Chapter eleven: Showdown
He could have disabled the wards around the museum's entrance designed to notify the caster of the presence of anyone arriving, but Dave still wasn't as comfortable with some of the subtler arts. Besides, it didn't suit his purposes.
The museum had been closed off for investigation of the apparent 'bombing' which had torn one of the galleries apart, however there was little sign of any security guards, intelligence officers and police detectives, save for the yellow tape across the doors and the cars out front. They had effectively disappeared, Dave assumed Ysabelle had cleared the scene, he could only hope she hadn't killed them all. He wouldn't put it past her. Their only mistake was to be in her way.
Along with plastic tarps and a few carts of forensic tools, glass cases in the main hall enclosed several mummified remains, a mere fraction of the semi-preserved corpses uncovered in the excavation of Cibola, prime artifacts for the 'X marks the spot' exhibition the museum was now hosting.
Dave wasn't alone. Abigail Chase and Riley Pool on his right, Jack Sparrow and Prince Dastan on the left; he couldn't help but thinking that had his life been a film, this would have been an ideal moment for some judicious slow motion and dramatic music.
"Feel free to stop right there," Ysabelle's voice made Dave feel like tearing his hair out by the roots. At the end of the hall two stair cases curved up to a balcony, where Ysabelle herself stared down, twirling a roll of duct tape on her finger. Beside her, Becky Barnes was the obvious recipient of the thick grey adhesive, gagged and bound hand and foot. Behind the pair the hourglass rested on a black stone slab, gleaming in the soft light, as if to say that Ysabelle had no need to protect it, her victory was that assured.
"Well that's not so complicated," said Jack, yanking the pistol from his belt. The crack echoed through the high-ceilinged chamber. Ysabelle's head rolled back, a hole in her forehead. She looked dazed for a second, as the skin stitched itself back together. The pistol ball plunked down into her hand, as her head wound sealed entirely.
"I've never seen anything like it," Riley's jaw hung open.
"I have," said Jack, "But perhaps this will be more difficult than I thought."
"Don't feel so bad, I never could have made that shot," Dave shrugged.
Ysabelle put the ball in her pocket. "Now that we've got the pleasantries out of the way," She held her open hand to Becky's cheek, the air shimmering around her fingers. "Everyone who is a Prime Merlinian, keep your hands down and walk slowly up the stairs to me."
"Let her go first," Dave demanded. "Why should I do this your way?"
"Because I'm perfectly happy to blow her head off before I jump down there and kick your ass."
Dave was halfway up the stairs before he could think of a suitably witty retort.
"No, how dare you, I love that apprentice like a brother!" A man with shaggy blond hair and a leather trench coat burst through the doors. A ball of light shot from his general direction, and evaporated on impact with Ysabelle's shield.
"Balthazar Blake, what a surprise," Ysabelle grinned widely. She tossed her duct tape aside, and the roll unraveled to wrap around Dave, tripping him up. He fell hard on the stone stairs, the shield around the trench-coated sorcerer evaporated.
Ysabelle spun to see a man in a tuxedo attempting to snatch the hourglass. She decked him hard and he spun over the slab. She hurled a plasma bolt at the sorcerer below, who yelped and dived for cover as it shattered the tile near his feet. It looked like a dead rat was mixed in with the shards. A second glance revealed it was a blonde wig. "What in the-" she shoved Becky over the balcony.
Dave put on a magical burst of speed and slid on his knees to catch her. He gave her a peck on the cheek before running back up the stairs, shooting a thumbs up to Ben Gates, who was tripping over his trench coat.
Above, Ysabelle was thrown upward to slam into the ceiling as Balthazar came out from behind the slab, "Definitely worth the haircut."
A concussive blast sent Balthazar spinning into the wall. Maxim Horvath emerged from a nearby gallery in time to watch Ysabelle slam back into the floor. He blocked a plasma bolt from Balthazar with ease.
