Crimson Overcoat Versus Christmas
By Luke Monroe
Copywright 2011 Luke Monroe
Grey skies and cold rain made for an unpleasant December commute. Alexander Valtam grumbled to himself as he dismounted his motorcycle in the parking lot of the low slung brown office building where he worked. He pulled on the door of the building only to find it locked. He fumbled in his pocket for the key card and swiped his way into the lobby.
The building was full of small tech firms and consulting agencies. Most were staffed by only a few people. That left the building empty as Christmas approached, with the independent firms taking time off for the holidays. Alexander walked down the hallway passing various small logos and nameplates of neighboring firms until he reached his office. The door sign read “Fortunato Thaumaturgical and Transhuman Consulting” in bold letters, with “G. Fortunato, Th. D.” below it. The “G” stood for Gretchen, his boss, who was currently out of town attending a professional convention. For magicians that meant it would be high on the hoity-toit and posturing with at least two magical duels to the death.
Alexander was the only member of the four person staff that was going to be in the office for the next two weeks. The secretary was only part time, and the intern had gone home for the holidays. That left him to check up on their few regular clients. Most were basic magical security jobs. Some of the work was local geomantic forecasting for the farm bureau. The rest were one-off information requests sent in by the DNR or local government. Alexander was no wizard, but he knew more than enough to handle the small stuff.
He flicked the lights on in the cramped office. He grabbed the mail from beneath the door and tossed it onto Gretchen’s desk. He stripped off his wet crimson overcoat and threw it over the tiny conference table. He threw his brass rimmed goggles on top of the coat.
The office was filled from floor to ceiling with various implements. Some were technological, others mystical, and the rest somewhere in between. Cords ran across the floor to several different computers. White boards filled with scribbled formulae lined the walls. Technical manuals and tradecraft journals with post-its marking pages were piled up on every available surface. Alexander wove his way through the office to his cramped workspace. It was more chaotic than the rest of the office, scattered with half finished devices.
He sat down at his workspace and ran his hand through his messy hair. It was still wet from the ride over. He stretched his long frame in the small work area, pulled out a soldering iron, and went to work on one of his pet projects. Wisps of smoke rose from the esoteric mechanical project spread out in front of him. In the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights and gentle rumble of the building furnace he found contentment.
Alexander lost himself in his work. After several hours, a half a case of Mt. Dew, four oatmeal cream pies and a package of licorice whips he stood and stretched. He rubbed his stubbled face and massaged his hawkish nose. Despite the poor start it was turning into a good day.
As he settled back into his work the door buzzer rang. He rolled his chair over to the computer next to his work station and activated the front door camera. A short slender figure wearing a hooded cloak and scarf stood at the office door. After waiting a moment, the figure buzzed again. Alexander pressed the intercom button next to the computer.
“I’m sorry, but our office hours are by appointment only,” said Alexander to the person hoping that would shoo them away.
“I need to speak to Miss Fortunato. It is a matter of utmost importance,” the figure said in a woman’s voice.
“Understandable, but Dr. Fortunato works by appointment only. Walk-ins and magic don’t mix,” replied Alexander as he waited for the unwanted guest to leave.
“Then may I speak to her Champion, Mr. Alexander Valtam, also known as Crimson Overcoat?” the woman asked again,
Before she could finish pronouncing the last name, Alexander had drawn his ray gun, which would be at home on the cover of any science fiction magazine from the 1930s. The red Bakelite shell and nixie tube lightning bolt on the side belied the menace the weapon radiated. An ominous hum issued from it as the pistol powered up.
Papers and books scattered in his wake as he made for the door. The detritus flew in slow motion through the air behind him as he threw open the door and pointed his pistol at the body mass of the would-be customer.
“No one has called me that name since the late 50’s,” growled Alexander as he prepared to vaporize the unknown visitor.
The woman stood firm as the wiry Alexander loomed in the doorway, his physical weight a presence in the surrounding hallways. The lights dimmed and the hall darkened as the two faced off.
“You certainly live up to your reputation,” said the woman “Your ire is palpable. The elders were right to seek you out,” she finished.
“Seeing that you have neither shit your pants and run, nor tried to kill me, I assume that you do in fact mean business,” he said, not moving his aim. He was able to get a better look at the woman up close. She was short, not even five feet. Her face had sharp exotic features. Her skin was pale; her cheeks rosy, and had unnaturally red hair. Laugh lines were visible around her eyes and forehead, but her age was indeterminate. Warm hearth smells mixed with earth and pine swirled around her like perfume. Her voice in person had an odd undertone that Alexander recognized.
“As a rule I don’t like Faeries of any kind,” he said. “One bad experience taught me my lesson.”
