Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest (21 page)

A loose coat fell over the creature's bowling ball eye, and it stumbled blindly. Its arms flailed. It smashed an antique mirror and crushed a writing desk. The monster groped, groaning and gurgling, as Troy and Achilles watched from the other side of the room.

Achilles looked up at Troy and barked softly.

“OK, so you were right,” said Troy. “Something is wrong here.”

The coat monster roared as it shook its body with such force that loose raincoats, hats, and an encyclopedia were flung across the room. The castoff bits squirmed and wriggled across the floor. Except for the encyclopedia. It fidgeted in a small hopping circle. The coat fell from the monster's eye, and it fixed Troy with a glare.

His choices were limited. He could run for it, but the monster was sure to give chase. Or he could stand his ground and hope that magic sword trumped fabric monster. In the brief moments he had to consider, he knew running wasn't a choice. He couldn't find Helen if he was fleeing.

Troy held his blade before him with his feet firmly planted in a wide stance, but most of his weight on his toes, ready to move. He looked the monster in its bowling ball without blinking.

“I've never had the opportunity to slay a monster before,” he said. “Want to be my first?”

The monster tilted its head-like protrusion to one side and stepped back. He was amazed that had worked, but he was also smart enough not to let his surprise show.

“Where's Helen?” he asked.

The monster chuckled. It opened its jaws to reveal teeth made of brown loafers and ran a fuzzy yellow scarf across its lips.

“If you've hurt her—”

The monster charged. It expected Troy to attempt to avoid the attack, but he moved forward to meet it and thrust his sword deep in the center of its mass. The creature shrieked and came toppling down on him.

Troy swung his sword and struggled free of the mass of old clothes threatening to smother him. He jumped to his feet and stabbed at the pile of apparel covering the floor. Seven seconds later he noticed Achilles watching from the corner of the room.

The monster, whatever it was, however it had been animated, was dead. Or close enough. Troy stabbed it a few more times to be sure. He plucked the shredded remains of a fedora off the tip of his sword.

“Better safe than sorry. Right?”

Achilles hopped through the remains of the beast and ran into the closet. Without the monster in the way, the door now opened onto a spiral staircase winding downward.

“What were you guarding?” Troy prodded the bowling ball. “One way to find out.”

He wasted a minute trying to free the shield embedded in the wall, but he wasn't strong enough. He gave up and descended the staircase. Achilles followed close behind. At the bottom a sitting room waited. It smelled of gingerbread and decay. Plastic covered the furniture. It was a sensible precaution to keep the mummified corpses from decomposing on the fabric. The five desiccated mummies (and the skeleton of their dog) caused Troy to retch.

Up to now the quest had had its dangerous moments, but aside from the death curse hanging over their heads, it had seemed like a grand adventure. The grim scene changed all that. The walls were adorned with portraits, some of them decades old and faded with age. The smiling families chilled him in a way the corpses hadn't.

His first thought was of Helen. He hadn't gotten the chance to tell her how he felt yet, and he wondered if he ever would. The thought bothered him more than the idea of dying.

He was getting ahead of himself. Helen could take care of herself. She was stronger and tougher than Troy. He wasn't dead yet.

A voice echoed from somewhere. Helen's voice. Achilles's ears perked up, and he scratched at an innocuous-looking door. Troy kicked it open and steeled himself for battle.

There weren't any monsters. Just a cozy kitchen with an art deco design straight from the thirties. Blue and white tile. Bright-green refrigerator and oven, both twice as large as ordinary appliances. A table and chairs made of chrome and vinyl. Babs stood over the sink in the middle of washing her hands. A large burlap bag writhed at her feet.

“Let me out of here, you crazy bitch!” screamed Helen.

Babs rinsed her spiderlike hands. “Oh dear, how inconvenient.”

Troy pointed his sword at Babs. “Let her go.”

The old woman cackled. “I can't do that, young man. It's been ages since I've enjoyed fresh minotaur. You don't expect me to deprive myself of such a delicacy, do you?”

The bag stopped twitching. “Troy?”

“I'm here, Hel! Don't worry. I'll take care of this.”

