Geekomancy (39 page)

The Duke stepped forward, growing as he went. After two steps, he was more than eight feet tall, eye to eye with Eastwood, who retreated on his desk, knocking over keyboards and stacks of discs. The Duke kept growing, until he was more than ten feet tall, staring down his long nose at the now tiny-seeming geek. “The only pertinent question is how I will choose to end your miserable excuse for a life.”

As the Duke spoke, Ree did her best to be unobtrusive, first sliding to the Duke’s side, then inching out of his peripheral vision.

No monologuing, my ass,
Ree thought. 
If his mooks went down to head shots
 . . . She eyed a spot on Eastwood’s desk, at the far edge, where a stand of Mountain Dew cans made a tiny aluminum forest.

Well, Mom, if this gets me killed, I’ll see you soon.

Slipping the shield off of her arm, Ree jumped up to the desk, knocking the soda cans aside. She pushed off with her good foot from the desk and jumped at the Duke, reaching for his shoulder and thrusting the sword at his back.

But the Duke wasn’t lying about the retcons.

As she jumped at his back, the Duke reached behind, ignoring mundane things like normative physiognomy. His arm bent backward and swatted her off like a horsefly. The hit landed like a baseball bat, and Ree became an infield grounder, hitting the hard floor and rolling.

Ow. Not my best idea.

Fatigue and pain fought for attention as she tumbled. Ree slid to a stop and let the pain in for a second, paralyzing her.

She opened her eyes, seeing double. She blinked until her eyes focused, then looked around. She saw Eastwood hard-pressed by the Duke, twenty yards away. The Duke had put her back in the stacks, amid an entire arsenal.

I just have to find something that will have the punch to hurt him.
 Eastwood would keep the most powerful weapons to himself, she figured, but he couldn’t hold everything at once, not without a bag of holding, and she wasn’t sure he had one of those. 
I need something not powerful enough for him to already have on hand for this battle, something specialized.

Ree heard the whooshing sounds of Eastwood’s lightsaber, but instead of the crackle of blade on blade, she heard dull thuds.
What’s that guy made of?

Ree crossed lightsabers off her list of possible weapons and went back to her list.
Cross? Holy water? Cold iron?

Now, that’s a thought
. If the Duke was a geek demon, he might just follow D&D vulnerabilities. The Duke struck her as more lawful than chaotic, which meant that she needed adamantine. Which didn’t exist in the world, but it sure as hell existed in the geekverse, if adamanti
um
could serve as a close substitute. That depended on how much of a rules lawyer the universe was. Then again, the adamantium she was thinking about was attached to a character so beloved that he might trump the whole argument.

Mama needs a new set of Wolverine claws.

Ree hustled down the aisles, moving faster now that she was looking for one thing in particular. Again, there seemed to be no order to the props and artifacts.

“Would it kill you to alphabetize this place?” Ree shouted. If she asked Eastwood for a hint, she bet the Duke could figure it out. But her last sneak attack hadn’t gone terribly well, so it couldn’t hurt to speed things up.

Eastwood shouted back, his voice nearly drowned out by the whooshes and thuds. “If we survive, maybe I’ll pay you to do it for me.”

Ree reached the end of a row. “Gladly, but it’s going to cost you a hell of a lot more than minimum wage. Where can a girl find some Wolverine claws in this mess?”

“Third aisle from the left, halfway to the door . . . second shelf, I think.” His voice got softer, and Ree figured he was trading barbs with the Duke.

Ree got to the next intersection, counted the shelves as she shifted over, and continued toward the door.

Second shelf . . .

Ree passed Fleer X-Men trading cards, Versus card game booster boxes, a three-pack of the horrible Mary Jane maquette where she was washing Spider-Man’s suit, a pair of giant Hulk fists (which Ree desperately wanted to try out but didn’t think would have any special anti-demon effect and would likely make her go berserk), before she found a single box with a pair of yellow plastic gauntlets that advertised
T
EAR INTO
C
RIME WITH
W
OLVERINE’S
E
XTENDABLE
C
LAWS!

Bingo.
 Ree grabbed and ripped open the box with all the gusto of a kid on Christmas morning finally opening that last big present. She was good at this; she hadn’t been a patient kid come Christmastime, even before Mom left.
Aren’t you glad now, Mom? If this brings you back, I will claim the right to rip open presents with careless impunity forever.

She sheathed Sting and slipped on one glove, then pushed the button to extend the claws.

How are you supposed to work them if you’re wearing them at the same time?
 she wondered, then imagined that this design problem might have been why Eastwood had them on the shelf instead of in his trench coat. Holding the other gauntlet in her hand, she jogged back toward the sound of lightsaber and demon-made-of-something-that-goes-thud.

Eastwood had come down or been forced from the desk and was fighting while backpedaling down an aisle. The Duke was at least twelve feet tall, his unkempt claws now six-inch razor blades that flashed through the air. Eastwood moved with uncanny grace, weaving between some cuts and warding others off with the lightsaber. Even when he landed blows, they hit and bounced off of the Duke’s expensive suit.

Ree came up on the Duke’s left and led with her claws, reciting a plea to the gods of Geekdom.

Please work please work please work please work.

The Duke spun in place, swinging one hand’s claws to block her own. Ree continued her plea as their claws met with a crash of sparks. She jumped to the side and tossed the other gauntlet to Eastwood, who had taken the opportunity to back off and drink some kind of blue potion. The gauntlet took him by surprise, and he dropped his lightsaber in catching it.

Mana? What is he using mana for?
 Ree shook her head, dismissing the question. 
Fight now, questions later.

