Busted Flush

Sunlight glare on the wide windshield prevented Niobe from seeing inside the car. She waved, tossing out thanks as she trotted over to the driver’s side.

The window slid down with the whirr of an electric motor. Niobe got a strong whiff of clove cigarettes.

“Thank you so much for stopping,” said Niobe.

“By Crom’s beard! You scared the daylights out of me.”

Niobe had no idea who “Crom” was supposed to be. But that wasn’t the odd thing about the woman behind the wheel. Not compared to the fur-lined chain-mail bikini, the crimson-colored cape, and the axe sitting on the passenger seat. The bikini did not complement the woman’s figure.

“I . . . uh . . .” Was that a sword on the backseat? Niobe wondered if heat stroke had scrambled her brain.

“What brings you out here, noble wanderer?”

“Huh?”

“Nah, never mind. Need a ride?”

“Yes. Badly. Please.”

“It’s traditional to just stick out your thumb when you’re hitching.”

“We’ve been out here for hours. There aren’t any cars to hitch rides from.”

The woman raised her eyebrows. “We?”

Damn. “Yes. Me and my friend.” Niobe waved at Drake, motioning him to join her. “We ran out of gas money back in Wick,” she improvised.

“You’ve been on foot since Wick?”

Niobe nodded. That much was mostly true, anyway.

The driver stuck her head out the window. She gave Niobe the once-over, then the same for Drake.

“You guys have been on foot too long,” she said.

“Tell me about it,” said Niobe. “Please, may we ride with you? Just for a while?”

Niobe had never imagined that the clunk of electric door locks could sound so sweet. She felt like crying. “Thank you. Thank you,” she repeated.

Drake hurried over. Niobe opened the back door for him. He wrinkled his nose at the cigarette odor, but it didn’t stop him from scrambling inside.

“Next stop, Barbarian Days,” said the driver as Drake buckled his seat belt.

Niobe and Drake exchanged a silent look. Barbarian Days? He shrugged.

It sounded like some kind of festival. Well, that explained the outfit. Niobe held the axe in her lap when she buckled in. It was plastic.

The driver raised her window. She clicked the air-conditioning up a notch. The car was surprisingly silent when they pulled away, causing Niobe a moment’s disorientation when the landscape outside the car started to slide past them. She had never ridden in a hybrid.

“You getting enough air back there, kiddo?” Niobe turned, looked over the seat. Drake’s eyes were closed.

She slumped down in her seat, tempted to drift off under the caress of chilled air. It felt like heaven. The upholstery stank like a cheap bar, but at least her feet could rest.

“I’m Mandy,” said the driver.

Niobe blurted out the first name that sprang to mind. “Yvette,” she said. She motioned toward the backseat with a nod of her head. “That’s Xander, in back.”

“So,” she continued. “Barbarian Days.”

The driver smirked. “Never been, I take it.”

“No.”

“Lots of people there. Maybe not so many nowadays, with the oil crisis.” She paused to light a cigarette.

“It hasn’t stopped you,” said Niobe.

“Most of the time I work behind a desk, processing medical billing for an insurance company. Three days out of the year I can strap on a cape and become Red Sonya.”

Niobe nodded, unsure of what to say next. The driver dragged on her cigarette, then tapped ashes into a tray affixed to the center console. It hung over a charging cradle holding a cell phone.

Mandy saw her gazing at the phone. “You can use it, if you’re wondering.”

“I . . . Thanks. Again. It would be a huge help.”

Niobe pulled the phone from the cradle, careful not to knock down the ashtray. She thumbed through the menus, thinking. Who could help her? Did she even know any telephone numbers?

No. But she did know a few e-mail addresses.

“Mandy? Where exactly is Barbarian Days?”

“Cross Plains. Birthplace of the late great Robert E. Howard.”

Michelle—Help, please. I’m in danger. Please come. I’m in Cross Plains, TX.—Niobe.

Niobe wasn’t accustomed to using such a tiny keypad. Thumbing out the e-mail to Bubbles took a long time. But after she finished, she thanked Mandy again, closed her eyes, and slept.

The Tears of Nepthys

THE THIRD TEAR: NICK

Kevin Andrew Murphy

THE CAFÉ DU MONDE prided itself on beignets, chicory coffee, and never closing, even for hurricanes. Ellen didn’t know if the last was such a wise idea, but since Committee aces were like cops and got the two former items free, she wasn’t exactly going to complain, either. The wind wailed outside the iron shutters, and Ellen shivered. Her beaded flapper gown was not exactly suited to the weather, but then again she had a psychic allergy to off-the-rack.