Matt Archer: Legend Read Free

the wall of the nearest warehouse and slid to
the ground, landing square on top of Will’s rib cage. He coughed and shoved me
off while Parker groaned in the distance.
    Unable to get up, I called, “You okay, sir?”
    “Think so,” he yelled back. “Gonna have some bruises,
though. The creature’s arm must’ve weighed a hundred pounds.”
    Murphy and Johnson pulled up. The tires of the rental sedan
were smoking. Maybe we should’ve opted for the insurance.
    Johnson came to check on us, while Murphy went after Captain
Parker.
    “Nice of you to drop by, Lieutenant,” Will said, as Johnson
helped him to his feet. He swayed, and Johnson eased him back to the ground.
    “Think you need to sit tight a bit, Cruessan.” He came to
check me out next. “You all right, Archer?”
    I nodded. “Just tired and sore. Took a lot of running.
Will’s worse off than I am, though. He had to sprint all over the place and I
landed on him just now.”
    Johnson offered me a large, dark brown hand. After he stood
me up, he dusted off my jacket, which was covered with a mix of dust and this
awful, snot-colored slime. He grimaced and wiped his fingers on his pants. “Any
civilians around?”
    “Yeah, one.” I swallowed hard. “I think they killed the guy
who runs the tattoo shop. Row three, second building.”
    “We’ll get a team in to examine and clean up the scene,
then,” he said. “The Mounties have a special unit we can work with.”
    Murphy led a limping Parker to us. Parker took in the damage
and sighed. “Any idea where these things came from?”
    Will struggled to his feet. “What’s that?”
    A tiny shadow flitted across the tops of the buildings. It
was shaped kind like a…toad? I tightened my grip on my knife. “No idea.”
    Before I could do anything, Parker’s knife flashed through
the air. It caught the thing in the leg and it let out a squeal, before
toppling from the building.
    We ran over to the body and found a small green imp, maybe a
cross between a goblin and a gremlin, writhing in pain on the concrete. It had
pointed ears, sharp fangs, and knobby bare feet. It was also spitting curses at
us in an ugly language that set my teeth on edge. I had half a mind to use it
for target practice and be done.
    Wait. It has information we need.
    Right. Always a complication. “What are you?”
    “Masss-ter says watch,” the creature hissed.
    I’d heard about a master before, and nothing good ever
happened when it was mentioned. “Who’s your master?”
     It cackled an ugly laugh that turned into a gurgled cough.
“A blood-red moon approachessss. We will…leave none alive, not even…your
ssssspirit-guide. You…will die…sssscreaming…wisssshing you…were never born.”
    Before I could demand that it explain itself, Parker
snatched his knife from its leg. The little demon had no time to react before
he buried the blade in its chest. With a squeal, it disintegrated into a pool
of gnarly green glop.
    “Um, sir?” Johnson said. He wiped a hand across his
forehead. “Don’t you think that might’ve been premature?”
    “My knife told me to finish it off,” Parker said, sounding
shaky. He gave me a startled glance. “It, I mean, he told me.”
    “So your knife-spirit’s a dude?” I asked.
    Parker nodded, looking like he might be sick. I’d been the
first to hear the blade-spirits in my head and slowly the other wielders were,
too. It took some getting used to. Small wonder Parker was freaked out; finding
out your knife-spirit wasn’t an “it,” but a “he,” was enough to send anyone
over the edge. Jorge, the medicine man who made the knives, was the only other
member of the team who had adapted to the voices as much as I had. But then
again, he knew the spirits well enough to bind them to the blades.
    Bind them…
    “Oh, crap,” I said. “Our spirit-guide—they meant Jorge.
They’re going after Jorge.”
    Will leaned against the car door, pinching the bridge of his
nose. “And a