Geekomancy (31 page)

Bryan was still wearing the concerned face when she walked back into the main room.
Yeah, that’s not going to work.

“Bryan, what kinds of magic do you know about?”

Bryan shifted his weight and leaned back, looking unsure where she was going but relieved that it was a topic he knew something about. “Well, Ritual magic is what I know best. It has two main camps: white magic, which creates and preserves; and black magic, which corrupts and destroys. Other people believe in different types, but for my purposes, it comes down to those. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve gotten into some crazy shit, and you’re the only person around that I know whose worldview doesn’t think magic is bunk.”

Bryan considered Ree’s face, then checked his watch. He walked around the counter and flipped the sign on the door to
Closed.
“Okay, why don’t you start at the beginning,” he said.

Ree smiled and dropped into her Inigo Montoya voice. “There is too much, let me sum up.”

She focused this telling on the magic bits, the Geekomancy and the nostalgia-fueled props, the midnight market and the ritual with the crucible. And, of course, Eastwood’s bargain. When she was done, she realized that she’d burned through two full cups of coffee; maybe they would help her see through time and predict the future.

Bryan poured himself another mug of tea and breathed in the steam. “You should have come to me about this sooner.”

What, so he’s in on the secret? Who else knew about this without telling me?

“Are you in on the Occult Underground thing, too?”

“Not so much in as adjacent to. I have some friends who are deeper in than I am. I’ve heard of Eastwood. He was a legend during the border disputes over the Wild Wild Web.”

“Did you know Branwen?” Ree asked.

Bryan shook his head. “I only ever heard bits and pieces.” He set down his mug and walked behind the counter. He pulled up the traction mat that they kept on the drain, flopped it over to the side, and reached down to fiddle with the grate.

“What are you doing?” Ree asked.

“Those friends I told you about? They’re more paranoid than I am, so I let them put in a panic room for me. It has some things you might be able to use.”

I’ve got to hit the bottom of this weird-ass rabbit hole anytime now, right?

Bryan hopped down, and a few seconds later, a light came on. Bryan stood flush against one side, with a trough for the waste going off to one side. “Come on down, just watch the sludge.”

Ree sat down into the pit, grabbed the ledge, and dropped off, slowing her fall so she could land on the side. The light showed a narrow tunnel toward the street, which Bryan climbed through. Patently avoiding checking out her boss’s ass, she followed him into a larger space. He clicked on another lightbulb to illuminate the room.

Compared to Eastwood’s Dorkcave, it wasn’t much, but it was a helluva lot more than she expected her mild-mannered nerdy Pagan boss to have stored away right underneath her feet.

The room held several beat-up old chests, a bookshelf that took up one whole wall, a small fridge, and a travel-sized weapon rack.

“Whatcha got?” Ree asked.

“If you’re going up against Eastwood, you’ll want protection from all of those props of his.”

“I have some armor I’m borrowing from a friend.” The words sounded strange coming out of her mouth. A smile slipped across her lips.
A lifetime of video games and RPGs, and it’s all still weird.

“Yeah, but this should be better for going up against a Geekomancer.” Bryan pulled out a T-shirt-shaped quilt with four-inch-square blocks. When he held it up, she leaned in and took a closer look. There was screen-printed type on each block, bits of dates and locations. As far as she could tell, the dates were mostly in the ’60s and ’70s.

“What are the blocks?” she asked.

Bryan smiled. “This is made from the T-shirts of the first year of ten major science fiction conventions, including the first Worldcon, the first World Fantasy, and first Gen Con. The collected geek cred of these shirts is strong enough to shrug off most anything that’s powered by nerdstalgia.”

Ree chuckled, then cackled, then doubled over with laughter, thinking of all the proud gamers and geeks walking around game and sci-fi conventions with their T-shirts. She’d never been one for convention shirts. Nor band shirts, for that matter. But she did have a proud collection of Nintendo shirts locked up in her dad’s storage unit, and if things like that kept her safe, they’d be worth the strange looks.

Something else to have Dad send. Assuming I survive this whole thing.

“Has this been washed?” she asked with a smile.

Bryan rolled his eyes. “Wear that over whatever armor you’ve got for real stuff, and you should be able to stand up to whatever mojo he’s throwing around. But what are you going to do then?”

Ree leaned against the corner of the hallway, her head grazing the ceiling. “Still working on that. I know that I don’t want the deal to go down. I don’t know what Dork Lords of Hell do with souls, but I bet it’s not good.”

Bryan was absently flipping through a box of comics as she talked. “And Eastwood?”

Ree waved a hand, dismissive. “He’s in over his head. But I owe him my life at least once over. Best case is I pull his ass out of the fire and keep the demon from getting more soul Pokémon. Worst case, I get flayed alive and have incubi hump me to death.”

Disgust flashed across Bryan’s face. “You’re pretty nonchalant about all of this.”

Ree shrugged. “I’m overtaxed, outclassed, and exhausted. I came here half-expecting that you’d call the cops on me, and my troubles would get narrowed to a ten-by-ten padded room with room service. This is way better already.”

Bryan looked her up and down like they’d just met. Or like he was reevaluating her, maybe starting to consider her as more than just
Ree
—
27, worked for me for two years, can drop a shot of espresso in 20 seconds on the dot every time, and knows more about the oeuvre of Marv Wolfman than anyone this side of the Rockies
.

But what then?
Ree—27, in over her head and six hours from dead,
or
Ree—27 and more of a badass than expected
?

“What’s that look for?” she asked.

Bryan smiled. “You’re more than I pegged you for, Ree.”

