When Sam arrived in the truck driving with Damon slouched asleep in the passenger seat, I expected to be regaled with his version of events and had steeled myself for a noisy trip home, but instead what I found surprised me.

  Both Sam and Jesse were grim as death, and neither wanted to talk at all. Sam silently pulled over to the side of the road where I was standing and unlocked the doors. His head never even turned my way. I climbed in and sat next to Jesse and looked over at him. He wouldn’t even make eye contact and I began to get a little worried.

  “What’s going on guys? This was a success. Yeah, we missed one of the three, but we know where he is and I’m going to go kill him.”

  Jesse clearly looked torn, like he desperately wanted to tell me something, but instead, he glanced up to the front of the truck where I could see Sam glaring at him through the rearview mirror. His eyes shot over to me, and instead of answering, he settled down crossed his arms apologetically and slouched deep into his seat, and leaned against the door, as if he was trying to get as far away from this situation as possible.

  “Jesse,” I said, “You’re a good man. Don’t worry about it. I understand being told to shut up and say nothing by my superiors. No worries. And good shooting back there.”

  He still wouldn’t look at me, but now it was more due to shame, I think. He did seem to relax a little though and I believe it helped ease the tension a little bit.

  I turned to Sam, “But you, you bastard. You have no excuse to hide anything from me. What the fuck is going on?”

  He said nothing for so long I was about to jump back in on him, when he said, “I’m going to explain it once. Wait until we’re all back and safe at the compound.”

  “Why can’t you give me the condensed version right now?”

  “Because some things shouldn’t be said aloud at all, Godsdamnit! I know what I’m doing, and you’ll just have to wait! This is dangerous shit, Dru!”

  So I waited.

  We got back to the compound and Jesse went into the medical center to get his arm looked at. It was merely a flesh wound, but it would probably take four or five stitches. Elijah was there to wake up his brother and escort him back to the house they stayed in. Damon seemed a lot better after waking up, but his eyes were sunken in and his skin had a pallor to it that did not look healthy.

  Elijah walked close to him and asked, "You okay, brother?"

  Damon looked over at him with warmth in his eyes, and said, "Yeah, little big man. I'm good."

  "I called your wife and told her you have the record. That illusion must have been epic."

  Damon chuckled. "Now you've done it, she'll be inventing a spell or something as we speak. You know how competitive she is."

  "Yeah, but you're the only one who can keep up with her, I suck at magic."

  Damon spoke as they turned the corner and disappeared down the hallway, "You're too literal for chaos magic, bro. You're a soldier. We're compliments, always have been, and always will be, forever."

  Martina, Frank, and Sarah were standing outside waiting as well and all three came up to me right away to say hi and see how I was. That unnerved me quite a bit. I was used to Frank and the squad all hanging out, talking, and decompressing after an action, but it was a whole new thing to have a family looking out and asking after me. I wasn’t sure what to do, or what my responsibilities were. It had been so long since the last time I had people like this, I wasn’t sure how they did it.

  Sarah asked, “How are you, Dru? Everything go well?”

  “Easy,” I replied. “Good vantage point. Had to shoot upwards a tiny bit. That makes it harder, but the sightline was clear. Two shots, two kills.”

  Frank was smiling. “Dru, she’s not asking for a report, she’s asking how you are feeling.”

  “Oh. Good. Fine.” I said looking at her. “Um…how are you?”

  Martina laughed. “Dru, you’re funny. Relax and come drink a beer with us.”

  Sam spoke up, “Don’t take too long. We need to talk. Five minutes. Grab a beer and bring it to the war room.”

  Frank spoke up again, “Dru, push me into the war room.” He looked over at Sarah and said, “You and Martina grab a six-pack for Dru and me, whatever you want for yourselves, and bring it to the room, okay?”

  Sarah looked at him levelly, and he blanched. “I did it again?” he asked.

  “Yes, dummy, you did it again. But it’s fine. I’m happy to help out.”

  “Did what?” I asked stupidly.

  “I told the girls to go ‘make us a sandwich’.”

  I laughed. “Oops. You in trouble now. Sarah, I can grab the beers if you want.”

  “And leave me to push that big oaf up this ramp and to the war room? No way, that’s work for donkeys and boys named Dru. Get to work and push that husband of mine. I’m going to grab a bottle of wine for Martina and me, and a six-pack of beer for you guys.”

  I must have looked confused because Martina jumped in with a big grin, “A lady likes to be asked, how hard is that to understand?”

  All smiles disappeared after we got to the war room to find Jesse and Sam looking distressed and Elijah looking curious. The ladies arrived in good spirits, but it tapered off immediately as they looked around and picked up on the vibe of the room. We all sat down and silently passed beers to Elijah, Damon, Sam, Frank, and myself, while Sarah popped the cork on the wine and served both Martina and herself a glass of something red.

  “We’ve got a big problem.” Sam began. “Ms. Byrne, Carrick, and this other asshole Louis Hughes had access to real magic. They could use it in multiple areas. I thought…” he paused and then started again, “...I prayed that we had a religious group about to bring back a God.”

  “I was wrong.” Sam looked absolutely sick. “Turns out that I am not completely alone after all.” He turned to look at me with pure hatred and with venom in his voice said, “It appears one of your fucking Gods," he said pointing at me, "has been able to manifest here and it put together a group of dedicated mortals to enact its will on this plane of existence."

  He clenched his fists, "Ms. Byrne said it manifests during their rituals and talks to them. Total bullshit. That's not how it works. There's a second God on Earth.”

  Except for Sam, Damon, and Jesse, we all sat stunned, even Elijah. Sam dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes.

  I sat cold, a deep dread spreading through my guts. Frank asked the question we were all thinking, “Who?”

  “Don’t know, but definitely Celtic.”

  “How the hell don’t you know?” I blurted out. “Didn’t she tell you?” I asked, referring to the late Shannon Byrne.

  “She didn’t know! The God is secretive and apparently appears only as a ball of light. Seems only the head Druid knows which God it really is.”

  "With Louis being the head Druid, of course," I said.

  Elijah spoke up and asked, “Raven, how bad is this?”

  “It’s very bad, my friend, but how bad depends entirely on who it actually is. Celtic Gods are complicated. There are actually three main ‘families’ of gods, isn’t that right, Dru?”

  I paused with a bottle of beer halfway to my lips. Looking around, I saw everyone was staring at me. I sighed and lowered the bottle to the table.

  “Yeah. In general, there are three families of Gods, but parents don’t matter because parents rarely raised their kids. Surrogates, Aunts and Uncles, and others raised the children. That leads to lots of conflicting loyalties. Our Gods are called the Tuatha De", I said, using the Ulster pronunciation that sounds a bit like "Two-a-day".

  "The Gods these days are all lumped into the Tuatha De Danann, but that’s because we don’t know where the first six Gods came from, so we assume they are related, but they break down into three families. The families are: Tuatha De Danann, Tuatha De Ernmann, and Tuatha De Domhain.”

  “So why does it matter which God we face?” Frank asked

  “Because some of them are hard-core nasty, some are smart as hell, and some are psychotically violent. Like many groups of Gods you might be familiar with, Celtic Gods tend to be associated with certain things. The Tuatha De Domhain - the children of Domhu and Cernunnos - are pretty much classically Evil. Called the Fomor in legends. They are creatures of nightmares, mainly. Perhaps the first Gods of the British Isles, they got their asses kicked out by the Tuatha De Danann, who are supposed to be Goodness and Light, but let me tell you, they operated under a different version of ‘goodness’ than we recognize. Smart, ruthless, egotistical, and proud.

  "The third family are the children of Ermas and Viridios and are called the Tuatha De Ernmann. Their family tree is essentially ‘pure’ as they didn’t mix with the others, but they are every bit the equals of any other Gods.

  “Take, for instance, one of the first Gods of the Tuatha De Ernmann. We call her Morrigan and she’s a holy terror.”

  I looked over at Martina to see that she remembered our earlier talk and was nodding along. “Personally, I think she’d be the worst-case scenario, but this doesn’t sound like the kind of thing she’d do. At least according to the legends and myths.”

  “Who would?” Sam asked,

  “Well, another trickster, I guess,” I answered and looked at him. “Isn’t that exactly what you did here; build a group of religious fanatics to do your will on earth?”