“She's stronger than me!”

To demonstrate, Babs hefted Helen off the floor with one hand and threw the bag over her shoulder as if it were a bag of packing peanuts. Babs's spindly, withered form didn't as much as slouch under the weight. “How did you get past my monster?”

“Magic sword,” said Troy. “And I'll use it on you unless you drop that bag right now.”

Babs snickered. She twisted her head in his direction. The motion was too smooth, as if the old woman's neck operated on a well-oiled gear.

“You threaten me with magic, but I am magic. No enchantment of mortal or god can harm me. The sharpest blade cannot pierce my wicked flesh. The mightiest club cannot part the hairs on my gray head. And I cannot die because I do not live.”

“Is that some kind of riddle?”

“No, it's merely the facts. You might as well put away your sword and go back to your room. I'll get to you soon enough.”

“But I thought you were here to guide us.”

“No, I'm here to eat you.”

“Why?”

“That's a silly question. I'm hungry. I was polite enough to feed you. It's only fair that you return the favor. Your friend here seems like she'll be the finest meal I've had in ages.”

“I didn't eat any of your food!” shouted Helen.

“You didn't? That's a fly in the ointment.” Babs smacked her lips. “I suppose I'll eat you just the same. It's technically against the rules, but I don't mind if you don't.”

“I mind!” Helen yelled.

“Can't say that I blame you, dear, but if I listened to every dinner's complaints, I'd never get anything to eat.”

“Is this some kind of test?” asked Troy.

“No, it's a late-night snack,” said Babs. “I don't know how I can be any clearer about this.”

She opened the oven and started shoving Helen inside.

“Ow!” said Helen.

“You are a big one,” said Babs.

“Hey!”

“No offense, young lady. I knew I should've torn you in half.”

Troy raised his sword.

Babs kept shoving, not bothering to turn around. “I wouldn't do that if I were you. If you go to your room I'll bring you a nice ham sandwich and a Pepsi. Doesn't that sound more pleasant than having your heart ripped from your chest?”

He sprang, bringing the blade down where her neck and shoulder met. The sword clanged as if striking stone. It didn't so much as nick Babs's housecoat.

Her hand was wrapped around his throat. He hadn't seen her move. It was just there, strangling the life from him. She grinned with her perfect white dentures as she dropped him in one of the chairs.

“Courage makes a fine broth, but the aftertaste of stupidity can ruin a dish.” Babs picked up his sword and handed it to him, hilt first. “Now be a good boy and wait your turn.”

She turned her back on him as she wrestled Helen into the oven. He resisted the urge to attack her. It was possible she had a weak point, but he couldn't risk it. If he was going to stop Babs, he had to be smart about it.

He noticed a rusty old helmet among the cookie jars and cutlery on the countertops. The helmet was marked by the same design as the one on the back of his hand. They'd found the next relic, just sitting there, but he was too concerned with saving Helen to think much about it.

He moved slowly toward the exit. She made no move to stop him.

“There's no escape now,” she said, “but you're free to amuse yourself trying.”

He returned to the ghastly den. She might have been lying, but he doubted it. Even if he could escape and find help, he'd never get back in time to save Helen.

He ran through the magical items they'd collected on their quest so far. The sword hadn't worked on her. The shield might have protected him, but it was stuck in a wall. That left only the amulet in his pocket and its ability to animate the lifeless.

The mummies seemed an obvious target, but it only worked on one object at a time, and a single zombie probably wouldn't bother Babs.

He sat on the arm of the sofa, away from the corpses, and scanned the room for a suitable minion. The only remotely threatening object was a drooping houseplant. There was that old suit of armor in the foyer, but again, he doubted it would accomplish much. Brute force wasn't going to work. He had to be smart about this.

A plan came to him. Not so much a plan as an outline, but time was not on his side.

Troy tapped his sword in the dirt. The brown-and-red soil climbed its way out of the pot with the houseplant still growing out of its head. It stretched its small form.

“Didn't give me much to work with, did you?”

“Circumstances beyond my control,” said Troy.

“What is your command, master?”

