Magee, Volume 1: Knight From Hell
MAGEE
VOLUME 1: KNIGHT FROM HELL
By David White
Copyright © 2014 David White
I sat there in the loud and crowded dump that passed for a bar, swirling the amber liquid which I think was bourbon around the bottom of my glass. My thoughts quickly drifted back to the battle a month before that bought me a one way ticket to this mud ball from Heaven.
I was covered in blood and dirt on one of the fields we angels trained on, and even though stuff healed, my opponent was no slouch. He was in fact Michael, the angel who bounced Lucifer from the heavens and into Hell. While I wasn’t a first born or pureblood or whatever you wanted to call Michael and the lot, I had been a warrior since I was old enough to hold a sword.
We yelled and screamed, and slashed and stabbed. We battled on the ground and flapped our wings and battled in the sky. Michael tried to swoop in on me, using both hands to swing his heavy blade in an arch that surely would have cut me in two, if I had stood there and watched. I instead parried the heavy blow and landed a sounding strike with my fist that literally sent Michael crashing to the ground. I…Malachi, the recruit, the mutt as Michael had called me many times during a battle that seemed to have lasted days. The whole time, Arrisa, the woman I loved, and the reason we battled, stood and watched in shackles, as did a large group of the other angels. A few I thought actually cheered me on.
I swooped down right behind Michael, and even as he collided with the ground, I hit him full on with the whole weight of my body. I was on him then, the bloodlust of a warrior’s heart allowing no mercy. I pounded and pounded, till his face was a bloody mess and consciousness had long since left him. I don’t remember who or when, but I felt the solid blow of a club across the back of my head and everything went black.
I awoke to find myself shackled and on my knees before Michael. I turned and noticed that Arrisa, my beautiful Arrisa, was shackled as well. She stared at me with those jade eyes, her raven black hair looking tussled but still beautiful nonetheless. It was then I noticed a jagged cut along her forehead where blood trickled down. I felt a boiling rage overtake me. I glared up ay Michael and tried to stand, but a swift backhand dropped me to my back. I quickly got back up to my knees and smiled at him. He laughed in my face before speaking.
“Malachi, worthless MUTT! You dared to challenge me, to steal my woman? I am elite, royalty, I am the first born.”
I laughed. “Well it didn’t seem to help you when I smashed your worthless carcass…first born!” I spit in his face to emphasize my point. This time he caught me full on with a round house. Again I smiled as I raised myself back to my knees. Michael stood over me with his sword. I figured I was about to die a second time, the first nearly five hundred years before on a battlefield in what was now Ireland. God in his wisdom, or whoever made the decision had instead transformed me in to an angel. Michael instead, after bringing the sword up, sliced it downward in a blazing arc and cut my left wing off. The pain was intense, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me wince, I smiled instead, even as he brought the sword up a second time and sliced my remaining wing off. Again I denied him the pleasure of showing the great pain I was now in as I felt the warm blood rolling freely down my back.
“Malachi, I hereby denounce you as an angel. You will not be dealt death. No, that would be too good for you. Instead I cast you out of heaven, and back to Earth, the place that spawned you.” Michael noticed me staring at Arrisa, and when I looked back at him he held a gritted smirk. “Oh, and you needn’t concern yourself with the whore. She will also be leaving heaven, but her road may be a little less traveled.” I tried to speak out, but already a strange glowing scepter was in Michael’s hand, and next thing I knew I seemed to be swirling through some strange glowing vortex. I landed with a thud on the concrete of some dark alley in the back yards of Chicago as I would later hear them called.
I was brought back to the present by a poke in the back. I turned my head to notice a sizable gent. He appeared to be well past the six foot mark and built like a tank. His face was stubbled with a two day shadow and while his breath smelled like he’d been nursing a bottle of whiskey since infancy, his body odor won the day. I smiled as I turned to look the man face to face.
“What can I do for ya, my fine sir?” Again he poked me, this time in the chest as he fought to steady himself. He spat his words at me more than speaking them.
“Listen, pally,” he hiccupped before continuing, “youse see that dame sitting over there at the end of the bar?” I cast my eyes to where he pointed to notice the dark haired maiden whose sagging breasts fought gravity only to be helped out by her further sagging stomach. She appeared to be unaware of what was going on as she chugged her beer and chased it down with a shot of whiskey. I turned my attention back to the man in front of me, who now seemed to have grown a few extra appendages, by which I mean he was joined by a few cohorts. I smiled at the group.
