Hero's Curse (10 page)

Tim nervously wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “To tell you the truth, I’d really feel more comfortable if you’d just go back to the tried and true Latin incantation. I can show you the proper gestures and light the usual incense and candles if you think they will help you focus?”

It was hard to tell because he was already such an emotional wreck, but he did look more jittery. “So what’s the downside of me using Pig Latin instead?”

“The amount of power you have is entirely dependent on how close your genetic makeup is to an angel. On a scale of zero to one hundred, with zero being someone without any angel genes and one hundred being your typical angel, I’m level eight. The worst that would happen if I cast a spell like this without a surge protector field is that all the synapses in my brain would burn out. My brain wouldn’t know how to keep me breathing. You’ve heard of spontaneous human combustion? They’re levels ten to twenty. To be a paladin, you need a rating of at least twenty-five.” Tim became visibly more confident as he talked about magic. Despite his general goofiness, it looked like he knew what he was talking about. “I’d bet you’re in the mid forties. If something goes wrong when you cast your first spell and you aren’t in a shielded room, you’ll explode with enough force to level this entire block.”

“So what happens if I’m in a shielded room?”

Tim lost all the confidence he had gained. He gulped nervously. “You still blow up but the explosion is contained inside the room.”

I considered doing it Tim’s way. Ever since that fricking troll, I’ve had surprise after surprise and crisis after crisis slap me in the face. If I had the potential to be a powerful magic user, I wanted access to that power now. If I had a year, or even a few months, I could learn enough Latin to handle whatever came my way—to know for sure what the spell was supposed to do, and how I was supposed to cast it. I didn’t have that kind of time. There’s a difference between necessary and unnecessary risks. Using Pig Latin for spells was a necessary risk. “Where can we get a shielded room?”

“You’re in one now. All our rooms down here are shielded, but if you don’t mind I’ll move you to another room. Some of the stuff I have in here is impossible to replace.” Tim got up and escorted me through a blast door at the far end of the hall. Two more flights of stairs down ended at another blast door. The door led into a large long room about twenty feet wide and forty feet long. “This is the room where we test distance weapons and explody things. It’s actually under Broadway. The street’s about twenty feet above us. If you don’t mind, I’ll wait upstairs while you try your spell.” With that he turned and fled out the door.

I’d only been with Tim for a few minutes, but I was already missing Aidan. Tim had a binary solution set to stressful situations. He was either calm or completely freaked out; there were no gradations in-between. I couldn’t tell if Tim was just being Tim, or if I was making a stupid decision. With Aidan, I would have gotten a better read on the situation. I went over my options again. I wondered if I was doing the right thing, or if it was worth taking the time to find Aidan and get his input.

“The hell with it.’ I started the incantation.

 “I-ay ace-play is-thay otection-pray upon-ay yself-may.

“I-ay ill-way ot-nay use-ay agic-may ithout-way onscious-cay intent-ay.

“A-ay iscast-may ell-spay annot-cay urt-hay e-may.

“Instead-ay e-thay energy-ay ill-way issipate-day

“ithout-way arm-hay o-tay yself-may or-ay others-ay.”

Nothing happened. I stood and waited for a minute. Nothing happened again. It was one of the most anticlimactic moments of my life. I went to look for Tim. He was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Before I could say a word, he flew down the stairs, hugged me and started crying—burying his head into my shoulder. I could feel his snot and tears soak through my shirt. “Mr. Paladin, I was so worried about you.” It was awkward. I was really starting to hate this job.

Eventually it dawned on Tim we didn’t look at all heterosexual. He let go of me and had the decency to look embarrassed. He took out a handful of tissues and blew his nose. “I’m SO glad you survived!”

I’d had enough of him. “Are we done?”

“You need one more spell. You need to hide your aura. Anyone who knows what they’re doing can sense you from a couple hundred feet away. Definitely not a good idea when you’re looking for Redcaps. You need protection from scrying spells.” Tim pulled out a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and put them on. He carefully scanned me from head to foot, and then back up again. “Your surge protector looks great. There’s no chance of you blowing yourself up, and your soul looks like it could handle another major spell.”