Ysabelle reached out over the main hall, uttering a few focus words under her breath. The glass in the many cases shattered as their long dead occupants began to sit up and clamber out of their containers with surprising agility. They moved in concert, some cutting off the rooms exits while others moved to intercept the non-sorcerers.
"I had a dream like this once," Riley was exceedingly nervous.
"I had a real life experience like this a couple times," said Jack, unsheathing his sword. "You should see the other fellows."
A sonic wave cracked, throwing Ysabelle off her feet. Blood trickled from her ears, as the Prime Merlinian leapt, blue fire curling around his hand. He slammed down on top of her, the magic flame tearing half of Ysabelle's face momentarily off.
Meanwhile, Balthazar ducked under a bolt from Horvath's cane, and rammed into him. The pair slammed onto the stone slab and the hourglass went skittering away across the floor. Balthazar pulled at the cane in Horvath's grip, simultaneously punching Horvath in the face.
Ysabelle seized Dave's neck in a vise-like grip. He began to choke, but continued to punch her, again and again. The skin at his neck began to redden and blister as she heated the air around her hands. He blasted her arms away telekinetically, pinning them at her sides.
A thin laser-like beam of plasma issued from the cane's jeweled tip, Balthazar twisted his head away as it sliced deep into the stone. The jewel began to glow. Balthazar threw up a shield, but the blast threw him away from Horvath and into the wall.
Dave tore at the collar of Ysabelle's shirt, catching hold, he tore a long rent, exposing the silver chain he was looking for. With a sharp yank, the chain broke and he held her gemstone in the palm of his hand. He took her punch straight in the face, not even trying to block.
Nearby, Balthazar crouched, ready, as Horvath powered up another powerful energy blast. "Tag team," Dave shouted, and shoved Ysabelle in the chest, throwing her off her feet.
"What the- okay, alright," Balthazar rolled away as Horvath's energy bolt went straight through Ysabelle's torso and out the other side. Smoking slightly, Morgana's apprentice hit the wall hard, and slid down, unmoving.
Dave pressed Horvath back with a series of powerful plasma bolts, while Balthazar poured blast after blast into Ysabelle's gemstone. It cracked and splintered the silver casing long since torn away.
"Are you alright?" Ben Gates asked, helping Becky to her feet.
"No," said Becky, she was bruised and scrapped all over, and had a nasty shiner over her right eye. "But I'm alive, which is more than can be said for those people," the shrillness of her voice rapidly increased till a pair of cold dead and surprisingly strong arms wrapped around Ben from behind. He struggled, his arms pinned to his sides, as Becky punched and kicked at the cadaver.
Ben twisted and slammed the zombie against the wall, finally breaking free. His roundhouse punch tore its jaw off. The rest of the head came loose with a sickening twist. Becky kicked it across the room, where it came to rest at Riley's feet.
"I'm really not cut out for this kind of work," he yelped, diving back out of the way as Jack disemboweled a zombie with a twirl of his sword.
"Hit them with a monitor or something," Abigail shouted as another corpse grabbed her arm. She seized the bone and twisted tearing the arm clean off and bludgeoning the corpse over the head with it.
The headless zombie lunged at Becky, who managed to lurch out of the way. She kicked at it, and the torso caved in under her foot, even as its hand wrapped around her ankle. There was a hiss of steel through the air and the limb was sliced clean off. Dastan severed the other arm with one sword and bisected the zombie with the other before twirling both blades to rend the creatures back open. Leaving it twitching, with nary a glance at Becky, he was moving.
Jack was clever and leaned with a blade, and Abigail was vicious in her own way, but none of them could fight like the Persian Prince. He leapt high and kicked off the wall, spinning into a backflip as he cut both arms off a zombie. Landing on his feet he swept the legs out from under one zombie, and took off half another's face with a spinning kick before slicing it from shoulder the hip, before planting his sword deep into the downed foe.
Riley slipped on a patch of broken glass and accidently tackled a zombie to the ground. Another skeleton seized Abigail from behind and clamped its jaw over her shoulder with enough force to tear her skin. Her scream was enough to call Ben to action, even though a small crowd of the undead separated them, he charged. Zombies and their grasping hands surround him as he shoved and kicked, watching history crumble before him as he punched its bony face in.
