The Worm Returns Page 3

  “Honey, when you spread your legs at me, it cast a spell on me.”

  “That’s sex appeal. Not the same. All men are horny. That’s so women can manage them.”

  “No woman ever managed me!” he protested.

  “Until now.”

  “Not even now.”

  She expanded to human size, floated on her back in the air, and spread her bare legs toward him.

  Oh, that blueberry-blonde fur! “You wouldn’t dare do that if you were solid!”

  “You just saved me from the worm. It’s only the beginning of what I would do to repay you. I’m just making the point: you can be managed, too. It might as well be by me.”

  He had to concede her point. “Okay,” he grudged.

  “You’re sweet.” She contracted to mini-size, flew to his face, and kissed his left eyebrow. He didn’t protest that he was bad, not sweet; she had demonstrated her power over him. “But there’s more. The way that second wormhole appeared, right where I was, so the worm could grab me and gobble me, it thought. I think it realized that we had just plugged a hole, and it was investigating, and acting to stop it. And, but for you, it would have succeeded, and no one would have stopped future holes. We thought the holes were mostly random and the worms just took advantage of them to feed on the local magic. But this suggests that they know what they’re doing, and can control the wormholes.”

  “If they know what they’re doing, they’ll know I can punch them out,” Bad Buffalo said. “So maybe they’ll stay away now that I’m on the scene.”

  “But maybe they’ll go after you next, knowing that you represent the worst danger to them. So that they’ll be able to graze magic in peace.”

  “Let them come,” he said. “I’ll plug the lot of ’em.”

  “BB, I like you a lot, and truly hope I can recover enough magic to really do things with you. But I think you’re being a fool. Those worms are dangerous.”

  “So am I.”

  She shook her little head without speaking. He realized that she was afraid for him, and that made him nervous. What could the worms do, anyway?

  They were about to find out.

  Chapter 5: Holes

  All this shooting and damsel saving was getting Bad Buffalo hungry. He’d seen a rabbit or two on the way in. He could go for some rabbit stew.

  “The rabbits are our friends, BB. You can’t eat them.”

  “Ah, crud.”

  “Same with the squirrels and chipmunks and birds and lizards—oh, and definitely deer and bear and cougars and skunk and raccoon. Especially the raccoon. They are all our very good friends. Not to mention, one of my sisters might be in animal form. So, you can’t take a chance on shooting anything in the forest.”

  “Double crud.”

  “Here, let me gather you up a nice salad, BB. You will love it. I’ll make my very own lavender dressing.”

  “Great.”

  And as little Dia flitted about, to and fro, gathering ingredients from the forest—and humming a haunting song as she did so—Bad Buffalo had a strong urge to get on Horse and ride him hard, as far away from the crazy mountain glen as possible, never looking back and never thinking again of Dia’s silky-smooth legs. At least, he thought they were silky smooth. Then again, Bad Buffalo was pretty sure he had never felt silk before, but he’d heard it was smooth, and Dia’s legs looked almighty smooth, too.

  He shook his head, already entranced by the promise of her touch. So much for getting on Horse and riding out of here. That would be rude. Of course, Bad Buffalo didn’t care much about what anyone thought of him. But look at Dia. She was working so hard to make him a forest salad. Yeah, turning his back on her now didn’t seem right. Bad Buffalo was only vaguely aware that this might have been the first time he’d ever purposely chosen “right” over “wrong.”

  That in and of itself felt wrong. But oddly right, too.

  Bad Buffalo kind of wished that Dia had remained hidden, and had never chosen to reveal herself to him. Life was easier then. Of course, she had a good reason to seek his help. He was, after all, the best shooter in the West (and three states in the East). Seeking him made sense, and her reasons were valid. She lived off magic and something was eating the magic of their world. That didn’t seem to right to Bad Buffalo. There he went again! What had gotten into him? He knew darn well had gotten into him...Dia. And now, here she was bringing a wooden bowl of food to him, a bowl she was levitating before her, a bowl that was overflowing with...weeds!