  Martina spoke, asking “So who is the trickster?”

  “It’s not that easy,” I replied. “Remember when I told you there’s lots of overlap in Celtic Mythology?”

  “Yes.

  “Well, there’s no real ‘trickster’ God of the Celts, but two or three Gods would often do tricky things. Clever Gods that liked mischief from time to time.”

  Sam suddenly looked even worse, if that was possible. “Aw shit,” he said.

  “What is it?” Elijah asked.

  “Nothing.” He replied quickly. He looked over at me and asked the question I’d been dreading, “Can you go against a God and win? Because he…or she… might be around when we go for Louis Hughes.”

  “Not a chance,” I answered. “You all know what happened the last time I even said ‘No’ to a God. She killed me.”

  Elijah and Damon looked up with surprise, but said nothing.

  Frank said, “So we’re done here? Are we calling this off, because I think leaving enemies alive and at our backs is a horrifically bad idea.”

  “No,” I replied. “We are not done. Louis dies by my hand. I made a promise to Sarah and I’m going to keep it.”

  Sarah looked at me and said, “Dru, I’d rather you be alive than Louis dead. You don’t need to do this, it’s O.K.”

  I looked over at Frank and said, “You know we have to do this. We need to stop these guys and put that God back beyond the…the…veil or whatever the fuck we are calling it.”

  Frank nodded and said to Sarah, “He’s right, honey. We leave this unfinished; we're as good as dead anyway.” Turning to Sam he said, “Let’s put that big brain of yours to work, and let’s figure out how to use our God to trump their God.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Elijah cleared his throat and we all looked over at him. “I think we can move forward. I mean, Damon and I can both sense magic and even throw some of it. I’m not in Damon's weight class, but we're both sensitive, right Raven?” Sam nodded.

  “So we can plan a raid. Not at the building in Baltimore, that would probably be suicide now, but this Hughes guy lives somewhere, right? So we bring about twelve guys, find the house, plan a raid, and we do it so long as Damon and I don’t feel any strong magic around the house.”

  Sam shook his head, “There is zero chance his home isn’t protected, Elijah. He’ll have wards, alarms, traps, and probably a healthy dose of armed personnel as well.”

  Elijah sat back thoughtfully.

  Frank said, “I don’t see how it matters, we’re talking about moving fast, but it doesn’t have to happen tomorrow. We can find the house, go look at it, and then see what plan might work.”

  “Uhh, Frank?” I asked.

  “Yeah?

  “What’s the ‘we’ thing you’re talking about? You aren’t going anywhere.”

  “Yeah. I get that, Dru. Thanks for shoving it in my face.”

  I felt ashamed, but Frank went on, “I'm far more than a soldier, Dru, but even without legs, I'm still the best soldier in this room."

  I snapped to attention, saying, "Godsdamned right LT. I'm sorry."

  "I’ll be here and I’ll run it like I did for the Enchanted Rock action. I’m sure Sam has all the satellite communications equipment we’d need.

  We all looked over at Sam as he said, “Of course I do, but magic makes it more complicated.”

  “I get that…” Frank began, but Sam interrupted him.

  “... No you don’t Frank. Real magic is the altering of reality. Damon did a Glamor today. An illusion. He altered what the eye saw, not what was actually there. Those poor suckers saw solid granite all the way to us because Damon made it appear that way. Strong magic can change the laws of physics. If this God is present, you won’t be facing glamour and spells, you’ll be facing a God. The very reality of the universe will be against you.

  “Today I got so angry I lost control,” Sam said with a look of chagrin. “I spoke with my power, and later I screamed. That was dangerous. I was angry and scared and I didn’t want what I heard to be true. My scream was a scream of chaos and for a few seconds, I altered reality. I altered reality around me and everything was destroyed, including our technology. Hell, Jesse’s gun probably doesn’t even work anymore.”

  He looked at me and said, “Imagine, Dru, how long your headsets would last facing Morrigan, a Goddess of entropy and chaos? How about that steel gun?”

  Hell, not one second. I knew that for sure.

  “Wait, how the hell can you break a gun?” asked Frank.

  “Iron,” I said grimly.

  “Huh?” said Frank.