Two waves of energy pushed against each other, yielding only inches. Completely focused, Dave and Horvath little attention to the room slowly eroding around them. Horvath's blast surged forward as Dave's shield faltered, but the stone slab slid across the floor to slam into his back. As Horvath went sprawling, Dave did his best to the shield himself from the worst of the blast which shattered the light bulbs and cracked the floor, although the impact was enough to throw him into the wall.
Horvath scrambled to his feet, snatching up his cane, but it was knocked from his grasp as Dave kicked it away. Horvath swung at him, and Dave blocked with his forearm, leaving him open as Horvath's left fist drilled upward into his gut. Horvath shoved him away and went for the cane, but it flew to Dave's grasp.
Invisible clamps held the now helpless Horvath in place. "Balthazar, any time now," sweat dripped down Dave's brow as he held the cane level.
"Indeed so," Balthazar turned away from Ysabelle's pendent, now nothing but dust and splinters. He removed a nesting doll from his coat.
"Oh, bother," Horvath eyed the Grimhold. "That's one artifact I've little desire to reacquaint myself with."
Below, Ben Gates slammed into a corpse, flipping it over his shoulder to the floor. Another zombie grabbed him in a headlock, while another approached, he punched at it, and its mouth went around his fist.
"Ben," Dastan shouted, throwing one of his swords to the imperiled historian. Not trusting his ability to catch the blade, Ben twisted, allowing it to run the zombie behind him through. Seizing the sword, he kicked the knees in of the zombie in front of him. Its head came off, still clamped over his hand, and he spun to backhand the other zombie in the skull, both craniums shattered. The headless zombie charged, but Ben danced back, yanking out the sword, and disarmed the creature.
The amount of dismembered, albeit bucking and writhing, corpses now far outnumbered the mobile undead. A monster grabbed Abigail by the shoulders, snarling silently in her face, as she pressed it away. Riley brought his knee up through its gut.
The top half of a zombie grabbed Dastan's leg. He pulled its head off with his bare hand, and sliced it down the middle. Jack Sparrow split the last zombie's skull with his sword. A few more flicks of the blade and its assorted segments lay twitching on the ground. "That wasn't so bad," he said genially.
"Do you hear that?" said Riley, as Ben returned Dastan's sword. "It sounds…metallic."
On the balcony above, Horvath seemed to be becoming less and less tangible as Balthazar chanted, the open Grimhold clasped between his hands. Until a knife flew from Horvath's coat, to the sorcerer's own surprise, whipping toward Dave. Dave knocked it away with the cane, but Horvath was released and fell to his knees.
The Grimhold was kicked out of Balthazar's grasp, bouncing over the balcony. Ysabelle seized him and with strength unlikely from a less magical woman of her type, flipped Balthazar over to slam him to the ground before drilling him in the chest with an elbow.
Plasma burning around her fists, Ysabelle charged at the stunned Prime Merlinian, slamming into him. Dave's ears rang as the stone and masonry behind them broke and gave way under the force of their magic.
"I think I'm going to need a bigger boat," said Riley, staring as the assortment of medieval suits of armor, mannequins in revolutionary war gear, clay warriors and samurai armor, filed into the room.
There was ominous clunk from behind, and Becky turned to see the pirate, Jack Sparrow, wrestling with the doors. "They're locked," he explained. "Just checking. I'll be right over there, seeing if there's another exit," he disappeared into the adjoining gift shop.
Dastan rolled his eyes. He stepped forward to meet the enemy, pulling the twin swords from his back.
A wave of energy from above tore the medieval suits of armor apart before the Persian Prince. On the balcony, Horvath seized Balthazar from behind, hooking the cane under his neck. Balthazar kicked off the railing, propelling himself backward on top of Horvath. A blast of sparks hit Horvath in the side of the face, and Balthazar rolled free.