  “I know what you’re thinking, BB,” she said, pausing and hovering before him. “And thank you for staying. Your help stopping the wormholes could very well save this world. People need magic more than they know. Magic helps germinate seeds, magic helps form wind and rain and snow. It is magic, after all, that starts fires. People think there’s a lot of science to some of this. Science only goes so far. In the end, it is the spark of magic that keeps this world turning. You have a question, BB?”

  “What’s science?”

  “Never mind that, you big beautiful man. Now, settle in here and let’s eat.”

  “You eat, too?”

  “Sometimes, when the mood strikes, or if I am feeling weak. The forest is full of magical plants, and I have given you the best of them. And no, Buffalo, these are not weeds. Quite the opposite.”

  Bad Buffalo sighed and hunkered down, adjusting his right six-shooter. He wore two weapons, one at each hip. He used both equally well. Once, he’d heard someone say that he was ambidextrous. Bad Buffalo shot him, of course. No one calls Bad Buffalo names he ain’t ever heard of.

  Using his big fingers, Bad Buffalo dug into the salad, and found that he quite enjoyed it. More interesting, the more he ate, the stronger and more alert he felt. Which was good, because as he got to the bottom of the wooden bowl, and as he soaked up the rest of the delicious lavender dressing with a leafy green, he saw another wormhole appear.

  It was about fifty feet away, and hovered in the open space between two giant oaks. Bad Buffalo shoved aside his bowl, licked his fingers, and drew the gun all in the same motion. Little Dia barely had time to gasp before the black wormhole had been plugged full of lead. Dia turned in time to see the hole shudder, then disappear. She was just about to compliment him on his fine shooting when she saw it. Another wormhole, not very far from the first.

  “BB, there!”

  But the outlaw had already seen it. The second shot was as true as the first, and the wormhole quickly retreated. Or perhaps it died. But that didn’t seem right to Bad Buffalo. Whatever was appearing from these holes wasn’t dying. It was retreating and starting again. Bad Buffalo suddenly had a very bad feeling about these worms. He was wondering if they could be killed, at least by bullets. He also had another feeling...his gut instinct was telling him it was the same worm, appearing over and over.

  “You might be right, BB,” said Dia. “And it might be closer to an octopus than a worm.”

  “An octo-what?”

  “They are friends of my cousins in the sea, the sea nymphs. Octopuses have many legs, eight, in fact. I think what we are seeing here is a many-legged worm.”

  “That can’t be good.”

  “It’s not good at all. It suggests that, like a lizard, it can lose its tail—or in this case, a tentacle-like arm—and still be a threat. Perhaps it can even grow another arm, instantly. It is certainly gobbling up enough magic to instantly create new limbs. We might be dealing with something huge and many faceted. Something that can self-replicate. Something that’s determined to gobble up all the magic in the world. Including me.”

  He didn’t understand the half of what she was talking about, but he sure understood that last bit. “You?”

  “Yes, you dolt. I’m magic, too. Without it, I cease to exist.”

  Bad Buffalo didn’t like that at all, and so when another wormhole appeared, this time closer, he plugged it up before it barely had a chance to form. He was out of bullets. He reached for more along his gun belt and expe
rtly freed them and dropped them down into the six-shooter’s chambers. He spun the cylinder, and snapped it back together. He did all of this while shooting another wormhole with his free hand. Bad Buffalo was a multi-tasker, even if he didn’t know what multi-tasking was.

  Another wormhole appeared, and then another. Now, Bad Buffalo was using both weapons, firing them simultaneously at the two different targets, plugging them both up. More wormholes appeared. In fact, five of them appeared at once. Blam, blam, blam, blam, blam! Bad Buffalo shot them each as fast as he could shoot, which was almighty fast.