What the...? “What’s my soul got to do with this?”

Tim perked up. Like most nerds, his favorite pastime was talking about his obsessions. “Scientists and philosophers have been arguing back and forth about what makes up the human mind for a very long time. Most neurophysiologists believe the brain and the mind are exactly the same things. In their worldview, souls don’t exist. You only have to meet one angel to know they’re wrong.

“The brain is an essential organ, but it’s just the receptacle for our minds. Destroy a brain, you still have an afterlife. Burn out a mind, you don’t. Souls and minds are the same. Our minds make up our souls; they are everything that makes us individuals. When we use magic, our soul touches the Universe. The analogy of a volcano accurately describes the Universal energy. Whenever our soul touches the molten lava, a part of it burns off. The more energy you try to siphon, the more of your soul you lose. Lose too much and you die the final death. Casting a strong spell temporarily downgrades your memory and your ability to think clearly. Lucky for us, souls are renewable. I could talk for hours about what kind of spells are the worst on your soul and what helps your mind regenerate, but we really don’t have the time.

“And Mr. Paladin, you just did something REALLY amazing! Unless you have the expertise of someone like Master Aidan Cahill, you NEVER want to make changes to a major cantrip without an active surge suppressor. Now that you have one, using Pig Latin for your next spell won’t be nearly as dangerous. Let’s go back to my office and I’ll show you what you have to do next.”

I realized how much of a risk I had just taken. It had worked out. There wasn’t much point crying over milk, especially when it hadn’t spilled. I promised myself, however, the next time I was tempted to get Aidan’s take on something to follow through and actually talk to him. When we got back to Tim’s office, he turned on his computer, spent a few minutes typing, and printed out two pages. “I’ve printed up two copies of your anti-scrying spell, the first in plain English and the second in Pig Latin.”

I’d been bothered by the thought of B watching everything I did. “Tim, after I put this spell on myself, will I be able to stop angels from watching me?”

“Hmm, well it would depend on how powerful the angel is; a low level angel shouldn’t be able to see you—unless of course they got dispensation from above. An archangel wouldn’t have any problems seeing you, and of course, Jehovah sees everything. The Jotunn that killed our previous paladin shouldn’t be able to track you.

“I want to warn you that after this next spell, you’re going to be wiped and it would probably be best for you to get some sleep. Why don’t you study the incantation while I set up a cot for you in one of the other rooms?”

It took awhile to get over the disappointment I felt about the limits of the anti-scrying spell. I told myself I should have expected as much, but it didn’t matter. I hadn’t realized how much I had prized my solitude and anonymity until I had lost them. I was still trying and failing to focus on the incantation in front of me when Tim returned.

A thought occurred to me, “Tim, why am I placing these spells on myself? Why couldn’t you or Aidan do it?”

“You’re too powerful for a protection spell to stick if it’s cast by someone you don’t absolutely trust. Placing a spell on you is the equivalent of touching your soul. You don’t know me or Master Cahill well enough to really trust us. You would instinctively resist.

“The cot’s ready in another room. It’s probably best for you to go there now so you don’t have to travel as far after the incantation.”

The room with a cot was just two doors down. It was empty except for a small canvas camping cot. Tim walked into the room and stood there looking expectantly at me.

“Tim, do you have to be here?”

“Umm, no.” He shook his head and gave me a questioning look.

I stared at him until he started to squirm. “I’d like some privacy.”

“Oh, sure. Okay, I’ll be going, Mr. Paladin”

After he left, I looked again at the papers Tim had printed out. The spell was only a few lines. It didn’t take long to memorize. After I recited the incantation I felt a wave of weakness rush over me. I almost fell. My mind fogged up like I was drunk. I lowered myself onto the cot and fell instantly asleep.

Chapter 7: Gearing Up

“Victor, Victor.” When I woke up, I felt like I’d been on a three day bender. I sat up and I was dizzy and nauseated and my head pounded every time my heart beat.