He looked up barely in time to see Horvath diving with the knife he'd scooped off the floor. Balthazar locked arms with his opponent, forcing the blade to remain inches from his face. They'd been evenly matched at one time, for millennia in fact, but Balthazar had to admit that in sheer power, Horvath had a significant advantage. If he didn't end this quickly he would lose, and it was all too likely Dave, surprisingly resourceful as the boy was, wouldn't be able to triumph over Ysabelle without his help.
The Grimhold sailed through the air to bop Horvath on the back of the head. Balthazar up and punched Horvath across the jaw. The handle of the knife in his hand grew incredibly hot, and Horvath had to let it drop. Snarling in anger, the sorcerer gestured at Balthazar. An impressionistic oil painting from further up the hall smashed over his head.
Balthazar was barely able to shield himself as a whirlwind of broken glass and priceless artifacts battered him. A bronze statuette hit him in the side of the head, drawing blood. Through the haze, Balthazar recognized a familiar artifact. Not the Grimhold, no, something far older. He dived for it.
Horvath went reeling after Balthazar hit him over the head with the hourglass. Lunging at his old friend (and enemy), he grabbed the artifact, while swinging his cane with his right hand. Balthazar blocked with his forearm. In their hands, the sands within the hourglass began to glow. Horvath's eyes widened.
"You've got to be kidding me," Balthazar said, and in a flash the pair of them were gone.
There are times when I haven't run away from a fight, though Jack Sparrow, No really, I think I've taken a stand two or three times perhaps? It's not such a big deal after all, even assuming this whole thing isn't just brought on by rum and tavern food (or maybe I'm lying dead back on that boat, surrounded by EITC soldiers). I don't know these people, who's to say my side was the morally accurate or more profitable venture. Besides, unlike Mr. Persia, I'm not even sure I want to go back. There's a whole new world out there, horse-less metal carriages and buildings like mountains and tight trousers on the lasses. I can't let it be a world that's never heard of one Captain Jack Spa-
For the sake of self-preservation, Jack dived into a roll as a blade cut through the air where his head had been only a second ago. His assailant instead mutilated a rack of ugly statuettes with bobbling heads. Jack shoved another rack of art books toward the attacker, tangling and delaying him further.
An athletic man clad entirely in black was attacking him with a sword he obviously knew how to use. Jack automatically went for his pistol. Two bullets went right through the man's torso and out the other side. There was no blood, and he barely even paused.
"Oh," Jack clicked his tongue, "That figures."
Jack battered the masked man's sword aside with his own blade, and spun away, punching the man in the face. The man took easily, and Jack was barely able to parry a swing that would have severed his head.
Jack fought hard, but the man still pressed him slowly backward. He had greater skill and just a bit more strength. Keeping himself was injury was all the pirate could do, let alone go on the offensive. He did score a point on his unspoken enemy's right arm, but it tore through cloth only.
Jack caught his opponent's blade with his own, and grabbed his wrist, locking their swords together. The mysterious assailant simply seized the front of his shirt, forcing the gleaming swords toward the pirate. Jack put his whole energy into a kick square in the man's chest. The enemy was propelled backward, and Jack tumbled onto his back, taking another rack of merchandise with him. Toy animals spread across the floor.
Jack groaned, looking dazed, raising his sword weakly, but when the enemy lunged, he bounded to his feet and planted a kick behind the man's knees. The man stumbled to the grounds, dismembering several plush tigers, and Jack drew his sword along the front of the man's neck, slicing his throat open. The man went somewhat limp, but there was no blood.
Cautiously, Jack reached down and pulled the man's cloth mask away. Instantly the mask less enemy sprang up and swung his sword. The tip tore open the front of Jack's waistcoat, drawing a line of blood along his chest. A few inches closer and he'd be dead. Jack blocked an overhand swipe, and shoved another to the side, the man shattered several vials of incandescent putty.
The man still said nothing, but his pale face was twisted in rage. No wonder, Jack figured; the man's eyes were milky white and oozed fluid, his nose had been broken many times. Worst of all was his mouth; it had been sown shut with leather cord.