  He needed to reload gun #2. He continued shooting gun #1 as more wormholes appeared. He plugged up each and now, he was shooting with both guns again, as more and more holes appeared in the glen around them. Some tentacles got loose and reached for the ground. But they never got very far. A well-placed bullet in its snout got each of the tentacles retracting quickly, shuddering and bleeding.

  They could bleed, he thought. If they could bleed, they could die.

  And then it happened. Bad Buffalo had run out of bullets, and before them were a half-dozen wormholes, all with black, tentacle-like appendages reaching out...and reaching for the two of them. Bad Buffalo snatched Dia from out of the sky, where she had been hovering safely just behind his head. She squeaked as he shoved her in his front pocket. He leaped onto Horse, snapped the reins, and now they were charging out of the glen, while more and more wormholes appeared around them...

  Chapter 6: Bug

  Horse could outrun just about anything, not that he needed to with Bad Buffalo aboard and loaded. But now he was out of bullets, and would have to go to his secret cache to get more. Meanwhile there were wormholes surrounding them. Those worms really meant business!

  “But this doesn’t make sense,” Dia said from his pocket. “They don’t want you! They can’t stand your blocked magic.”

  “They want to be rid of me,” Bad Buffalo said as they dodged around a hole. “Now that they know I’m dangerous to them.”

  “Well, yes. But they can’t touch you, literally. The holes don’t like you much, either; that one spit you out. So what are they going to do?”

  “I’d sure like to know.”

  Horse dodged another hole. He was smart about things like that.

  “I think they’re herding us,” Dia said. “Maybe they want to drive us over a cliff. That wouldn’t hurt me, because I can fly, but it might kill you and Horse. Then they could go after me and the other sprites with impunity.”

  “With who?”

  “With nothing to worry about.”

  Oh. “There’s no cliffs in these parts.”

  “I know. It was just an example. Maybe something else, like a man-eating monster.”

  “Ain’t none of them in these parts neither.”

  “Unless they bring one in.”

  He pondered that for a long second, which was about as long as he’d ever pondered anything. “I’d better reload on bullets.”

  “You’ve got more?”

  “Got a cache. Got several. A man never knows when they’ll come in handy. Can’t ever have too many bullets.”

  “I suppose that’s right,” she agreed, bemused. “Can you get there soon?”

  “One’s close by. I keep them where there’s always one where I might need it.” He nudged Horse with a knee, and the trusty steed responded by leaping over one forming wormhole, dodging another, and galloping in a new direction. When push came to shove, Horse knew what was what.

  The wormholes seemed confused by the sudden shift, but soon they reoriented and followed. There was no doubt they were orienting on Bad Buffalo. But he had the drop on them, as it were, and made it to his hidden cache before they could close in.

  Horse skewed to a halt beside a standing deadwood with a hornets’ nest near the top. The hornets knew Bad Buffalo was one of them, and didn’t bother him, but that kept the cache safe from others. Bad Buffalo jumped off, reached into a crack in the trunk, and hauled out a leather bag of bullets. He quickly loaded his pistol and jammed the rest of them into a saddlebag. He remounted Horse, Dia still in his pocket. She clearly felt safer there, where a worm couldn’t grab her.

  But that brief pause had given the wormholes time to catch up. Now they completely surrounded the tree, so closely that there was no room to pass between them. They were like a thick forest of saplings.

  “Dang,” Bad Buffalo said, holding his gun ready. “I could use up all my new bullets before I plug the last of these. I really hate to waste bullets.”

  “Maybe you can plug just the ones right in front, to clear a path.”

  “Yeah. But that’d be temporary, and they’d be after us again. We need to figure out how to get rid of all them, permanent-like.”

  “They’re not advancing,” she said. “Why? I doubt they fear the hornets.”

  It was true. Horse was watching the hovering holes warily, ready to stomp any that got near his feet, but they were staying clear. “Dunno. I can’t think about two things at the same time. Right now I’m trying to figure how to get rid of them all.”

  “So am I. