Seal of Solomon (Journeyman Book 2) (5 page)

He rested his head on the glass and watched the breeze jostle the leaves above.

Om would be able to shed more light on the situation, despite Joey’s longing to answer all of the questions himself. They would probably need to visit New York sometime soon, even if an Assembly wasn't called. That was going to be a tough sell though; Gage’s response could be positive or, as Joey suspected, the opposite.

With a deep sigh, it was time to get back to work. Joey looked over to the workbench, piled high with the papers he had been examining, in turn surrounded by heaps of textbooks and journals. Maybe it was the weariness talking, but none of it looked appealing at all.

That’s when he noticed the glint of a blade sticking out of one of the untouched boxes. His eyes darted back and forth between the documents and the shiny metal, again and again until Joey decided that he had earned a little time to play. After all, he called the workshop a funhouse for a reason.

So with newfound vitality, he retrieved a pair of spectral goggles from one of the workbenches and donned them, waltzing over to the container. Reaching in, he grabbed hold on the handle of the bearded hatchet and pulled.

It didn’t budge.

Pulling again but harder, the hatchet moved a couple of inches, but was then immediately tugged back inside.

Joey raised an eyebrow.
What on Earth?
he thought, cautiously leaning over the box to peer inside. There, holding on firmly to the lower end of the handle was a shriveled Hand of Glory, glowing faintly as viewed through the goggles. It was determined not to let the hatchet leave the box.

“Oh hello there,” Joey said lightheartedly. “Never seen one of you in person before.” He yanked the hatchet forward and the hand jerked it back. At first it was humorous, until the back and forth went on for several more rounds, at which point it began to grate on his already frazzled nerves.

Joey’s eyes rolled back into his head as he let go, making his way over to a pile of devices on the shelves in the far corner of the room. He returned a second later with a simple item in hand: a small, black rectangle with a bright yellow button in the middle. Yellow and black caution markings lined the business end of the device, which he pointed into the box.

Pressing the button, two tiny darts flew into the Hand of Glory and sent waves of concentrated energy through it. Convulsing uncontrollably, the hand let go.

“I’ll take this, thank you very much,” Joey stated with a smirk, reaching in to remove the hatchet with ease. He twirled it in his hand before examining it closely. It was decorated with serrated edging that elegantly caught the light and there was a round hole in the very center of the blade.

“Hmm,” he said, as if the designs triggered something from memory. “You look familiar.”

Setting the hatchet down, he headed back over to the books – albeit reluctantly since his eyes still throbbed a bit – and pulled out one on Slavic mythology. It was thick tome, one of several volumes bound in bluish leather and inset with gold leaf. Opening it right down the middle, the spine cracked and a sweet, almond-like smell rose off the old pages. Flipping through the velvety papers, he stopped on a sheet festooned with sketches of pendants, their shape identical to the hatchet’s blade.

“I knew I’d come across you before!” he hollered enthusiastically, punctuated with a snap of his fingers. He looked to the header, illuminated in grand lettering. “The Axe of Perun.”

He continued reading down the page, the words snaking artfully in between the various drawings. As he did, suspicions began to grow that this specific piece wasn’t the original axe. The text implied the blade of the highest god of the pantheon was made of bronze and this one was of pewter, plus it was a hatchet – designed to be used with a single hand instead of wielded by two. Indeed, everything pointed to it just being some random knockoff.

“Damn,” Joey muttered disappointingly under his breath. “Would’ve been nice to channel my inner Thor on a future mission. Still, good for cosplay!”

Continuing on, searching for some scrap of hope that this wouldn’t be another dead end, he stumbled onto something promising near the bottom of the page. Using his finger as a guide, he made sure to read those sentences very carefully.

“Many forgeries arose during the Dark Times against Veles, as did threats to steal away with the Lord of Storm’s great weapon. Should the need arise for the son of Svarog to reclaim the axe, he need only raise his hand aloft and say…”

Joey stopped just short of uttering the words. Nervously, he stared at the blade sitting innocently over on the other workbench and pushed back from the manuscript. Walking over, he never took his eyes off the hatchet, especially when it finally loomed beneath him. If he stared at it any harder, he could have bored a second hole in the metal. Placing his hand about a foot above the artifact, he took an extended breath.

“Here goes nothing,” he said anxiously, closing his eyes. “Bringer of Storms, return to me.
Odmah doci.
Your Master commands it.”

He opened an eye and darted it around the room. Nothing notable had happened, much to his continued disappointment; it seemed like the day would be coming to close with not just one, but two cold leads.

Proving him wrong, the artifact jostled and was swept up into his hand by some force, a loud whine issuing from the metal. The sound increased in pitch as the blade vibrated, sending potent waves down the handle and into Joey’s arm. It felt like it weighed fifty pounds, maybe more, and he struggled to hold it up yet could not let go.

“Oh boy. This can’t be good,” Joey said tensely, grabbing a nearby pen and drawing out a makeshift protection ward on the tabletop with his free hand. “This better work!” he shouted, slamming his hand down on the symbol just in time.

There was a loud
boom
and a rush of energy filled his whole body. It felt like he had stuck his fingers directly into an electrical outlet, the room bursting in a dazzling display of white and blue. When the light show faded, Joey was still alive but all of his hair was standing on end, the tips singed and smoking. He looked utterly ridiculous, like a giant match that had been extinguished by a hurricane.

“And with that, I guess I should call it a day,” he said to himself, gulping loudly while taking a deep and thankful breath.

His phone unexpectedly beeped, cutting through the silence and causing him to drop the hatchet on the bench. He snatched up his phone and took a look at the screen, expression flowing into a grin. It was a message from Gage.

Hungry. Meet 4 dinner?
said Gage’s gray speech bubble, straight and to the point like always.

