Going Bovine

“Two dollars a shot! All comers welcome!” Gonzo shouts. He’s running between everyone, gathering money in Balder’s Viking helmet.

“I cannot be injured, for I am Balder. …” A knife sticks into his arm, but he keeps going. “Son of Odin …” A fork lodges into his skull. “Brother of Hoor,” he says, pulling them both out. “Immortal.”

“Yeah? Let’s just see about that.” A guy in a mall security guard uniform pulls out his piece and shoots Balder in the chest. There’s a gasp from the crowd. Instead of going down, Balder does a little dance.

“Boo-ya!” he says, and I’m pretty sure that’s the original Norse.

“Well, I’ll be,” the mall guard says. Everyone claps and cheers.

“Two bucks!” Gonzo insists, pocketing greenbacks from the shooter.

“Okay, show’s over!” I announce, running up and yanking Balder off the table. “You’ve been great. Be sure to come out and see our show at the monster wrestling truck arena this weekend. Thank you. Thanks so much. Thank. You.” As the breakfasters settle back at their tables, I level a sharp gaze at both Gonzo and Balder. “Way to keep a low profile, guys.”

“He started it,” Gonzo grumbles.

Balder gives me one of his courtly bows. “I did not mean to cause trouble, Cameron the Noble.”

“When I said ‘bond,’ I meant, like, tell some stories, trade a few fart jokes, draw pictures of the waitress with a mustache. Not cause a scene.”

“Look how much cash we got, though.” Gonzo shows me Balder’s helmet full of green. They’re both so excited, it’s impossible to be mad at them anymore.

“All right. Okay. But don’t do that again. Look, let’s just pay the check and—” I smell an acrid stench that makes my eyes water. There’s something familiar about it. “Do you smell that?” I ask, goose bumps rising on my arms.

“Smell what?” Gonzo asks.

Wispy black smoke slithers across the floor and coils around my legs, and they start trembling. My body feels as if it’s on fire. My throat muscles clench.

“Guys …,” I croak.

“Cameron?” Gonzo asks, his eyes full of concern.

“It’s them,” I manage, just as the kitchen doors are blasted off their hinges with the force of an explosion. The fire giants have found us.

“This part of the wrestlin’ show?” a man at the next table asks his friends.

A second explosion rocks the Konstant Kettle. People scream as debris rains down and flames pop from the walls. But I can see they’re more than flames; they’re ginormous, burning men with black holes for eyes and mouths made of sharp, flickering teeth. They’re fast and determined and merciless, and they bring chaos in their wake. With glee, the fire giants leap from the walls and land wherever they like, smashing tables, kicking chairs, ripping up flooring; everything they touch burns down to ash. Two of the creatures crawl along the ceiling, biting into it with their teeth, tearing huge holes in the cheap white acoustic tiles. The place fills with choking smoke. Mothers grab children; truckers leave their All-U-Can-Eat Freedom Pancake Towers untouched; the waiters and busboys abandon the kitchen and coffee stations and run for the safety of the exits, screaming in panic.

“Cameron! Dude! We gotta get out of here!” Gonzo’s offering me his hand, but I can’t move. My legs won’t work.

The smoke parts, and the Wizard of Reckoning gleams in the firelight like some cyborg knight, a black cape fluttering behind him. He’s added a cape, cheeky bastard. He seems taller and stronger than the last time we met. My brain’s saying run but my body won’t translate the command. The wizard points right at me, and my stomach goes into free fall. Leg muscles jerk and twitch and tighten up completely, and I crumple to the floor.

“Cameron! Get up, dude!” Gonzo shouts.

Using my arms, I drag myself under the table and hug my knees to my chest, struggling for breath. Across the restaurant, the Wizard of Reckoning peels his space suit from his chest. In the center is a big black abyss, and I feel like I’m being pulled in.

“No,” I croak. “Not yet.” I close my eyes tight, trying to resist the pressure squeezing me on all sides.

And then, I feel nothing.

Open my eyes, and I’m lying in the grass blinking against the light of the sun. The choking smoke is gone. In fact, the air smells sweet. Really sweet. Like flowers. I sniff in a big noseful of it.

“That’s lily of the valley you smell. Delightful, isn’t it?”