Kevin Hearne - Hammered

“There will be a vampire war for this territory,” I said by way of a peace offering. “Pick up today’s newspaper and you’ll see it’s already begun. If you’re all about killing the evil minions of the dark lord, there will be plenty coming here in the next couple of weeks.”

All the other rabbis looked a bit excited about that. They were nodding their heads, and fires lit in their eyes. They probably already had wooden stakes hidden in their jackets.

Yosef saw that he could do no more. “Very well,” he groused. “I suppose this man is free of hell. We will pursue other prey for now.”

“Excellent!” Jesus beamed at him. “Now go and stake some vamps. Especially the sparkly emo ones.”

Yosef and the other rabbis just looked at him with dumb incomprehension.

“Never mind,” Jesus said, waving them off. “Go in peace.” A couple of them bent to get their knives, but Jesus requested that they leave them behind as a gesture of goodwill.

The Hammers of God turned and walked away as sirens began to wail and police drove into the parking lot. They didn’t say good-bye and they didn’t say they were sorry for ruining everyone’s lunch. They didn’t even tell Jesus it was nice to meet him.

Jesus watched them go and then clapped his hands together once, keeping them clasped together in front of his chest. “Right. Well, they’re certainly filed in the right folder, aren’t they? Skilled magicians, but sour dispositions. Let’s get you out of sight of the police so we can talk.” He bent down to pick up all the silver knives, including the one with my blood on it, but left the last knife lodged in my back. I felt this was an egregious oversight at first. Then I realized what he had in mind as he picked up my left wrist and began hauling me prone along the cobblestones toward the Mission Palms Hotel. New pain exploded inside me, and I felt something tear loose in my shoulder where the knife blade had given the muscle a head start on a trial separation. I lost a few minutes there.

I woke up sitting hunched over in the courtyard of the Mission Palms. It can be accessed from the outside without ever crossing the lobby, but still, I wondered why we were unmolested. No one had noticed one man dragging another man across the courtyard? Even supposing I might have been drunk, didn’t the knife handle sticking out of my back raise a red flag? Jesus noticed my look of bewilderment.

“I work in mysterious ways. Let’s leave it at that.”

I grimaced as my ouchies strongly reminded me that they were still there—nerves slapping my brain and saying, “Hey! You paying attention? This shit hurts.” I was completely drained now; I couldn’t shut anything off or heal myself at all. “Thought we were buddies,” I managed to say through clenched teeth.

“We still are. But pain is often instructive, where whiskey and beer are not. Call it tough love.”

“Okay, okay. What’s the lesson? I’m listening.”

“I want you to think about how you got here, Atticus. What was the decision that led you to this moment—a moment where you were almost killed by witch hunters? Follow the causes and effects backward.”

It didn’t take me long. I had already been thinking of this back in Mag Mell. “It was when I decided to stop running and kill Aenghus Óg if I could.”

Jesus nodded. “That’s right. When you decided to kill a god, you set in motion a series of events that led you extremely close to your death. Had you remained meek, you would have inherited the earth—”

“What?”

“No, let me finish. And now that you’ve killed the Norns—yes, I know about that—you have no idea what possible futures lie ahead of you. The aftershocks of that act have yet to be felt, and you’re going to be paying for it like you’re paying now for Aenghus Óg. Killing Thor would only make it worse, Atticus. Much worse. In all seriousness, there are few ways ahead in which you survive, your deal with the Morrigan notwithstanding. And there are few ways ahead in which the world survives, Atticus. Do you hear me? The world is at stake—this world. Killing Aenghus brought you to the attention of these Hammers of God. Who knows whom else you’ve attracted by killing the Norns?”

“I’ll bet you have a pretty good idea,” I said.

“Well, yes, I do, and that’s why I’m here to warn you. Things are already looking grim for you, my friend. You’ve unleashed a significant aspect of Fate, and it rarely chooses a more peaceful and orderly path when given the opportunity to pursue its own course. Please do not make it worse. Killing Thor will set in motion forces you cannot comprehend. The pain you feel now will be a sensual massage compared to what awaits you should you continue.”

I signaled that I understood with the barest of nods. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to sit. It hurt to be conscious.

“Lesson learned?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Right. You won’t be needing that anymore, then.” Jesus stood up from his patio chair and leaned over me, yanking the knife from my back.

“Gaaaaah!”

“Wah, wah, wah, you’re such a crybaby,” he said. “It’s just a flesh wound, as the Black Knight would say. Stand up.”

“Wait. Did you just quote the Holy Grail ?”

“Why not? It was an inspired piece of filmmaking.” He winked at me. “Now stand up.”

“You don’t mean divinely inspired, do you?”

Jesus rolled his eyes. “One needs the patience of Job when speaking with you. Come on, I’m trying to help.” He hauled me to my feet by my left arm, eliciting another howl of misery. “Remember this the next time you think it would be macho to face down a god.”

“Why not let me die if I’m so dangerous?” I asked, leaning heavily against him for support.

“Because you’re also the only one with a hope of preventing the worst cataclysms from happening.”

“What cataclysms?”

“I can’t tell you. That would be cheating. Now be silent.”

“You’re awful bossy all of a sudden.”

“Doesn’t do me much good, does it? You’re still talking. Hold still.”

Jesus put his hand over my mangled left ear, and a pleasant warmth filled my body. The pain melted away and I felt my muscles knitting back together without a fuss. My kidney healed up and the toxins broke down in my blood. He even fixed the holes in my jacket. And, to top it off, my left ear was good as new again.

“Wow, that was so much easier than the way the Morrigan fixed my other one,” I said. “Thank you. Seriously.”

He beamed and gave me a hug, more sincerely than the man hug we’d traded on our first greeting. “You are welcome. Thank you for the lunch and the drinks,” he said pointedly, bobbing his head toward Rúla Búla and my unpaid tab. “And thank you in advance for making wise decisions in the future.”

I began to laugh, and Jesus cocked his head sideways at me. “What’s so funny?”

“The next time someone asks me if I’ve been saved by Jesus, I can tell them truthfully I have. I can tell ’em you’re my savior. And they will misinterpret that so deliciously.”

Jesus sighed and shook his head with one of those boys-will-be-boys expressions. “Druids,” he said. Then he pointed over my shoulder. “Hey, here come the cops.” I looked behind me and saw no one there. When I turned around, Jesus was gone.

“All right, you got me,” I said, looking up. “That was a good one.”