The Builder's Sword (The Legendary Builder Book 1) Read online

  I spared a peek down at the sword but couldn’t see the weapon through the paper. Part of me wanted to unwrap it a little but I was too worried the bus driver might see the weapon and flip out. She’d already done me a solid by waiting for me and I didn’t want to betray that trust. Besides, there were two other people here and call me crazy, but I did not want the skinny white nurse to flip out and accuse me of something. That’d cause a whole thing, and I’d no doubt lose my sword.

  Instead, as the rain swept streets of my dying city slid by through the windows, I tried to placate myself by running my fingers along the weapon. I could feel the strength of the steel even through the paper, and as my fingers trailed down toward the hilt of the weapon, I could feel my blood pound in my ears. Everything in me wanted to tear the paper off and grab hold of the weapon, to use it to drive my enemies before me until I heard the lamentations of their women.

  I shook my head. That was an odd thought. I didn’t really have any enemies. Okay, my boss at the Seven Eleven was sort of a dick, and that dumb stripper who always came in to buy condoms at 3 AM was annoying as hell, but enemies? Hardly.

  I pulled my hand away from the weapon and leaned back so my head was against the window. I could hear the rain pelting the bus from outside. It beat a crescendo against the thin steel, and as we approached my stop, I began to dread having to go out into the night. It was almost a block between my apartment building and the bus stop, and I knew that by the time I reached my place, I’d be soaked.

  If I’d been smart, I’d have taken my umbrella with me, but I’d foolishly trusted the weatherman this morning because I hadn’t wanted to carry the umbrella. Now, I’d pay for it.

  “Nothing for it,” I grumbled as I turned my eyes back toward the blonde nurse. She was frowning at her phone, and it made her look sort of cute in a run-down sort of way. Part of me wanted to talk to her just to pass the time, but if I knew one thing, it was that I did not know how to talk to girls, even casually. I’d say hello, and it’d be awkward, and then she’d be awkward back, and it’d just be a big awkward thing.

  I’d probably have better luck with the guy, but truth be told, I didn’t want to talk to him since well, he was a guy.

  I sighed again and turned my eyes toward the streets outside and watched them pass by while counting the seconds to my stop.

  3

  Twenty minutes later, I was standing inside my apartment. I flipped on the lights and stepped inside, sloughing off my rain soaked jacket to the floor. It hit the cheap laminate with a plop as I took a step forward and pulled off my sneakers, tossing them next to the door to dry. My socks squished on the floor as I moved toward the kitchen space and set the sword down on the table I’d rescued from the Marie Calendar’s when it had replaced a bunch of furniture a few years back.

  I dropped into one of the brown wooden chairs I’d gotten from the thrift store and pulled off my wet socks. I stared at them for a moment before hopping to my feet and padding over to my room. I opened the door and wondered if it’d make the rest of my dirty clothes wet if I threw them in the hamper. I settled for dropping them on the lid to dry.

  Turning toward my closet, I made my way there and slid open the tiny door. The few button ups and polos I had were hanging on the rack next to a red sweat-shirt I’d gotten as a giveaway for a radio contest instead of concert tickets.

  Squatting down, I reached in and pulled out a brown tackle box with a red handle at the top. I’d gotten it at a garage sale to store all my sword cleaning equipment. Hoisting the box by the handle, I slid the closet door shut and glanced at the wall to my left. I’d rearranged all the swords on the wall around earlier to make room for my new purchase, and now my wall looked empty. Now my collection of katanas hung along the left of the wall, while my replica movie swords where on the right, leaving room in the center for my new purchase.

  “You’ll have a new friend soon enough,” I said, nodding to the wall as I made my way back into the main room of the studio. Moving back to my table, I set down my tackle box. I flipped the orange tabs and opened the lid to reveal an assortment of fine grit sandpaper, gun oil, Scotch Brite pads, and a roll of aluminum foil. I grabbed the box opener from inside and turned toward my sword. I carefully cut away the tape along one edge and opened the paper.