His back against the wall, Jack fell to his knees, as the sword bit deep into the woodwork. Grabbing a rack of brown shirts, Jack tore the hook from the wall, dumping the cloth on his enemy's head. He used the opening to cut deep, cutting the man's sword arm clean off at the elbow.
The man's left fist drilled into Jack's gut. Seemingly feeling no pain, he grabbed for Jack's sword. When the pirate danced away, he slammed into him, knocking Jack into the counter. Jack slashed at the disarmed man as he dived for his sword. Scooping it up, he spun to face the pirate.
"Guess I'll have to cut your damn head off," Jack shrugged.
Their swords met.
…
Balthazar landed on his back in the snow. The sun was blinding. He got to his feet. He was surrounded by a field of snow and ice and there was not a cloud in the sky. A solitary helicopter disappeared into the horizon. The hour glass was half-buried a few feet away. Horvath stumbled upward, fighting to adjust his fur coat. Balthazar raised his hands, feeling the electricity in the air, letting it play across his fingertips, allowing the energy to form a perfect sphere. Then after a second's pause to maximize effectiveness, he released it.
The plasma bolt was knocked straight down, sending a small explosion of slush. Horvath twirled his cane as his energy bolt dealt Balthazar a glancing blow on his side. "I must say I like the tuxedo," said Horvath. His second magical detonation sent Balthazar to one knee as his shield was battered. "That and a haircut, it almost makes you look civilized."
"Your new lady friend is quite the woman," said Balthazar, diving out of the way of another blast. "Compared to her you seem almost human."
"But we are not human, are we Balthazar?" Horvath mused, striding toward him through snow that went up to mid-calf. "We're so much better than that." He swung his cane again, and Balthazar doubled over, it felt as though his stomach had run over by a car.
Horvath's left hook caught him full in the face. So did the next, and the next. Balthazar stumbled away, nearly losing his balance.
Spinning to face the sorcerer, Balthazar jumped, putting his momentum into a plasma bolt that laid Horvath out on his back. He clenched his fist and a localized blizzard of ice and snow surrounded the sorcerer. Balthazar shuffled toward the hourglass, even as he pulled it toward him magically
Horvath's hand clamped around his ankle as the sand began to glow.
…
Ben swung the mace, crushing in the helmet of a suit of medieval armor. He spun with his weapon, knocking the torso away from another suit, which collapsed to twisted pieces on the floor.
A mannequin in an antique French army uniform charged at Abigail Chase. Its bayonet plunged deep into the abandoned mummy torso she seized to defend herself. Becky tackled the mannequin from behind, and twisted till its plastic head popped off.
"I am sincerely not enjoying this," Riley kicked a terra-cotta warrior in the chest, knocking it against a pillar, where it shattered. He picked up its spear only to have the weapon sliced into two by the samurai sword of a suit of oriental armor.
Dastan appeared out of nowhere, swords dancing in his hands. The samurai's armor was hard-pressed to defend itself.
"There's no way out over there, only pain and destruction," Jack Sparrow bounded into the room. He had perhaps the oddest run Ben had ever seen, but it didn't matter for right on his heels was a sword-brandishing one-armed ninja with a pale face and a sown-up mouth.
"Look out, it's Fred," Becky warned him unnecessarily. Snatching the axe from the mannequin of a passing Mesoamerican chieftain, Jack threw the axe edgeways. It was a surprisingly good throw, but the ninja launched himself into the air and flipped over the axe to land on his feet before Jack…only to lock blades the Persia's very own prince.
Dastan stabbed high, making Fred duck, while defending his midsection with his other sword. Dastan spun; Fred blocked one sword, then the other. Jack eagerly tiptoed away, pleased to see that monster on the defensive.
There was a distinct clacking as two mannequins in the uniform of 17-th century soldiers cocked their muskets. The pair leveled their guns at Jack, who raised his sword. "Some things never change," said the captain.
