“I can channel,” Ghomo said. “A little. I get my power from Qua-Lin. I give of my essence and he returns it at need. But…” He paused and shrugged, looking a bit ashamed. “It always feels… a little sick, you know? It doesn’t feel right. We of the faith of Qua-Lin work for good, don’t get me wrong. But…”
“Each of us comes to our Faith in our own way,” Barbara said. “Just remember, whatever sacrifice you give to your god returns to you manifold. He is your armor and your sword, as you are his. Hold hard to faith, whatever that faith may be, and you will be a warrior of the Light.”
“Okay,” Ghomo said, nodding. “But… I think I might explore some other faiths. It happens. I’m just not… comfortable with Qua-Lin.”
“Do as you must,” Barb said. “But if your forearms are rested, perhaps we should continue with your shooting lesson.”
They shot through another series and then Hjalmar called a break.
“James,” Hjalmar said, causing an outburst of “baaaa”s. “Cut that out. James, I was wondering, anything new in the demon killing line?”
“Oh, not that,” Julie said, hiding her face in her hands. “James, tell me that’s not what’s in the other bag.”
“Well, as it happens,” James said, grinning, “I just happen to have brought along…”
“You always do this to me,” Julie said, throwing up her hands in mock horror as James dipped into the still unopened rucksack.
What came out was the most bastard weapon Barbara had ever seen. An airtank backpack hooked up to… well, it had three magazines and a big barrel… She finally admitted she couldn’t make head or tails of it.
“James is our resident Q,” Janea said, grinning. “Let’s see what he’s got this time.”
“Well,” James said, laying out the weapon and extracting one of the obviously homemade magazines. “Barb doesn’t have much of the background here…”
“Ever since James joined us,” Hjalmar said, picking up the magazine and looking in it, “he’s been hoping for what we call a Hellmouth incident.”
“See, generally what we deal with is one minor entity, or a necromancer gathering power to summon one, at a time,” Janea interjected. “But sometimes… when was the last real outbreak?”
“1954,” James said, promptly. “It was dealt with by Steve Reeves, who used to play roles like Hercules and Tarzan. He had, quietly, converted to Zoroastrianism and had been drawn into the Foundation. There was a full outbreak in the Hollywood Hills and he and another actor…” He paused and frowned.
“Tyrone Power?” Janea asked.
“Somebody like that,” James said. “Anyway, there was a manifestation of Tiamat who began spawning her brood, as she is wont to do. And they had to fight the brood and her.”
“Fortunately,” Hjalmar said, “Tiamat’s got more enemies than Satan, if that’s possible. Reeves is supposed to have channeled an avatar of Gilgamesh, or maybe Enkidu, nobody was certain which it was. Real derring-do time. Lots of half-formed monsters, vampires and werewolves by the score, Hercules so filled with the power of multiple gods he was hyped up like, well, Hercules…”
“Not the score,” James said. “There weren’t more than three or four of each. And they attacked in daylight, during the dark time of the moon, so both weren’t at their best.”
“They went in with a group of stuntmen and such, fought their way through the brood, killed Tiamat by cutting off her heads, one by one, and burning them with fire, then killed her earthly body,” Hjalmar continued. “Lost a goodly number of the red shirts in the process, started a fire in the scrub that covered up the battle and got out. But ever since James joined us…” he said, waving at the weapon.
“Well, just in case,” James said, grinning. “I’ve been working on the ultimate Hellmouth weapon. This is the Mark Six…”
“Wait,” Janea said. “You showed us the Mark Three last time. What happened to Four and Five… ?”
“Don’t ask,” Julie snapped. “The dog’s never been the same since…”
“As I was saying,” James interjected, loudly. “This is the Mark Six. Based around a paintball system, it is a much superior weapon to the Mark Three…”
“Not to mention Four and Five,” Julie muttered. “Goddess, that was a lot of trouble to clean up…”
“In magazine one,” James continued, ignoring the commentary and inserting the magazine in Hjalmar’s hand, “you have your basic wooden stake.” He aimed at a human silhouette target and let fly. The stake managed to hit the target, at ten meters, in the right shoulder, just about out of the silhouette. But it was there for all to see, a wooden stake, stuck in a thin cardboard target.
“Not much penetration,” Hjalmar said, laughing.
“I’m working on that,” James shot back. “And then in magazine two, you have your general purpose stake.” He adjusted a series of controls and let fly again, hitting the target closer to the center. This time, however, whatever had flown through the air went right through the target.
“Not bad,” Hjalmar said. “But what was it?”
“This,” James said, stooping to the rucksack and pulling out what looked like a thick crossbow bolt with a wicked barbed head. “The bolt is ash wood, which is reported to be effective against most Northern European vampires. The head is steel plated with silver. Good against general targets or werewolves and other entities that are affected by silver. And last but not least,” he said, pushing back on the head and exposing an ampoule. “Holy water ampoule with silver nitrate suspended in it.”
“Wow,” Hjalmar said, grinning. “That’ll do a number on quite a few beasties. Fluffy bunny huggers strike again!” he shouted, raising a laugh.
“Okay,” Barbara said, holding up her hand. “That sounds like another in-joke.”
“Do the acronym,” Julie said. “Foundation for Love and Universal Faith. FLUF. A few years back, one of the FBI agents who was being supported called the Wiccan operative a ‘fluffy bunny hugger.’ Which she was, but very good at what she did. The rest of us, though, find it hilarious.”
Barbara looked over at Hjalmar admiring the bastardized paintball gun and had to admit he was anything but a “fluffy bunny hugger.”
“What’s in magazine three?” Ghomo asked, diffidently.
“Paintball rounds,” James said, adjusting more controls and firing a burst of blue rounds that splattered all over the target. “I like paintballing. And I’m trying to figure out how to manufacture them with holy water instead of paint.”
“I’ll take one with just the all purpose stake,” Hjalmar said.
“That will be the Mark Seven,” James admitted.
“Nine,” Julie said, shaking her head. “And what you did to the poor cat should be illegal…”
After a weapons cleaning party at the spacious longhouse most of the Asatru used, Barb took a shower and put on a “dressy dress” for dinner. It was the end of the conference and most of the members were going to be either going back to their regular lives or on to assignments. Barbara was in a bit of a limbo; nobody had assigned her to the mentioned mission but on the other hand nobody had suggested she go home.
She put on her duster and made her way across the compound towards the Philosophy House. However, as she crossed the bridge to it, making a mental note that running water was anathema to various malignant entities, she saw Dartho striding towards her with an angry set to his shoulders.
“Do not woo my acolytes,” he shouted at her as he approached. He pointed a finger in her face and continued in a near scream. “Do not shove your Christian mythology down the throat of my people, do you understand me?”