“I give you my word that I am here to barter for your services and intend no ill will or harm come to you on this visit, and I promise to abide by all rules of hospitality,” she said.
“In that case,” Alexander said, “come in. This is getting awkward.” He holstered his ray gun. There were almost no Fae that could lie, and a promise such as hers was a near ironclad guarantee of no shenanigans.
With a quick word and a gesture he let her through the wards. She stepped inside and Alexander closed the door behind her. He grabbed his own coat from the table and put it on. Promise or no, the extra armor that the coat provided was a comfort he needed. After he donned his coat he cleared the tiny conference table of the few remaining items not scattered by his headlong rush to the door.
“I apologize about my less than friendly greeting. We’ve gotten a few unpleasant guests before. You threw out a name that almost no one knows. I don’t go by that name anymore,” said Alexander as he took a seat.
“You may not go by that name anymore,” the Fae woman said, “but that does not mean that isn’t who you are.”
“Alright, I don’t need mystical crap about my identity. The superhero ship sailed decades ago. Right now I have an elf, if I am correct,” he said as she nodded in confirmation, “sitting in my office looking to hire the boss, who is out of town. Since you know my name, what may I call you?”
“You may call me Holly,” she replied.
“How delightfully seasonal,” said Alexander with a flat tone.
“We are in need of outside assistance, and your Mistress comes highly recommended,” she replied.
“By whom, I wonder,” Alexander thought out loud.
“Word travels.” she said. “You are also spoken of in certain circles.”
“My reputation in the nether parts of the world are not up for discussion,” he said.
“Anyway, we normally don’t deal with spirit world or Fae politics. Too messy and complicated, not to mention long term. There are others who specialize in that sort of diplomacy. If I am correct, our reputation is of a different sort,” said Alexander working his way to the point.
“Yes. You and your Mistress are both known to be Champions. My elders wish to contract you on their behalf,” s
he said.
“You’re looking for muscle. Don‘t try to Tolkien that crap up,” Alexander spat.
“The Champion may be required to fight on our behalf. That is part of the duties required,” said Holly nonplussed by Alexander’s distaste.
“I might be able to pitch a window unit air conditioner like a fastball, but that’s nothing special in your neck of the woods. That’s neither here nor there. This stuff stinks of mythic world tree talking squirrel destiny crap anyways. Thank you for your time, but no thanks. I don’t want to know anything else. Jobs like this combined with you people have a tendency to snowball out of control,” Alexander finished.
“Perhaps I could turn your heart with tales of our plight-” started Holly as Alexander cut her off.
“Nope. This ain’t my first rodeo. I don’t want to know and don’t care, either. There are plenty of others out there who aren’t smart enough to say no who will gladly take your money, or whatever you want to pay with,” he said as he stood and gestured to the door. “Good day, Holly.”
Holly put her coat on and walked to the door. Before she could leave, Alexander rose and grabbed her arm. A red LED matrix next to the door was blinking in dot matrix runes. It was a signal that the office wards were being probed. Alexander gestured to Holly to be silent as he drew his ray gun and stepped back from the door.
He withdrew to the inner office, where frantic readouts were blinking six shades of warnings. He had built the system himself but only knew what half of the symbols meant. It was more of a labor saving device for magicians than anything else.
The office door caved in under a massive blow before he could make sense of the readouts. A small broad figure leapt through the door. The creature was humanoid, four feet tall and near as wide. It grasped an ornate war hammer in both hands like a baseball bat. Red leather armor lined with fur covered thick ropy muscles. A dark beard hung from his chin and wild hair covered sparkling dark eyes. He wore a tabard, but Alexander did not recognize the coat of arms. He didn’t have much time to think as the dwarf charged him from across the room.
With one hand Alexander threw Holly beneath a desk. With the other he fired a single blast of liquid heat and energy from his ray gun. The bolt tore into the charging dwarf. Burnt fur and flesh mixed with the pine and musk coming off the attacker. He hesitated long enough for Alexander to take charge of the situation.
Alexander holstered his pistol. Despite popular belief one did not want to bring a gun to a knife fight. In one smooth motion he kicked the dwarf in the same spot that he shot him. It was like kicking solid rock. The dwarf stumbled back, knocking over the conference table. He had a sizeable hole in his chest. Dark blood dripped from the wound. The dwarf regained his feet and swung the massive hammer at Alexander as he came in for a follow up attack to his kick.
Alexander shifted his attack into a roll. The hammer missed his head by a fraction of an inch as he struck the dwarf’s kneecap hard enough to shatter it. The blow that would have crippled a human only infuriated the dwarf. It still slowed him enough for Alexander to make his way to the weapons cabinet on the far wall.
The cabinet was locked and Alexander didn’t have time for a key. He punched through the sheet metal and ripped the door of the hinges. He found what he was