she knew that, too. It consisted of a lunge, pulling her back leg up into an en garde position, gaining ground on her demonic opponent, and then surprising him with an in quartata evasive action, turning a quarter to the side before attacking with a series of rapid slashes that turned him into so much hamburger.
Teri stared at the pile of disgusting remains. The purplish blood continued to ooze and bubble, flowing to stop just short of what remained of her car.
Invigorated by the battle, unable to change the flat tire, and armed now with a sword rather than a car key, Teri walked back to her apartment.
She slew three more of the foul, warty creatures along the way.
Wednesday morning found her outside Second Hand’s Shop, waiting for it to open.
Her reflection in the window was impressive. While she hadn’t gotten any taller, Teri now carried herself as if she were a giant. Shoulders back, chin up, eyes fiercely sparkling, jaw firmly set. Her pasty complexion was a memory; her skin was ruddy, as if she spent a great deal of time outdoors. There were muscles in her arms, and she felt more confident than ever.
The chainmail bikini was in the bag, the bits of demon gore cleaned off with a tablespoon of Comet and some serious scrubbing.
Teri liked the way she looked—and felt and had shamelessly liked the feel of the bikini against her flawless tanned skin. But obviously she didn’t need to be wearing the bikini to look like this. And, besides, she didn’t like fighting monsters or having the responsibility of being the World Guardian.
“I want to return this,” she almost reluctantly told the clerk as the door opened. It was the same short gum-chomping woman from yesterday.
“Didn’t fit after all, eh?”
“No place to wear it, actually. What was I thinking?”
“Maybe you weren’t—” the clerk said almost too softly to hear, “—thinking.” Slightly louder: “Really, who’d wear a chainmail bikini anyway?”
Teri bristled and pulled the bikini out of the bag. The links glimmered merrily under the fluorescent light.
“And it’s not the chainmail, you realize,” the clerk said.
Teri raised an eyebrow.
“That’s not the magic. No magic in the chainmail.”
“Beg your pardon?” Teri didn’t know what else to say.
“I said, it’s not the magic that turned you into the World Guardian.”
“World Guardian? I’m not the World Guardian. I’m a food reporter . . . no, I’m going to be a police reporter. Bob’s not stopping me.”
“Nothing can stop the World Guardian, huh?”
“World Guardian. Now how the hell would you know—”
The clerk grinned, and her eyes turned so dark Teri couldn’t make out the pupils. “It’s that tacky turquoise fob you bought, that’s the magic.” She pointed an impossibly long finger at the necklace that rested warmly against Teri’s skin. “Vintage. Shabby-chic. The piece I didn’t think anyone would ever buy. The talisman that summons the long-dormant World Guardian back to the realm. That’s the magic. You awakened the magic when you put it on. The World Guardian is in you now. Is you.”
Teri tried to take off the necklace and found that it had adhered to her.
“Told you it wasn’t the chainmail.” The clerk ran her fingers over the shiny links. “So . . . do you want your thirteen dollars back all in ones?”
Teri’s mouth fell open like a goldfish. “I’m stuck?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. You’re stuck with the World Guardian role . . . until something manages to kill you and the talisman finds its way back here. That’s how it works, Elefteria. Interesting name. You said it means freedom, right?”
“Stuck.” Teri spit the word out like it was a piece of rotten yalanci dolma.
“Yeah, stuck. Freedom. Appropriate name, I guess. Now you can fight to keep the world—or at least Milwaukee—free. Do you want that all in ones?”
Teri reached for the bikini. “Never mind. I’ll keep it.” And maybe she’d find a cape to go along with it. A red one.
The Second Hand’s Shop hero needed something appropriate to wear.
Burying Treasure
by Alex Shvartsman
The wizard rode a cart full of gold into the village.
The wooden cartwheels creaked, protesting the enormous weight of coins and miscellaneous trinkets that filled the cart to the point of almost overflowing. The coins shifted and jingled as the horse pulled the cart forward on an uneven road, their sweet sound summoning gawkers much faster than any magic could have.
“Now that’s something you don’t see every day,” Hurlee said to her twin sister as the two of them watched the cart make