Eastwood slipped the Wolverine fist on his hand and extended the claws. “How did you know I was a lefty claw fighter?”

“I didn’t, but today you are whether you like it or not.”

Ree lunged at the Duke again, but he was ready. He swung out a leg and knocked her aside, her claws whiffing through empty air. The blow sent Ree careening toward Eastwood, who threw his clawed hand wide and crouched to receive her.

“Huph,” he said as she crashed into him. Eastwood fell back, and the two of them tumbled to the floor in a mess.

The Duke laughed. “Pathetic.”

Ree found her feet, huffing. Her hands were shaking. She could run on adrenaline only so long, and when that was through, she’d be worth as much as a pile of empty wrappers. “You got any more mana potions, or whatever that was?”

Eastwood dusted himself off and raised his gauntlet forward in a guard. “In the shelves.”

Ree tried to slow her breathing, find her center.

The Duke spread his arms wide, his huge form casting a shadow over both Ree and Eastwood. “A whole museum of trinkets at your disposal, and you can’t even scratch me.”

He’s playing with us, the bastard.
Ree wondered if he did this with each soul he claimed, the Greatest Game with Gamers. A petulant gloater who toggled on God Mode and then griefed everyone who wandered into his territory.

Eastwood pursed his lips, lost in thought.

“Any new ideas?” she asked.

Eastwood waited a beat and then sighed. “Run. I’ll hold him off. There’s no need for you to pay for my stupidity.”

“Oh, she’ll pay,” said the Duke. “I may have to wait a little while for her, but I still have something she wants, and she’ll come crawling to me someday. Just like you did. You knew better, and yet here we are.”

As the Duke grandstanded, Eastwood reached into his pocket, and Ree heard something rip.

The next thing she heard was Eastwood speaking to her. But his lips weren’t moving. The words echoed in her mind like a racketball.
“I put a boomerang back to his dimension in the summoning. We just need to get him into the cauldron again and flush-goes-the-toilet. Find something to knock him over—I’ll provide the distraction.”

Ree shot Eastwood a sly look, thinking,
You sneaky bastard,
but he didn’t respond. Whatever trick he’d used, it seemed to be a one-shot.

With no answer from Eastwood, Ree started the charade. She lowered her gauntlet, putting on her best guilty face. “Good luck,” she said, then turned and ran for the door. She heard the sound of fighting and searched her mind as Eastwood shouted taunts at the Duke.

“Fight me for real, you cowardly, Ferengi-loving, toaster-munching piece of tribble bait!”

Knockback. Something with enough oomph. Or something that pulls, if I can get it on the other side of him . . .

Ree tried to hold a list of every gadget and prop she’d seen in Eastwood’s stacks in her mind, and cross them off one by one. She had a niggling feeling still. She knew she’d already seen the answer and just had to remember it.

After she heard a few more nerdly curse-streams from Eastwood, a light went on in her mind. Ree took the stairs up to the back door three at a time and opened the door, cackling to herself all the while. Then she waited for it to close again and jumped off the stairs to land at the same time as the door slammed with its characteristic grinding thud. She hoped that Eastwood’s running commentary would be enough to sell her ruse.

Ree crept over to the fifth row of shelves. She turned the corner and looked up and down the stacks, trying to find the box she’d noticed on her first visit and had misread as marking Eastwood for a big perv. 
Not that he isn’t a big perv, but not for this reason. I hope. The box wouldn’t be open if he is, right? Plus, he has chicken legs, he’d never be able to pull them off.

Ree saw the box and plucked it off the shelf, relieved. And then the reality of what she’d have to do in order to pull it off hit home. 
Damn you, DC.
 She reached down, unzipped her boots, then unbuckled her belt. Positioning herself behind the stacks for modesty—out of habit more than any actual fear of discovery—she dropped her jeans and picked up the stockings from the box marked B
IRDS OF
P
REY—
B
LACK
C
ANARY’S
F
ISHNETS.

For Ree, Black Canary was a perfect example of how DC Comics could be simultaneously brilliant and idiotic. The character had been a part of some of DC’s best story lines but was continually saddled with a stripper outfit, each version of which always centered around her trademark fishnet tights.

Priorities, Ree reminded herself, pulling the tights up as far as they would go, all the way to the edge of uncomfortableness and a little bit beyond.

Ree felt the power thrumming in her throat. She also felt like the camera of the universe was trying to find angles to show her from below.

Hoping that she was now prepared, Ree started the long, terrifying walk back down the room, making it at least the fifth time she’d crossed the Dorkcave in, what, ten minutes?

Oh, the milkshake I have
earned.

She heard a shout of pain from the far side of the room. If it wasn’t Eastwood, then the Duke sounded like a scared, tired teenage boy when he was hurt.

Stay on target. Eastwood better deliver. Hell, I better deliver.

She hoped that Aidan was all right, and that Sandra and Darren and Anya and Priya were having a good night, completely untouched by the insanity that had become her life.

A litany of hopes crossed her mind, and she bound them to her steps, praying as she went and adding hope to her will. She tried to hold on to all of the prayers at once, to use them to press on, to finish the fight and put this whole nightmare of a week to bed so she could rest and go back to having a normal-ish life.

Eastwood was dancing around the Duke, trying to keep his distance. The pair was fifteen feet from the cauldron, Eastwood closer to it than the Duke.

Well, shit. What now?
 If she rejoined the fight, it would give the Duke a chance to guess what her fishnets meant, which could ruin the whole plan. But if Eastwood couldn’t get their man into place, he might get killed before she had the chance to play Dunk-a-Duke.