Even Joey’s eyes were smiling as he typed out his reply.
Sure thing. Something healthy?

Gage’s response took a few minutes to pop up.
Yeah no -_- Rather eat tasty 2nite.

LOL.
Burger joint on Broadway then?

Yessir!
Gage confirmed.
Grease FTW :P

Joey literally laughed out loud, then took a look at his hair reflected in the window pane and his smile promptly vaporized. Frantically, he typed out another message, glancing up one more time before hitting send.

Gonna need an hour.

JOEY PULLED INTO
the parking lot of Lard Have Mercy, in his mind the best damn burger place in all of Houston. The engine of his gold Z28 rumbled over the frenzy of dance music pumping through the speakers. In short time, he had spotted Gage through the blinds, the brute’s unmistakable size filling up a booth next to one of the front windows. Joey would’ve bet good money that Gage would already be eating and he would have won hands down. Indeed, there was a massive tower of onion rings sitting in front of him. Over half of them were gone.

Chuckling that Gage couldn't or wouldn’t wait when there was food involved, he turned off the car and headed inside. The aroma of flame-grilled burger heaven greeted him as soon as he pushed through the main entrance, fervently making his way past the hostess stand and over to Gage. He settled into the stiff seat of the booth and snatched up one of the golden rings from the Gage’s tower. He was met with a dirty look, as if Joey had just insulted his mother.

“What is it?” Joey asked with no guilt as he crunched down, the hot oil melding deliciously with the crispy batter.

“No touchy,” Gage said defensively, pulling his plate over to the edge of the table.

“Fine,” said Joey, signaling to the waiter and an instant later, a young man with well styled blonde hair was table side.

“May I get you something, sir?” he asked politely.

“Oh gosh, my dad was a sir,” Joey said with a short giggle. “I’m just a bum in comparison. The name’s Joey.”

The waiter beamed, possibly blushing slightly. “Alrighty then. May I get you something, Joey?”

“Phone number?” said Gage casually as he found an extra crispy onion ring to crunch down on.

It was Joey’s turn for dirty looks and the one for Gage was downright filthy. “I gather you’ve already put in your full order?” he asked curtly.

Gage nodded, as it would be rude to talk with his mouth full.

Joey did a half-assed smile back at him, then turned his attention to the waiter, who was flushed red in the face. “Sorry about that. Some people, eh?” he said before proceeding to order an iced tea, another tower of onion rings just for himself – no touchy Gage, and the Royal Triple Decker, one of their three signature dishes.

The waiter took it all down in stride and prepared to head off to type it in the system. “You got it, Joey,” he said, upbeat despite the rouge appearance. As he left, he made it a point to turn around one more time. “By the way, name’s Frank.”

“Thank ya, Frank,” said Gage with a thumbs up and a sexy wink to send him on his way.

Joey felt utterly embarrassed, wanting to crawl under the table. He would have too, had there been enough room down there to hide.

“Ah that's a good man,” said Gage in reference to Joey’s appetite. “We’ll definitely have to get a lift in later after all this food settles, if that cheese ya like so much don't block things up. I dunno how ya eat it; stuff ranks right up there in weirdness with chicken-on-the-bone and eating lemons, rind and all.”

Joey thought Gage was the weird one – a colossally candid and wholly confusing man.

Gage paused and raised a finger to his puckered lips. There was something off about Joey’s hair and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what it was. He cocked his head over to one side, hoping that would give him a better assessment of what he was seeing. Surprisingly it did. Joey had way too much gel caked up there – like an oil drum’s worth of too much.

“Somethin’ up with the hair, J?” he asked innocuously. “Maybe ya can ask Frank for some styling tips?”

“What? No, nothing’s up,” Joey answered, flustered to the point of dropping his silverware noisily on the table. “It's just been a bit non-cooperative today is all.”

“Speaking of being non-cooperative,” Gage said, steering the conversation toward his recent frolics, “lemme tell ya about that damn kelpie up at Livingston. That thing was a pain in the ass and took forever to get on shore! I swear we would've been home a day or two early if Tim and I hadn't kept runnin’ into that band of hippies, disarming our traps and lures like they knew what they were doin’. Surprised the fucking idiots didn’t become monster bait.”

“No damn way!” Joey couldn't help but laugh, taking a sip of the tea Frank had left on the table. “They actually managed to disarm one of Tim’s traps? Why?”

“Yessir,” Gage continued, stretching an arm across the back of his seat. He was unable to resist the urge to give it a slight flex. “Probably did so by dumb luck. Now, I dunno what planet their green leaf floated them off to, but would ya believe they thought we were hunting some kind of endangered whale or some shit? A whale that looks like the love child of Nessie and Mister Ed. Yeah okay, like we’re poachers and not trying to save your asses at all… annoying fucks. Anyways, once we did get it to land, it didn’t take too much more effort to stop it.”

“Well that’s good then,” said Joey, admiring the way the restaurant lights enhanced his own rope-like veins. Sinking his eyes into the tea, he swirled it with the straw and the ice clinked merrily against the glass. The topic he was about to bring up, not for want but really out of need, would probably trigger some bad memories. He delayed it as much as he could, taking another long sip of sugar saturated goodness, but he couldn’t put it off forever.

“So, during my research,” Joey said guardedly, “I kept coming across that guy, Om Citta, in the documents.” He looked up from his tea just enough to see his partner’s nose and mouth.

As expected, Gage’s face soured and the memories of his house and the heart wrenching note his dad had left on his final day tore their way back into the forefront of his mind. Though it had been nearly a month since the disaster in Denver and Gage found himself recuperating at a good pace, there were things – certain sights, sounds, smells, and even names – that would send him right back there. He hated it.