  Raven shook his head, “Not quite, Dru.”

  Surprised, I said, “What?”

  “That cold iron myth of the Fae is just that - a myth."

  "The What?" Frank asked.

  I answered, "There is a myth that the Fae can't stand the touch of cold iron and that if they come in contact with it they are harmed and the iron is destroyed."

  "Propaganda," Sam said. "The reality is that it’s about alloys. Any alloys.”

  “I’m so confused right now,” Sarah said.

  “The myth about iron is a misinformation campaign. It's both exactly true and completely misunderstood. It isn’t iron, it’s the fact that iron isn’t an alloy, like bronze was, or steel is."

  Fascinated despite myself, I asked, “Why does that matter?”

  “Alloys are a product of technology and industry of man. They are fabricated by man, and thus they can be unmade by gods quite easily. Changing an element present in nature is hard by comparison.”

  “I’m still confused,” Sarah repeated.

  “A God could literally unmake a bronze sword being used against him or her. Turn it back into copper and tin. In practical terms, the sword would fall apart in the hand of the wielder. We could not do that against iron. Iron is. It exists in nature. So an iron sword could hit us and cause harm. We American Gods worked hard to prevent iron from being discovered and used. In fact, about three thousand years ago, I had to convince a whole culture in the Midwest of what is now called the United States of America that stone and bone worked better than pure metals.” He smiled at the memory, “That was a good trick.”

  Sarah looked aghast. “Why?”

  “They got way too adept at working with pure copper. A God could get hurt fighting that. Carbon steel? Iron? Near impossible for us to deal with and dangerous as hell. Gods love alloys and hate pure elements”

  “So, back to guns?” Frank asked.

  “So Guns are steel alloys. I told Jesse to throw away his pistol when we got back today even though steel is not made like Bronze. The melding of iron and carbon works at a molecular level, but the fact is, it's still negatively affected a tiny bit by magical energies.

  "If you add metals like zinc or nickel to make it stainless, we can tear it apart. Also, there are some significant alloys in a steel barrel because they have trace elements of manganese, beryl, etc. Add it all up and you can't trust the gun to work right.

  "However, the big risk with guns is that most bullet shells are brass, and there are lots of parts these days that are plastics and polymers. Any energies focused and employed by Gods will make them less than reliable. Fragile grips and compromised bullet casings.”

  “So magic destroys technology?” Sarah asked.

  “No, not as such. As you can see, I love technology. But I have to avoid large workings around sensitive circuits and I keep my electronics in Faraday cages to be safe because I’m an agent of change and chaos. It’s what I am. My actual intent and action lead to chaos. Pretty much always. Other Gods? Not so much.”

  “A God of order and rules,” he continued, “would probably have almost no effect on electronics at all. It’s not the magic, it’s the intent. But I can promise you this," he finished, “If the God was around during the Bronze Age, it hates iron, and sure as hell knows how to break down alloys. That spells the end for any electronics in the way.”

  “So we can’t count on technology or eyes in the sky to direct us. Guns will probably work, but might not if the God shows up and intentionally goes after them. That’s not ideal, but we’ve cleared houses and taken out targets before, Frank. And we won’t go if the God is there because none of us want to suicide. We can do this with a good team.” I indicated Elijah.

  “Hello? Excuse me, Dru?” Martina spoke up. “You better point those pretty little hands over here too. I’m coming along.”

  Surprised, I asked, “Why?”

  “Because, you silly man, it’s my ass on the line too, and I’ve got years of fighting experience. I’m on the team.”

  I wanted to argue but realized I had no reason to say no except that I cared about her, so I said that. “I don’t want you hurt, Martina. It’s selfish, I know, but it’s the truth.”

  She smiled at me gently, then her features hardened and she said, “Tough shit, hermano. I’m coming.” Elijah covered his face in an attempt to hide the laugh. I guess that settled that.

  It looked like Sarah was about to say something when Frank lovingly said, “No, honey. No. You’re with me. Trained fighters only. You don’t have the skill set for this, no matter what you think.”

  She glared over at him and opened her mouth, but Martina chimed in, “He’s right, mija. I’ve trained with Sam’s people and I’ve fought real actions. You’d be a liability. Please, stay and help Frank.”

