A Wolf at the Door

“Jesse.” He looked good, at least. Way less beat up than the last time I saw him. Built like a damn fireplug, shaved head, bristly black beard for winter, his heavily tattooed arms crossed over his chest.

The two of us kinda stood there in the snow, the silence uncomfortably taut between us. It felt like two gunslingers, waiting to see who was gonna twitch first. Turns out, it was Marty.

“You come for your sword?”

“Yeah, if you’ve got it done.”

“It’s done.” He jerked his head toward his workshop behind the house. “Go on back, I’ll meet you back there.”

Yeah, I noticed that he didn’t invite me into the house. So that’s how it was gonna be. I trudged through the yard to the back, and Marty met me at the workshop, unlocking the door.

“Wait here.” Shit. He wasn’t even gonna let me into his man-cave?

I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets and waited and pretended that it didn’t feel like a rock in my guts. I knew this could happen. Pretty much counted on it, really.

I mean, I nearly got the guy killed. It’s a little hard to be best buds after that no matter what the cop movies say. What Marty had been through last fall…no one should have to do that. I couldn’t blame the man if he wasn’t all puppies and sunshine with me anymore. Couldn’t blame him at all.

A few minutes later, Marty reappeared, a cloth-wrapped bundle in his arms. “Here. Check it out, make sure it’s okay.”

He balanced the bundle across his arms, and I unwrapped it slowly. I think I stood there gaping like a landed fish for a good long while, but if you could see this sword, you might too.

It was a katana still, that didn’t surprise me. It was the weapon I was most comfortable with, the fighting style I knew. The polished steel blade swept out in a graceful curve, and just looking at it I could tell it was silk-slicing sharp.

He’d done the circular guard in brass, big enough to just cover my fist as I held it. The pommel was brass too, and came to a subtle point. A skull-breaker. The hilt though…oh the hilt. My old sword had been plain, the hilt just wrapped in blue cord. For the new one, Marty had chosen some kind of bone, smooth and white, and etched into each side was a line of kanji.

“The way that is spoken here is not the eternal way,” I murmured quietly. “The name that is spoken here is not the eternal name.” I knew those lines. They were tattooed down each of my biceps. The first two lines of the Tao Te Ching. Marty had carved them into the sword, specifically for me.

“I named it The Way.” Apparently deciding I’d looked long enough, Marty shook the wrappings back over the sword and thrust it at me. “The pommel makes it a bit heavier on the back end than you’re used to, but the hilt is lighter, helps balance it out. The bone is lion bone.”

I didn’t even bother to ask him where he’d found lion bone. If he said it was, it was. I couldn’t even think of anything adequate to say. The man had just handed me a goddamn work of art. Finally, I settled for, “Thank you, Marty.”

He grunted a little. “This is the last one, Jess. I’m not gonna do this anymore. I got Mel, and the baby, and…I just can’t.”

“I know. It’s all good, man. I understand.” A small part of me even envied him. What would it be like to have the luxury of just…walking away? The rest of me, well frankly it hurt. Marty had been my best friend for years now. And now he just…wasn’t anymore. “You uh…take care of Mel, okay? Call Mira when the baby comes, she’ll want to know.”

He grunted again, and retraced his tracks in the snow, disappearing into his house. The door slammed with ominous finality.

I stared at the bundle in my arms for long moments, until my truck’s horn beeped at me impatiently. “Yeah yeah, I’m coming.” With a shake of my head, I started back to the truck.

What’s done was done. No changing that now, no use dwelling on mighta-coulds or maybe-shouldas. Marty and his family would be safer for it. I had to believe that.

I handed the sword to let Estéban as I climbed into the truck, and he unwrapped it immediately. “Oh wow…I don’t think I could use it. It’s too pretty.”

Though I was inclined to agree with him, I knew I’d use it. I’d had my chance to give up this glamorous life, and I’d passed it by a long time ago. Just one of those sacrifices a hero makes, or some shit.

“Hey, kid. How’s your spell casting going?” Like most champions, Estéban had magical ability. His mother—a powerful bruja in her own right—had been teaching him a little, and Mira had picked up there when he came to live with us. He wasn’t up to either woman’s skill level yet, I knew that, but every smidgen of power he had was a smidgen more than I possessed. Me, the great magic-less wonder.

The kid looked at the weapon in his lap, and quickly shook his head. “No way. I’m not good enough to do this. You have Miss Mira do it.”