Ree beamed that her boss had gone with the badass evaluation and struck a pose. “Call me Optimus.”

“Opti
mistic,
for sure.” Bryan pulled out a backboarded issue, chuckled to himself, and set it aside.

Ree leaned into the room, scanning the shelves and stacks. “What else is up for grabs?”

“Just about everything. My friends donated a lot, but I can’t use much in here, it’s all over my head or out of my paradigm. The broomstick is my quick-escape plan, and the longbox at the bottom is set aside for the kids’ college tuition, but other than that . . .”

Ree looked around the room, starting to sort items by how useful she thought they’d be in the upcoming likely fight. When she’d finished, she realized she had something else she needed to talk with him about. “You know that if I survive, I’ll probably be stuck doing this hero crap some more. Will I have a job waiting for me?”

Bryan clucked his tongue on the back of his teeth. Ree had worked for him long enough to know that was a bad sound. “I don’t want trouble coming through my door, Ree. The store barely makes ends meet, and my insurance isn’t good enough to handle it if something does break bad.

“And if I play favorites, cut you slack, everyone else will start asking for it, too. If you can’t hack the schedule . . .” He put his hands out in a
what can you do?
gesture.

“That’s it?” Ree found herself getting angry, not at Eastwood or the Duke or any of the dozen beasts and bullies whose paths she’d crossed, but at her boss, whom she’d considered one of her best friends. This hero shit was all the less fun if you couldn’t leave it behind at the tabletop or the laptop.

“I’m sorry,” he said, passing her on the way to the tunnel. “I just don’t have the wiggle room. Take what you like and get going. I have to open up the shop.”

“I can stay until my shift’s up,” she offered, her voice wavering.

Bryan smiled. “I’m fine, Ree. Go do what you have to do. We can talk again after.” With that, he slipped out of sight, carrying the sleeved issue he’d pulled out.

Well, that didn’t go as expected.
Ree had made up a short list of possible results, including: call sanatorium, uncomfortable firing, an outside chance of being totally okay with it somehow. “Here’s my arsenal” had not been on that list, for some strange reason.
In the future, assume everyone knows about magic until proven otherwise.

Ree poked around the room, flipped through some old comics, and started loading stuff into her bag. She grabbed the T-shirt quilt-mail, slipped several dozen Magic cards into her purse, and reverently arranged a few late-’70s comics in board-backed sleeves, putting them away while a shudder went up her arm.

Don’t make me have to use these, please. If we have to destroy stuff every time we use it, sooner or later there will be no
Star Wars
laser discs, no Chaos Orbs, no
Action Comics #15
.

It was a lot more than she’d had an hour ago. Bryan may not be able to pay her for work she didn’t do, but the gear might end up saving her life.

She held the bag to her chest, looked around the room again, and slipped another couple of things into the bag, noting every single thing she took in case she needed to repay Bryan for the swag. Or at least, that spendy Ethiopian blend that his wife got him for his birthday every year. Fifty bucks a pound and worth every penny.

Well, I’ve got myself some weapons, an impressive if ridiculous ally, and I know what my opponent needs to succeed. Not much left to it but to do it.

Next stop, the Dorkcave.

Chapter Seventeen

Revelation Redux

When Ree met up with Drake a block from the Dorkcave’s basement entrance, the gadgeteer was casting glances over his shoulders, looking up and down the street suspiciously. “What are you watching for?” she asked.

He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I am not certain, but I imagine I will know if I see it. My adventurer’s senses tell me that things are coming to a head, my dear, and in such times, vigilance is a given.”

He looked about as bad as she felt. “Are you all right?” Ree asked.

“I believe I may be in need of some tea.”

Ree shook her head. “Silly Brits. You need to cop to your mortality and start pounding cappuccinos like the Italians and the rest of the overstimulated world.”

“Perhaps you are right.”

“Okay, let me take the lead here. I need to clear things up before we can start talking sense into him anyway. And from what I can tell, he holds grudges.”

Drake took a deep breath. “For now—we have a greater purpose. But if the situation goes awry, do not hesitate to summon me.”

“All right, but it’ll be by text, not girlie scream. I don’t play damsel in distress. I don’t even like dresses. Except the slinky ones.”

She blinked a couple of times, trying to shake the sleep-deprived loopiness. No such luck.
Yeah, I should have taken a nap before tackling the bad guy.

Walking down the stairs, she shouted over her shoulder, “Watch your phone, and try to act casual.”

Drake crossed his arms and leaned against the railing above the basement steps. Even that bit of casual managed to look awkward on him.

At the bottom of the stairs, Ree knocked on the door and leaned on the bell for several moments. She waited, arms crossed.
Come on, come on.

She knocked again, then leaned up against the door to listen. The surface was as cold as it had been yesterday and yielded no more sound.

A half-minute later, Ree kicked the door, then instantly regretted it, having not worn her steel-toed boots to work.

She bit her lip and knocked again. A voice in her mind said,
He’s not home, or he knows it’s you and he’s not answering. Just go home and go to bed.

Oh, bed.
How she longed to creep under her sheets, pile blanket on top of blanket, and curl up with her hot pad to pass the hell out and not wake up until November 11th so she could play
Skyrim
.

Instead, she knocked on the door again. She turned over thoughts in her mind, trying to think if there was a genre-fu move she hadn’t thought of that would get Eastwood to show. She wouldn’t do any kind of Mind whammy, reach into his mind and force him to abandon his plan. That would be Left-handed, Dark Side, and worse karma than kicking a three-legged puppy in the rain.