  “Alright, listen up.” Sam said “Here’s the deal, Elijah, you and Damon pick a team to go with Dru. Make one of those picks Martina. We’ll help as best we can here to develop an assault plan, but plan on going in alone. After you all arrive and recon for Magic, we’ll finalize and decide if we can go.”

  “I’m bringing Jesse too.” Elijah replied.

  “You're not coming?” I asked, turning to Sam.

  Sam looked at me levelly, “You do not want me there. That is not my place of power, and all I’d do is alert them that a strong magic presence is in the neighborhood. Plus, I’ve got somewhere to be. I’ll be leaving tonight, but I’ll be on the headsets and in the loop for the action. But hey, I'm a God and all. I'll be ready to try to create a miracle if you need one. Call it plan 'Z' if you want.”

  Flustered and suspicious, I asked, “Where do you need to be at a time like this?”

  He didn’t answer me. Instead, he winked at Damon and smiled.

  “Timeframe?” Elijah asked.

  “Put the team together now. You’ll fly charter to Baltimore tomorrow morning and set up…” Sam looked to me for confirmation, “…in Dru’s house?”

  “It’s small, but we’ll all fit,” I said.

  “One more thing,” Sam said with an expression that made me reflexively reach for the pain pills in my pocket. “plan for things to get ugly. Carry some iron weapons that don’t go bang. It could get prehistory inside that house.”

  That made me smile involuntarily. Hopefully, nobody noticed.

  Later that evening, I was two extra pain pills into a pleasant buzz when I walked over to their armory with Elijah to gear up, and I was not surprised to see that there was a wall of large cutlery made of wrought iron. I smiled again.

  “Old school, just the way I like it.”

  Elijah looked at me funny but held his questions in. That was lucky, because feeling as good as I was, I might have accidentally answered him.

  Right away I saw a bundle of three iron throwing knives. I picked them up and felt their balance. They were surprisingly good and I nodded to myself, putting them into my pocket.

  Elijah laughed and said, “I thought better of you. You have to know that throwing knives are only good for movies and idiots who want to arm their enemies by tossing them a blade.”

  I smiled back at him and said, “For you maybe. I’m built different.” And gave him a wink to show that I was having fun. He shook his head and smiled at my folly.

  I was patient while looking over the bigger weapons, trying to find the best fit for my needs. I spent that time reminding myself all about the benefits and limitations of wrought iron. Much stronger than bronze, wrought iron was susceptible to rusting quickly and badly, and it was damn near impossible to repair after hard use.

  Weapons could be made thinner, lighter, and longer in wrought iron than bronze, but after a point, they were at risk of bending, breaking, and dulling quickly. It wasn’t until man accidentally invented steel that it ended the argument for all time about what metal was better for war.

  A thought struck me and I asked Elijah, "If Gods hate Iron, and prefer alloys, why isn't this table full of Bronze weapons?"

  "Because Raven wants us ready to kill a God. He trusts his people completely." He hesitated for a second, "But Dru?"

  "Yeah?"

  "You are not his people."

  "What are you saying?"

  "I'm asking you not to bring any iron weapon near my God. I trust you to fight with honor and I know you're a stone killer. I recognize that in you, and I'm glad. Arm yourself with whatever you want, but please respect my wishes in this matter, and don't go armed with iron around Raven."

  "That might be the most you've ever spoken to me at one time. You have my word. No iron near Raven."

  "Thank you."

  "Can I ask you a question? About Damon?"

  He looked at me carefully, "Maybe. Ask. I might answer."

  "Is there a scenario where we learn to get along?"

  He actually took a minute to think about it. "I love my brother. We practically raised each other when our mother died. But the world has not been kind to him, and it's been worse to his wife. He does not harbor anything but hate for the European colonizers."

  Then he shrugged, "You aren't a colonizer, but you share the skin. Give it time." He smiled, "A lot of time."

  "Fair enough. Thank you."

  "My turn. You and Martina?"

  "No. Not that way. She reminds me of the only person I've ever loved. Same wit and attitude, but I'm not built the way she is. Actually the opposite."

  "Gay?"

  "Why the fuck does everybody ask that?"