  I settled the sword in the center of it so I wouldn’t get oil on my table, and stared at it for a moment. She wasn’t much to look at, but to me she was beautiful. I ran my fingers along the contours of the hilt and down to the pommel where a cloudy piece of marble sat. The prongs holding it in place looked almost like flames, but they were so dirty, I couldn’t quite make out the design.

  Deciding to start there, I grabbed the oil from the tackle box and a rag from the packet I’d purchased at Walmart. I dabbed some oil onto the rag and moved to the prongs. I began rubbing at them, and as I did, years of age and dirt seemed to come away. In only a few moments, the gem was gleaming, and I’d worked enough dirt away to see that it had a deep sapphire core with veins that spiraled out along the surface.

  The prongs were definitely flames, and as I cleaned the first one as best I could, I found that the way the light hit the marble ball in the pommel caused them to practically glow with blue flame. Satisfied with my one clean prong, I took a step back and admired it. There was a lot more to clean, and I knew I had weeks of work ahead of me. That was fine, though. If I could spend my life taking care of my swords, I would.

  Unfortunately, I had to be at work in six hours, and I hadn’t slept yet. I needed to do sleep if I was going to be able to work tomorrow, but at the same time, the sword beckoned me to work on her more.

  I complied, putting more oil on the rag as I moved toward the blade. I’d give it a quick wipe down, and put it away for later. I began to rub the blade with the rag, and as I moved toward the hilt, I found strange ridges under my fingers. Pulling the rag away, I realized there was something etched into the blade, but it was so caked over with rust and debris that I couldn’t tell what.

  I began working in earnest then. I took my time with the rag before swapping it out for aluminum foil in the hopes of getting rid of some of the rust. As I began to clear it away, I realized it was a set of geometric symbols.

  “Weird,” I said, picking up the sword to look at it closer, only as I did, the blade slipped from my oily hands.

  Like a dumb ass, I reached out to try to grab it before it fell. My left hand wrapped around the blade as it fell away and hit the floor, slicing my flesh open and spilling my blood down the length of the weapon.

  “Fuck!” I cried out in pain, pulling my hand back and cradling it to my chest. Pain rippled through my hand from the wound, and I could practically feel the blood rushing straight from my heart out into the wound.

  I took a step backward toward the kitchen to wash out the wound and look at it, all thoughts of the sword forgotten. Only before I could make it more than two steps, the smell of burning plastic hit my nose.

  I spun on my heel to find the sword wreathed in blue flame and burning through the linoleum. The blood I’d spilled onto the weapon boiled and spat as the symbols I’d worked so hard to clean glowed with sapphire light.

  “What the hell?” I cried, stumbling backward as I tried to figure out what to do.

  “Good guess,” the sword said, right before blood red smoke began to pour from the tip. The symbols emblazoned across the blade flashed once more, nearly blinding me as I turned away, one arm up to block the glare. Spots danced across my eyes.

  As the glow faded, I turned back toward the sword and found myself staring at a Victoria’s Secret model. She was dressed in a black bikini and had black and red bat wings sprouting from her back. She looked me up and down, her bottom teeth scraping along her top lip in a slow, sensual movement.

  “So,” she said huskily as she offered me the sword hilt first. “What’s your wish?” She grinned, displaying a mouthful of perfect, white teeth. “Master.”

  4

  “W
hoa, what’s going on?” I said, taking a step backward and bumping into the counter that separated the kitchen from the front entry. As my back pressed into the cheap ceramic tile, the demon girl stood there watching me, her eyes full of hunger.

  Her face screwed up in confusion as she stood there looking at me for a moment. Then she glanced down at herself for a second before turning her gaze back to me.

  “Does my appearance not please you?” she asked, taking a step toward me and held the sword out once more. “If it doesn’t…” she bit her lip again and swallowed. “I could try changing it.” She reached up then and tucked one of her long raven locks nervously behind her ear with her free hand. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been summoned so maybe tastes have changed?”