“Here drink this.” A large Styrofoam cup with a straw was pushed into my hands. It was a chocolate shake. I took a large sip, ripped the straw and plastic cover off, and started gulping it down as fast as I could. As soon as I was done, I was given another one. It took a little longer to finish this shake. From the aftertaste, I could tell the shakes had been fortified with protein supplement powder. After two shakes, I felt halfway human.

“Victor, we don’t have much time.” I looked up; Aidan had given me the drinks. Tim stood behind him. I stood up slowly. When Tim rushed over to help me, I waved him away.

“How much time have we got?”

“At most, a couple of hours.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We need to lock your paladin gifts to you. Normally, we would have a ceremony but we don’t have time.” Aidan handed me a charm bracelet filled with charms. My eyes were immediately drawn to a miniature AA-12. “Put this on. It will help you call your gifts and seal them to your soul. You need a call phrase. The previous Salt Lake City Paladin used ‘Christ Victorious’, another popular phrase is, ‘Justice.’ You get the idea.”

I put on the bracelet. Immediately, I saw a three dimensional image of an AA-12 hanging in the air in front of me. The buttstock was different, as were the sights. There was a rectangular bar running under the barrel. Next to the shotgun were images of a mid-to-late 1960s Harley-Davidson XLCH Sportster and a black leather motocross outfit—gloves, jacket, pants, boots and full-face helmet. It was as if I was rotating through my choices in a virtual reality video game.

I raised an eyebrow. Mini-Santa grinned, “I had a feeling you would prefer this look over the usual paladin’s suit of shining armor, and every paladin has a mount. Only your shotgun and boots are indestructible. There’s a minor spell of protection and comfort on your suit. I didn’t have time to do much else. Where possible, I have inserted Enhanced Mithril strike plates. I have linked the rest of your gear to the paladin’s gifts. When you call them, all your gear will appear. Stare closely at the images, Victor. Try to hold all the details in your mind, and then call your equipment to you. You can use any phrase you want, but once you pick a phrase, you’ll use it forever.”

I examined the images closely. The AA-12 had a twenty round drum. The suit had a utility belt that held two extra drums and three ten round box magazines. I looked up at Aidan; he had a reassuring smile. Tim was trying his best to look calm but his Adam’s apple was jiggling with anticipation.

I struggled against my reluctance to call the gear. It was one thing to put spells on myself to save my life; it was another to bind myself to Jehovah’s gifts forever. It was one thing to be forced into servitude, another to willingly accept gifts from my captor and master.

Who was I kidding? I’d gone up against just one troll and almost had my ass handed to me; my chances of surviving twenty plus magical elves without supernatural help was nil. Death was no escape. If I died, I’d be an angel and have even less free will and no dick. I was being given the farmhand’s choice of mucking out horse shit versus pig shit. Even with manure there are better and worse options. Pig crap is a hell of a lot worse horse shit. As a servant of God, I had the ability to make some of my own decisions. It was better than being an angel.

‘Christ victorious’, didn’t work for me. ‘Joey is a little shit’, could be a problem. I shouted, “Azam-shay!” The charm bracelet burst into a blue flame. As I watched, the bracelet melted and dissolved into my skin; there was no pain. The flames exploded over my body and then disappeared. When they were gone, I was holding the AA-12. I was looking through a visor that was so clean it was almost invisible. The clothes I had been wearing had been replaced by the black leather armor.

Aidan waved at me to follow him. We all walked out to the hall and down to the large room below Broadway. He gestured to the far wall about forty feet away. “Victor, we have targets so you can test your shotgun.”

The buttstock of the shotgun had been modified to accommodate my helmet. I took aim through the ghost ring sight and pulled the trigger. I fired a single round. There was barely any recoil. I held the trigger down and the AA-12 went fully automatic. Within seconds the entire magazine of twenty rounds was gone. I changed and emptied another magazine. Every round I’d fired had been completely silent. There hadn’t been any noise and hardly any muzzle rise.