This is Episode 4-7 of a serial urban fantasy & paranormal story.

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Part 4-7: Lessons

“Gonna need Persi to whack-a-mole me with that crowbar right about now,” said Fergus, clinging to me.

“Well if it's anything like last time, this is all taking place in about a billionth of a second,” I said, then wondered if I should have said that aloud where The Minder might hear me.

“So she’ll be a bit of a while then,” he said.

“Yeah. A bit.”

The Minder wove himself out of the arrangement of couches and stood a respectable distance away from us. I took the opportunity to take in my surroundings. It was either a massive study or a smallish library. Very similar look and feel as the parlor and The Minder’s little study: deeply stained wood and plush seating, an ornate fireplace. Red drapes and velvet pull cords stood stark against the grey stonework of the castle walls. The floor was sturdy hardwood, unlike the parlor’s soft carpet, and the ceiling rose at least three stories up, unlike The Minder’s enclosed workspace.

And, of course, the light source was nowhere and everywhere at once.

“Sally-Alena,” said The Minder, shaking his head, smiling.

“Hey dickweed, where’s my friend?” said Fergus. “’Bout yay tall, little wider than me, but in the good way, linebacker style, action-hero looking type, you see him?”

The Minder seemed to notice Fergus for the first time, and stared at him.

“Yeah, dickweed,” I chimed in. “Sound familiar?”

An exasperated sign tumbled out the demon, and he wandered back to the couches and sat down, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“Guests,” he said after a while, “if I tell you where to find your colleague, might you have a sit? To discuss our increasingly intertwined ribbons of fate?”

“Do we have a choice?” I said, conjuring up the image of my weapons.

The Minder sat up straight. “Why, yes! You may come and go as you please. The exit is in the back of the book.”

Suspicious, I materialized the polearm (Fergus made a fun noise at that) and used its tip to prod at the book. I managed to flip it and pull open the back cover with the flat of the blade. From my vantage point, I saw a darkish square and a figure.

Fergus cautiously peered over, his eyes darting between the book and me.

“It’s Persi,” he said. “It’s like I’m looking right at her.”

I let the cover fall back, still wary. My gut told me that the creep on the couch was being honest—in fact, I couldn’t recall a time he’d ever actually lied about anything.

“Come on,” I said to Fergus, and offered him the glimmering gold weapon.

“Whoah,” he remarked, examining it.

“It’s Persi’s.” I made my way to the couches, firing up my trusty rapier, and stood behind the one opposite the man-shaped thing.

“Sit,” it gestured.

“I’m good. Now talk.”

Fergus joined me a moment later, seeming unsure if he should hold the polearm aggressively or not. He opted to stand it by his side.

“Hello,” said The Minder. “What are you?”

“Uh, call me…” Fergus stamped the polearm, and grinned. “Hotah.”

“Hotah?” I said.

“From—ah, nevermind.”

“Sally-Alena and Hotah, welcome to the University of Eden,” said our host, spreading his arms wide. “I see your face growing in impatience, my dear, so yes, let’s get to the point. I have tried to coordinate a peaceable campaign, but the message of stalwart resistance you and your helpers send is clear.”

“Peaceable,” I snorted.

The Minder shrugged. “As peaceable as one can be, given the circumstances. It is important that I make something clear to you, to both of you. The Collector will not stop, and I’m afraid I am bound to see his mission through as inescapably as you seem bound to oppose it.”

“A fight to the death then, swell,” said Fergus/Hotah.

“Death,” said The Minder, seeming to taste the word. “Hm. In some ways. True or not, that is not why I’ve summoned—apologizes: invited you here.”

“Out with it,” I growled, rapier brimming with blue fire. Half my attention was on keeping tabs of how the room felt, in case there was a trap waiting to spring.

The Minder slapped the couch, and I almost shot him.

“Damn it, I respect you lot!” he said. “Not at first, no. Children playing in a place they did not understand is what I thought. Then you take down The Keeper. You unravel one of the locks, spit in the face of my treaty and manage to rob The Collector of his prizes yet again. I told you once I underestimated your mettle, Sally-Alena. It was true then and it’s twice true now. I shall not author a trilogy of committing the crime.”

He stood up and I planted my feet. Fergus leaned away, but also stood his ground.

“We both refuse to yield,” continued The Minder, “but if I can help you understand, perhaps then you might believe me when I tell you that our escape—our leaving of this infernal prison—is not only inevitable, but a true necessity. If I can help you see then perhaps you’ll even decide to aid in the endeavour.”

“Yeah, no thanks bucko,” I said, pointing the rapier at him, daring him to step closer.

“It’s not something that may be learned through words,” said The Minder. “And of course, The Collector won’t rest for a moment so that I might conduct a proper seminar. He and I did, however, manage to strike an accord. It’s a rather clever design, but I’m biased, being the architect. Come!”

He pivoted away from my blade and strode toward the fireplace. Hazy blue flames swirled and snaked out from an invisible source. We didn’t move, at least not at first. The fire contracted, shimmered, and resolved in the hearth as a scene—from the perspective of another fireplace. There was carpet, and the bottoms of furniture. And the legs of people. A dark skinned woman’s legs draped in a yellow gown, the pleated dress pants of her partner. Jeans and dusty sneakers went with the third pair.

“Oh shit,” said Fergus. He moved closer. “Dack? Dack!”

“He cannot hear you,” said The Minder, watching near the fireplace.

I got closer too. It was the parlor, alright. The angle tilted up, and there was Dack, sitting on the couch across from the bodies of the King and the Queen, head in his hands.

The Minder snapped his fingers and the scene scrambled, lost to a yellowy swirl. The mess sharpened, and we were now peering at the parlor door, from what seemed like the hallway sconce’s point of view.

Standing outside the door, passage barely tall enough to contain her, was the monstrous hulk of The Keeper. She stood facing the door, gripping a weapon that looked like it was from a video game: the thing was ninety percent blade and almost as wide as the doom knight herself.

“Ohhhh,” groaned Fergus.

The menacing form cocked its helmed head, then took two lurching steps to turn and face us.

“The Keeper can hear you,” said The Minder. “Her standing instructions are to eviscerate your friend and deliver his lock to The Collector. Unless…”

I pulled my gaze from the fire and snapped it to The Minder’s smug face. I thought I saw a flicker of sadness register before he turned back to the couches.

“Unless,” he said, sitting again. “You can get to the parlor in time. You know the way, but I’ve put some, ah, lessons in your way. I assumed you’d not be keen to study! Hence, a little incentive, how about it?”

“The bookcase,” I said to Fergus.

“How do we get past it though?” he said, still staring toward the hearth. The fire and images were gone.

“Oh, your little team has been ever so resourceful in the past, much to my chagrin! I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Must be off now, my pets need feeding.” The Minder stood up and stretched, pulling out a chained timepiece from somewhere on his person.

“Wait!” I said. “How much time?”

The Minder grinned. “Tickity-tock,” he said, and snapped his wrist. The timepiece came flying at us, breaking its chain. I jumped backwards and tried to hit it with a blast from the rapier, but I was too slow. It sailed in a flat line and struck Fergus right between his eyes.

 

 

Continued in Part 4-8

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