.

Standing as he was in the middle of the road, a young woman followed by two men emerged from a building opposite the hotel and ran into the building to the left of the hotel, Annabelle’s Beauty Salon.

There were a half dozen cars angle parked along store fronts. Hearing footsteps behind, Jack turned as Cyrus approached.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Cyrus asked.

“I think we’re going to need to hide,” Jack replied. Turning, he left Cyrus staring after him. Walking down the road to his east, he stopped at the edge of town, a post office to his right general store to his left. The air held a hint of jasmine.