…
Screams of pain filled the smoky air, mingling with the smell of smoke and blood. A plasma bolt knocked the hourglass from Balthazar's hands, sending it tumbling into the crowd. Horvath and Balthazar were surrounded by men, knights in metal armor and white cloth with red crosses emblazoned on them and darker men in robes with curvier swords. The city around them burned.
Balthazar glimpsed the spyglass, kicked about by men fighting for their lives, and pushed toward it. A Muslim warrior looped at him, swinging his sword. Balthazar grabbed his forearms, keeping the blade from his face, and shoved him away. There was no need to hurt these people, more than enough of that was going on already.
Horvath didn't seem the think so. He twisted the torch from a Muslim's hand and blew, a jet of flame like the breath of a dragon enveloped several crusader knights. Balthazar ducked under the swung of a broadsword, and kicked the knight off his feet. He blasted the torch out of Horvath's hands with an invisible energy bolt.
The downed knight swung at Balthazar, who kicked the sword from his hands. An arrow flew straight toward him; Balthazar snatched it from the air and hurled it at Horvath. Horvath knocked it aside, and the arrow went straight through the eye-slits of a crusader knight's helmet. Horvath ducked under the swing of another knight's sword, and hit him the gut with his cane. The man was thrown into the air to slam down on his head, as Horvath dived for the hourglass.
Balthazar scooped up the broadsword, and used it to parry a Muslim's attack, before punching the soldier in the face. Horvath held the artifact now, the sands of time within began to glow. Balthazar reached out to grab…
The Crusades disappeared in a flash of sand and fire. Humidity and sulfur replaced them, a volcanoes mountain looming above them. Below the incline of brown rock was a lush and colorful jungle. A large winged shape flitted through the sky above.
Balthazar's heel slammed into Horvath's knee. There was an unappetizing crunch as the sorcerer fell, while Balthazar pulled away. He was still carrying the sword in his right hand, but he swung with his left, catching Horvath the face with the hourglass. Horvath rolled away. Balthazar noticed his hat was missing, most likely lost centuries ago.
Horvath hurled a rock the size of his head telekinetically, but Balthazar was able the knock it aside. Setting the hourglass down, he moved toward Horvath, hefting the broadsword. Blue energy crackled along its blade, ending in a bolt that took Horvath hard in the in the side.
Horvath's cane glowed, sheathed a writhing plasma exoskeleton. Balthazar felt the charge as he ducked away from it. Horvath came in from the left, and Balthazar felt the shock down his arms as he blocked. Horvath swung again, and snapping six inches off Balthazar's sword.
Balthazar hurled a plasma bolt, which Horvath easily blocked, distracting the sorcerer as the unstable ground beneath him cracked and shifted. Horvath lost his balance, and was hard-pressed to block Balthazar's strike with his cane, while another flying rock hit him in back of the head.
Balthazar's sword came down again and again, he shouted as he finally knocked the sword from Horvath's grasp. The sword tore through the front of Horvath's suit and charged with blue energy again, a blast which laid Horvath out on his back.
Balthazar put the jagged edge of the sword to Horvath's neck. Horvath coughed, blood trickled from a nostril. "You won't really do it, will you?"
Balthazar said nothing, nor did he react.
"That's why you need the boy," Horvath chuckled, "I see it now. You can't bring yourself to kill one of us, not even to save your precious Veronica. I ran her through Balthazar, you can do that to me right here, right now."
"I don't respect you enough to kill you," said Balthazar. "You're nothing but a psychopathic old man."
"And you aren't?"
"I didn't say that."
"You're weak," Horvath hissed. "Veronica chose-"
"You're right," said Balthazar, and he punched him in the face.
…
Dave Stutler crawled from the wreckage of the wall, coughing up rock dust. He recognized the gallery, lots of gold. He'd seen pictures of a few of these things, the masonic medallion, the Egyptian statue, this was the Gates exhibit.