  He laughed, "It's cool if so. I have no issues with anyone being who they are. Martina and I were once…something special, but she's polyamorist, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "So she had another boyfriend and a girlfriend."

  "I'm aware."

  "You know what a two-spirit is?"

  "You mean besides Damon's wife? No."

  "A two-spirit is a person who takes on the traditional roles of both sexes. They are almost always strong Shaman's due to their unique outlook and access to the spirits. Iáxuhke is not only a two-spirit, she is also transgender. Damon loves her so deeply it's like looking at the best version of him whenever she's around. I'm so happy for him, but it's also hard. Prejudice exists everywhere, man."

  "I get you."

  "Do you? An indigenous guy married to a transgender two-spirit from another First Nation group inside of a white man's world? You get that? You get the white man's obsession with oppressing transgendered people? You understand the self-destructive tribalism of first nations people ostracizing those who marry outside of their nation?"

  "No. No, I don't. But I get a foreign government forcing their language and Gods on you, letting your people starve to death when a potato blight hits, rounding up those that might be trouble and shipping them off to a penal island in the South Pacific, and stealing half their country. Not the same, but similar. I think we could at least not be enemies, even if we can't be friends."

  He stared at me for a few seconds before smiling and changing the conversation, "So, not gay?"

  I laughed, "Not anything. Not interested."

  He grunted and turned back to the rack of weapons.

  So I went back to looking over short blades, inspecting a cool looking gladiolus, a score of leaf blades, and some long daggers, when I came across a sight so beautiful it almost brought tears to my eyes. Sitting on the table, half hidden under an errant leather scabbard sat a wrought iron kukri with a blade about fifteen inches long.

  My breath caught in my throat and I grabbed the blade, lifting it up to eye level. It’s hard to call anything made out of wrought iron exquisite, but that was the only word for it. Exquisite.

  The entire blade and tang were iron, of course, but the tang was a full one, and the handle was black bone riveted onto it in the traditional style. The scabbard was the traditional two pieces of wood wrapped in black Ox hide. Everything was black except the finely honed edge, and it screamed “Built To Kill.” It was perfect.

  Like all kukri blades, it was forward curving with the edge on the inner belly, with this particular version shaped fairly narrow for the weight considerations and perfectly balanced in my hand.

  I looked over at Elijah and said, “This is mine now. Forever.”

  He grunted a smile at me and said, “So you're a liar. Clearly you need some alone time with her.”

  “Maybe,” I replied, laughing. “She’s gorgeous.”

  “You know how to use that thing? Nobody here has ever used it before.” He paused, “You can’t throw it, you know. It’s not a boomerang.”

  I laughed out loud.

  “Oh yes,” I breathed, “Oh yes, I know how to use it. Learned how some years ago. Trained with a Gurkha for a while.”

  Elijah raised an impressed eyebrow and said, “So yeah, I guess you do. I met a few Gurkhas myself in Afghanistan. Toughest SOB’s I’ve ever seen, and I was a Marine.”

  "Bullshit. If you were a Marine, you were Force Recon."

  "Sort of."

  "Holy shit, you were Special Operations Command?"

  He grinned.

  "No way. You were a Raider, weren't you?"

  "Guilty."

  The Marine Raider Regiment were the toughest Godsdamned Marines on the planet. No wonder Elijah moved like an apex predator – he was one. “Have you ever seen Ghurka fight with their Kukris?” I asked. “It doesn’t happen much anymore in modern warfare, but every once in a while…”

  “Yeah,” he replied, “I saw it. Joint operation with the British. We were overrun by the Taliban once at an outpost. Used up every round, every grenade, everything that went bang. It got old school. By the end, I was swinging my gun like a club and he was carving up the enemy like it was Thanksgiving dinner and he was an overly enthusiastic Pilgrim.”

  I looked at him and said, “I wouldn’t think you’d like a Pilgrim.”

  He chuckled, “Different Nation, same problems. But there’s nothing that can describe seeing a Gurkha fight.”

  “I know, I’ve seen it too.”

  “Where?”

  “Burma.”

  He looked at me funny. “You mean Myanmar, right?”

  “That’s what they call it now, yeah.”

  Give the man credit, he held back his questions again.