  “No, um… that’s not what I meant,” I said, shaking my head as she stood there, lavender eyes searching my face for answers. The only problem was that I was so confused I had none to give her. I’d been cleaning the sword I’d bought one moment, and the next I was face to face with a living, breathing wet dream.

  “What do you mean then?” She swept an arm down her body. “Just tell me what you require, and I will do it for you.” She smiled, a strangely fragile thing like she was worried she’d displeased me in some way.

  “Look, lady, I’m sure you’re very nice and all,” I paused as her smile started to slip, “and you’re totally my type, any guy’s type really, so that’s not what this is about.” I started to say more, but she looked up at me.

  “You think I’m pretty?” she asked, a small, demure smile spreading across her full red lips. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

  “Um… what?” I took another deep breath. I know, this is where you’re thinking what is wrong with me, and you know fucking what? I was asking myself the same damned thing. I was a Seven Eleven Slurpee monkey for Christ’s sake. I was not prepared for a pretty girl to be looking at me like I was her whole world, and honestly, I didn’t know what to make of it.

  “It pleases me that you find me attractive.” She took a step forward, moving so close that I could feel the heat wafting off her body. Her scent hit me next, a mixture of lavender and sage and that weird, inexplicable girl smell.

  “Great, okay,” I said as she reached out and touched my shoulder with her long, lavender-nailed fingers. “Just give me a second, okay?” I wormed away from her. I needed to focus on what was going on, and her closeness wasn’t making it easy.

  “Okay,” she said, nodding to me as I moved into the kitchen, happy to have the counter between us. I just needed a minute to think, to get a grip on what was going on. I know. I know, I should have just leaped on her or whatever, but at the same time, what if she wanted to eat my soul? Oh my God, what if she was a succubus?

  “Let’s just take a step backward okay.” I gestured at her with one hand as I edged toward my fridge. “There’s plenty of time for whatever this is.”

  “Not as much as you’d think,” she said, nodding, “but I will comply with your command, Master.”

  “Okay, stop that.” I shook my head at her. “My name is Arthur… Arthur Curie.”

  She looked at me for a long time. Not only that, but she didn’t make a single Aquaman joke. Kind of nice, actually.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Arthur Curie.” She nodded at me. “Is that what you would like me to call you?”

  “Yes, well, just Arthur,” I said, opening the refrigerator for lack of anything better to do. As soon as I turned away from her, I felt the weight of her gaze between my shoulders. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Are you offering me one, Just Arthur?” she asked, curiosity filling her voice in a way that made me think she’d never been offered a drink before.

  “Not Just Arthur. Just Arthur.” I smacked my head with my hand. “Do you follow?”

  “Yes. What am I supposed to follow?” she asked.

  “No. That’s not what I was trying to say.” I sighed. “My name is Arthur. Don’t address me as Just Arthur. Address me as Arthur.”

  “Okay. I shall call you Arthur,” she replied, and I felt the presence of her near me. I turned and found her hovering only inches away. She’d somehow folded up her bat wings, so they’d melded into the flesh of her back, arms, and legs like an iridescent black and red tattoo.

  “So, okay, um back to the original question. Would you like a drink?” I gestured at the dismal contents of my refrigerator. I had a few cans of Natural Ice, a bottle of green Gatorade, and a half gallon of milk of questionable age.

  “I would like a drink.” She nodded. “Which would you like me to have?” She peered over my shoulder into the fridge and scrunched up her nose. “I am unfamiliar with these beverages.”

  “Um… how about a beer?” I said, swiping the two closest cans and shutting the door. The movement left us practically pressed against each other. Only, it didn’t seem to bother her. Evidently, personal space wasn’t a thing with her.

  “Okay,” she said, taking the offered can and looking at me. “How do I drink this?” She went to tap the lid, but because she was holding the glowing sword, she sort of just wound up gesturing at it with the pommel.