“How are you at distracting evil witches?”

The elemental rolled its shoulders, causing the houseplant leaves to shake. “I'll do what I can, but don't expect much.”

Troy pushed open the kitchen door. Helen was nearly all in the oven.

“I'm giving you one last chance,” he said. “Let her go.”

Babs's head twisted all the way around to smirk at him. “It's a generous offer, but I've already put far too much work into getting your friend in here.”

He clutched the amulet in his pocket. He'd only get one shot at this.

“Get her.”

The diminutive elemental hurled itself across the room to strike her in the face. He exploded in a choking cloud of dust. Babs clawed at the dirt wrapped around her head. She charged blindly at Troy. He anticipated her attack, moving to one side. As she bolted past him, he thrust his magic sword between her ankles. She tripped, scrambling across the linoleum like a wild cat with a bag over its head. Her shrieks were muffled by mouthfuls of dirt.

Troy pointed the amulet at the oven. “Spit her out.”

The amulet warmed in his hand as the oven came to life. With a harsh, gurgling retch it vomited the burlap sack onto the floor. He knelt beside it, only to have Helen's flailing knee, elbow, or other body part smack him in the throat from the sack.

“Hel,” he croaked. “It's me.”

“Troy?”

“Don't move. I'm going to cut you out.”

He sliced open the sack with the sword. She pulled herself free, sitting up.

“I'm going to kill that crazy bitch.”

Babs stood. She'd pulled off enough dirt to expose the left side of her face. “You're more stubborn than I thought, children, but your tricks only forestall the inevitable.”

She slunk forward with a liquid grace, as if she were nothing more than flesh wrapped around slithering oil.

“You caught me off guard last time,” said Helen. “You won't be so lucky this time.”

She unleashed a haymaker that would've crushed mortal bones but only put a stagger in Babs's step. The old lady backhanded Helen. She flew across the kitchen and into the wall.

“I am as ancient as the earth, but even my patience has its limits.” Babs clawed the last bits of soil from her face, pulling off bits of skin, revealing the slimy green muscles beneath. She was on Troy in a moment. Her hot hand burned around his throat. She twisted the oven's dial. Orange-and-red flames crackled to life like a portal to a hellish underworld.

“Eat her,” gasped Troy.

Babs cackled. “I intend to.”

“I wasn't talking”—he struggled for his last breath, squeezing the amulet in his hand—“to you.”

The oven sprang. It snapped Babs up in its jaws and devoured her. She got stuck halfway, fighting and shrieking. Her hand squeezed tighter around his throat, and everything blurred. He smelled burning flesh. Swords and clubs might not hurt the ancient hag, but judging by her terrible screeching, fire seemed to do the trick. The oven struggled to slurp her down, threatening to drag him in with her. On the verge of unconsciousness, he saw only the red haze of the hungry flames.

Helen yanked him free. Babs's hand refused to release him, and the smoldering limb broke off. The oven snapped shut and slid back into its proper place. Smoke billowed from its edges as its occupant pounded and roared.

Helen pulled the severed forearm from his throat. The still-living limb flailed. Deciding not to take any chances, she pinned it between her leg and the linoleum. It continued to squirm.

She put her hand on his chest to feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. Achilles licked his face, and he groaned.

“Dumb magic dog.”

“Thank the gods.” She threw her arms around him. The tight hug dredged up some phlegm, sending him into a coughing fit.

“The gods got us into this mess in the first place.” He smiled with that boyish charm. Even half-conscious and with the bruises left by Babs's fingers, he was just short of adorable. All his coughing and retching did cause her to worry he'd throw up on her.

Babs's screams died down. The pounding faded. The stench of roasting witch remained just as strong. The disembodied hand drummed its fingers.

“Are you OK?” Helen asked.

“Are you?”

She helped him to his feet. The hand scurried away, taking shelter in a cupboard.

“We should probably get out of here,” said Troy. “Who knows if that really killed her? She said she couldn't die.”

Helen thought of the hand. Maybe it'd grow into another witch given enough time. Or maybe it would just go on living forever. Either way, she considered it harmless for the moment.