A piece of rubble hit him in back of the head, drawing blood. "I'm over here, boy," said Ysabelle, emerging from the dust. Dave hurled a plasma bolt at her; she caught it and threw it back. Dave slid away on his back. "What," she said, "Think you're the only one who can do magic without a gem."
Ysabelle ran at him, hurling bolt after magical bolt, Dave's shield splintered and nearly shattered beneath them. Reaching behind him, he grabbed a chunk of masonry and swung. He bashed Ysabelle in the head and she spun away. His kick drilled into her side, Dave pushed magically, sending her flying into a display case for ancient scrolls.
Ysabelle flung her arm out, a dozen shards of broken glass looped toward him. One drew a gash across his cheek, and another sliced across his hip. The other projectiles clattered to the ground, deflected.
Plasma energy played along Ysabelle's right arm, coalescing into a gleaming length, almost like a sword. She swung, and Dave jumped away as it scored a crater in the floor. A ceremonial knife flew to his hand, but Dave's attempt to parry the energy-sword resulted in his own blade shattering in his hand.
Dave's twin plasma bolts burst against Ysabelle's shield and the shockwave threw him on his back. Ysabelle leapt to run him through, but Dave caught her sword with his own shield. Her head snapped back as a plasma bolt hit her upside the head, her blade disappearing.
I can't beat her, Dave thought and then, Balthazar told me no Sorcerer could perform magic without their ring or whatever they use, except for me. Either he's wrong or she's lying…
Dave swung hard, scoring a blow across her face. He punched again, but Ysabelle caught his forearm in her own powerful grip. Dave simply jabbed with his left, shoving the shard of glass deep into her gut.
Dave stumbled away from her shove, his hand bloody. Ysabelle's hand went to her abdomen, where the gash had already closed. "Damn you, Dave," she said. "Do you any idea how long it's going to take to get that out?"
"No," said Dave, "But I'd love to help."
The light fixture above him burst, and Dave screamed in pain as an electrical current enveloped him. He blocked a plasma bolt with his forearm, and threw a hand out, the display case behind him shattered. He grabbed the staff from within, like a spear but with a longer blade and the end, and spun into a jab. The blade cut deep, slicing through Ysabelle's thigh down to the bone.
The shaft shattered in his hands, but Dave saw what he was looking for. A glint of precious stone, and emerald he guessed, buried deep in the flesh.
Dave's eyes glowed as he raised his hand, palm outstretched. For just an instant he saw a glint of worry in Ysabelle's eyes, something he hadn't seen before. He was on the right track. And then his jacket burst into flames. Dave summoned a vacuum around himself, extinguishing the fire. He dodged aside to avoid Ysabelle's punch.
She swung again, and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her off-balance, he shoved his knee up into her gut. Dave shoved her away, she slammed into a pillar. A curved sword impaled her left arm and sank deep into the stone.
Dave was on top of her, forcing her right arm against the stone and into it, phasing rock and flesh together. Ysabelle screamed. Dave's left hand wrapped around her neck, slamming her head into the pillar, while his other hand splayed over her heart. Whispering a few charms under his breath, Dave pushed.
Ysabelle wrapped her legs around him and squeezed, twisting her head she sank her teeth into his wrist, but to no avail. Her skin began to roil, breaking and blistering, his hand sank into her chest, he felt hot blood, and then the worst, pain he'd ever felt. It was the shard of glass, it exploded from her gut and cut deep, like a bullet, through his chest and out the other side.
Ysabelle was coming apart, her flesh unraveling. Gems and rings, the tokens of a hundred sorcerers clattered to the floor, leaving little drops of blood as she fell to pieces. Dave could feel his heart beat once, twice more, like a gong in his head, and then stop as the floor rushed up to meet him.
They lay there together, neither living, the Prime Merlinian and Morgana's apprentice, surrounded by blood and bone and magical artifacts.
There was another beat. The wound in Dave's chest began to heal.