  “Here,” I said, popping the top on my beer. I took the closed one from her before handing her the opened one. “You drink that one.” I opened my own and sort of clinked it against her can. “Drink up.”

  “Thank you,” she said and took a sip. Her eyes narrowed. “This is alcoholic.” She raised one slender eyebrow at me. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Arthur?”

  I practically spat out my beer and had to work to swallow it. As it painfully slid down my throat, I tried my best to look innocent. “Um… no,” I said, shaking my head at her. “I wouldn’t… I mean…”

  “It’s okay,” she said, and then laughed. The sound could have summoned wildlife, and as it hit me, something deep inside me stirred, making me like her in a way I couldn’t quite explain. “But you do not need to ply me with alcohol. I will do whatever you command, Ma—Arthur.”

  “Okay, why do you keep saying that?” I asked, glancing at the sword. “I was just cleaning the sword, and I cut myself.” Horror shot through me as I remembered the wound, and as my eyes flicked to my hand, I realized I was no longer cut. Blood still covered my skin, but I couldn’t feel the wound anymore. As I wiped away the blood, I found no trace of it. How the hell?

  “You summoned me from the border to the Place Where Darkness Treads.” She held up the sword, but we were so close together, she just wound up blushing before taking a step back. She touched the beer can to the symbols emblazoned on the blade. “These are the summoning symbols which you have activated. As such, I have appeared to fulfill your request.” She nodded at me as if that explained everything perfectly.

  I took a deep breath, trying to process what she’d just said. Evidently, when I’d cut myself on the sword, it had summoned her from somewhere to grant my wishes…

  “So, you’re like a genie?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “Like with a magic sword instead of a lamp?”

  “I do know some Djinn, but I am not related to them.”

  “Okay, that’s good to know, I guess.” I looked her up and down once more. “What are you?”

  “I am a succubus,” she said like that was the most reasonable thing in the world. “My name is Gwen, and I am here to fulfill all your desires.” She smiled shyly at me. “Am I doing a good job so far?”

  “Yes, I’d rate this interaction a ten out of ten.” I nodded, trying to process that. I sort of knew about succubae from games and whatnot, but not enough to be reasonably sure I wasn’t about to get screwed. Pun intended.

  “What would make it one hundred out of ten?” she asked, and the fervor in her voice surprised me. “I do want you to be pleased. After all, you are exchanging your immortal soul for this.”

  “Wait, hold up.” I made a time out gesture with my hands. “Say that again?”

  She looked at me in confusion. “You activ
ated the sword, agreeing to trade your immortal soul for a wish. I am here to honor that wish.” She looked at the sword and tapped one of the symbols with her index finger. “It’s written right here.”

  “I… um… I can’t read that.” I looked down at my shoes. “I was cleaning the sword and cut myself.” I held up my hand. “I’m sorry, there’s been some kind of misunderstanding.”

  “How can this be possible?” She glared at me for a moment before her face softened. She gestured at my apartment. “Well, you know the deal now. Surely you want something? Fame, money?” She sidled closer, practically pressing her body against mine. “Women?” She smiled at me.

  “Look, that all sounds very nice, but I kind of want to keep my soul.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Sorry.”

  Anger flashed across her face, and for a second, I thought she might reach out and throttle me. I clenched my hands into fists, ready to defend myself against the demoness even though it’d probably be futile.

  “You don’t understand,” she hissed, all nicety gone. “I need your soul.” She looked up at the ceiling. “Every day the Darkness encroaches, and without souls, we cannot fight back.” She looked at me. “Please, my brethren are counting on me.”

  “The Darkness?” I asked, confused. “I thought you were the Darkness.” I gestured lamely at her. “You’re a succubus from Hell, right?”

  “Yes, but I do not live in the Darkness. I live at the border. Me and mine, anyway.” She touched her chest with one finger. “It is our duty to keep the Darkness at bay, and we are losing.” She tried to smile at me as she offered me the sword once more. “Please, Arthur. You’re my only hope.”