“Yes, quite charming,” I said, “Gotta love the way she oozes out of that outfit.” It took a second to register before his eyes bulged out and he snarled at me. I took the right hook that he had given his all and watched as he shook his hand from the pain. Well it wasn’t exactly the kind of battle I was looking for, but beggars can’t be choosy. I picked the man up by his lapels and slung him into his playmates. That was the match that ignited the inferno. The whole place went up for grabs. I yelled and screamed a battle cry that had too long been dormant and went at it. I had the advantage of course, even though it was twelve to one.
Glasses shattered about me as I punched and kicked, enjoying the pain I gave out as well as received. I felt a small semblance of myself, short lived as it might have been. The whole bar was a scene of turmoil as chairs that could barely be classified as furniture lay in ruins and bodies began to pile up on the floor, either unconscious or wishing that they were. My playmates gang piled me as I made my way toward the door. It was then that my nostrils caught wind of something other than my blood and stale beer. I knew who it was even before I spotted him.
He sat in the doorway looking dapper and prim. His charcoal davenport and black trousers being highlighted by a silver gilded vest and a black bowler fresh with a red feather in tow, he carried a silver tipped walking stick with the matching silver wolfhead topper. He was definitely over dressed for the occasion and the dump. I tossed the few stragglers about me away and wobbled over to him and his Cheshire cat grin. He shook his head.
“I say, Malachi, old chap, it appears that not much has changed since last we met.”
“I thought I smelt something funky in the air, Bates. What did you get, a parole from the Lincoln Park Zoo?”
“Yes indeed,” replied Princeton Bates smoothly. “Good to see one so far from his glory days may yet cast a stone, old chum.”
I snarled at him and then motioned for him to exit the place. The fracas was pretty much over and I didn’t want to be around to answer for the mess.
Bates and I had crossed paths when I was still an angel. He was over five thousand years old. While he was a werewolf, he was for the most part a good man. He could, however, never be allowed into Heaven because of being created by supernatural means.
Princeton Bates was just the latest flavor of names for a man who had been alive since the days of Moses. In truth, the walking stick he was never without was a piece broken from the very staff Moses used when he strolled into the Egyptian temple those many thousands of years before. Princeton had been part of some crazy magical experiment that allowed a man to change into a beast of prey. So technically while a werewolf seemed to be the easiest for him to change into, other animals were also part of his arsenal. A shattered piece off Mos
es’s staff was what allowed him to control his change at will, a luxury most werewolves didn’t have. It also was the reason he was immortal. It made sense to make it in to a walking stick, even though it seemed corny to me.
“Listen, Malachi, we can play this cat and mouse game readily. I however would much prefer we get down to business.”
“What possible business could I have with you, Fido? Besides, I didn’t know you could change in to a mouse.” I smiled a bit as I watched the glow of red in his eyes. It was brief, but nevertheless, it was there. He adjusted his lapels and smiled at me.
“Listen, old chap, I have a job that may perhaps interest you. It is a nasty bit of business that I am afraid is beyond me.”
I folded my arms across my chest and smiled. “Now what could possibly bring you to me? I mean, I have fallen far from the place you last saw me.”
“Really, my boy, must I spell it out for you. I am in need of someone with your…well, shall we just say someone with your juice.” I noticed he was staring and wrinkling his nose a bit. “Dear lord, Malachi, I feel perchance that you have not realized the need for bathing. Whew!” He waved a gloved hand in front of his nose. “I say, how about we head to my place where you can partake of a bath, and then we can discuss this trifle of business at hand. Oh, and I think we shall give you another name…MaGee perhaps? I knew a fine old chap back in London by that name.”
I had never been thrilled with the name Heaven had chosen. In fact, MaGee sounded perfect, so I nodded and followed Princeton to a waiting Pierce Arrow. It was vintage, but the black shined darker than a starless night while the ample chrome glistened as if it had rolled fresh from the factory. I frowned, not at the car, but at the fact that I was relegated to traveling this way. I jumped in after Bates and we pulled from the curb. Princeton spoke in a quaint voice.
“Pardon, old chap, but do roll down your window.”