…
Jack Sparrow knocked the rifle up with the sword, the bullet sent into the ceiling. He grabbed the gun of the other redcoat mannequin. He severed the first one in two and then stabbed the second through the head, wrenching its cranium away. Jack threw the rifle away and began kicking in the flailing mannequin's torso. Riley caught the firearm and swung it like a club, knocking a stuffed orangutan on its back.
Even with one arm, Dastan was finding Fred a formidable opponent. "Ben," he heard Abigail shout, as a monster of bones pounced at her. Dastan shouted to Ben, who had no idea what he said, and leapt, kicking of Fred's chest and bounding toward Abigail.
Seeming now to understand, Ben charged, swinging his mace, which crushed Fred's ribcage inward. Kicking off the remains of a display case, Dastan summersaulted through the air, landing on the dinosaurs back. His twin swords went snicker-snack; its spine sabotaged the dinosaur collapsed on top of Abigail, covering her with dust and fossils.
Ben cried out as Fred sliced him across the chest. If not for the leather trench coat, the wound might have proved fatal. He punched at Fred, but the silent man ignored it, cutting him across the legs. Ben collapsed, and Fred grabbed him by the head, sliding his sword to slice open his neck.
Looking up from what had used to be a well preserved ape, Riley could've sworn this was about to become the last time he saw the man who was possibly his best friend alive, until the Persian prince appeared in the air behind the pair, his hair flowing, his swords gleaming. Dastan landed in a crouch, his swords extended. Fred's torso collapsed against Ben, his head rolled away, eyes wide-open in death.
"Oh it is sooo good to talk again," said Becky Barnes in a voice that was her own, but with completely different inflection. "I want the Persian. Now, or I snap her neck."
Abigail Chase attempted to say something selfless and dramatic, but it came out as a dry wheeze. Becky's hand was clamped around her throat, holding her up off the floor by one hand. Her eyes were white.
There was the clack of a gun being cocked. "Set her down," said Riley, holding his musket leveled at Becky's head. She didn't, but nor did he fire. The trigger was cold under his finger; Riley didn't feel like he could do it. He couldn't kill this girl, the girl who he'd been fighting alongside moments ago, who was surprisingly nice and attractive, whatever she saw in that Dave Stutler (Riley considered himself even geekier, and also human).
There was the clack of another gun. Jack Sparrow's pistol brushed the back of Riley's head. "Him I understand, but what are you doing?" Ben sighed. The stand-off was tense enough he only vaguely realized the museum exhibits were no longer animated and trying to kill him.
"I tried it already," said Jack "Didn't work. More importantly, soon as you destroy that oh-so-lovely mortal frame, the immaterial beasty is going to have to go somewhere. I will not allow that somewhere to be me."
"It's going to hell, actually," said Dave Stutler, entering the room. He was badly bruised and bloodied but alive. Becky/Fred tightened its grip on Abigail's throat, but it was too late, in a flash a shimmering outline was drawn out of Becky's eyes, ears, nose and mouth, forming a shimmering screaming maw in the air before dissipating. "Goodbye, Fred."
Becky collapsed into Dave's arms. Abigail collapsed into Ben's arms. Dastan glanced at Riley, who shrugged. "Where's the wench," Jack asked Dave.
"Dead," he said bluntly.
"How'd you kill an immortal?" Riley asked.
"Turns out she wasn't immortal," said Dave. "She'd just been killing other sorcerers and taking their power for thousands of years. With their rings she was able to perform incredible feats of magic with an emphasis on healing. So to defeat her I used her signature trick against her. I have her power now."
"I'm going to pretend I understood that," said Abigail.
Dastan said something that none of them could understand.
"Where's Balthazar?" Dave asked.
"No idea," said Ben, "I thought he was with you."
"He was, but then…"
There was a flash of burning sand, and Balthazar Blake was kneeling among them with the hourglass in one hand, and Horvath's cane in the other. The dark sorcerer lay unconscious beside him.
"I won," Dave told him.
"Of course we did," said Balthazar. "Now has anyone seen that Grimhold around here?"
"Pity," Ben whispered to Abigail, nodding at the sorcerer. "That was my favorite tuxedo."