A Girl's Guide to Guns and Monsters - Martin Harry Greenberg [78]
“So why did this one get dumped instead of smashed or burned or whatever?”
Scrap shrugged, trying unsuccessfully to look clueless and innocent.
I tugged on his tail.
Okay, so I grabbed it out of the furnace fired by a full sized J’appell dragon. Would you let go of my tail, already!
“Why? Why’d you grab it?”
You are going to need it, Tess Noncoiré, Warrior of the Celestial Blade. Trust me.
“For what? I’m not about to sign any other blood contracts.”
It will do other things.
“Like?”
Your blood stains the nib. It will never come completely clean. So if you mix another being’s blood with yours in the pen and then write its name, it is bound to do your bidding, just like you are bound to the bidding of the Powers That Be in the terms of your contract.
“Interesting idea. But first I’d have to draw blood from someone I really didn’t like. I wouldn’t do something like that to a friend. Or even a casual enemy.”
Well, um, well, the nib is pretty sharp. I bet if you stabbed someone with it you’d draw blood.
“I might with a human. I doubt that itty bitty nib would penetrate demon hide. Bullets shot from an AK- 47 won’t penetrate demon hide. If I’m close enough to a demon to stab it with a pen, I’d rather just use you in blade form to take them out. We’ve killed a fair number of demons in our day.”
That might not always be possible.
“Explain? Why would I need to stab someone with a pen when you aren’t around? You are always only a thought away.” Most of the time, anyway. There were a few instances . . .
Because I might not always be here.
The lump in my throat sank to form a solid mass in my gut.
It’s not so bad, babe. Really. I’ll be back before you know it.
“Back from where?”
I can’t tell you exactly where or why. Imp law.
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“Do you have to report to some authority?”
He nodded again. His skin turned more gray than green and paled.
“And what happens if the authority finds you lacking?”
They won’t. I promise.
“Sure about that?”
Very sure. Well, almost sure. You never can tell with imps.
I let go his tail, confident that he’d tell me what he could before popping out.
In response he crawled up my arm to my shoulder and rubbed his face along my cheek. A mere whisper of a tingle on my skin reassured me of our bond.
“Promise to come back as soon as you can?”
The pen will turn out to be more useful than you think.
Three hours later I’d written eight pages of a short story about a pen capable of killing a demon. Words flowed out of the pen almost faster than I could think.
The phone interrupted the next thought and made it flit into the autumnal humidity rising from the Willamette River below my third-story condo.
“Hey, girlfriend, what’re you doing tonight?” my friend, Holly Shannon, asked.
“Hadn’t planned anything more than popcorn and a schmaltzy romantic comedy on the classic movie station,” I replied.
“Such a deal I have for you,” she proclaimed on a forced, brittle laugh.
The hair on my nape stood straight up and my Warrior scar pulsed from my right temple to jaw.
“Should I pack my bags and run the other way?” I quipped, fishing for more information.
“No. Just come sing with me tonight.” She sounded serious.
“Sure.” Normally I’d jump at the chance of blending my soprano to her sultry contralto. Her Celtic harp added its own lustrous voice to our blend. “Why such short notice?”
“My backup cancelled. I need you. Please, I know I could wing this gig by myself, but it’s more fun bouncing off someone else.”
“Where should I meet you and when?”
“Kelly’s on the riverfront about seven. I go on at eight.”
“My favorite. Do they still have Riverdance pale ale?”
“Of course. It was so popular they moved it from seasonal fare to the regular menu. Since we’re performing, the first two rounds are on the house.”
“See you at seven.”
“With bells on.”
“Oh, it’s that kind of evening!”
We rang off and I tried to return to that short story. But the idea had fled. So I tucked the pen into the spiral of a notebook and set them inside my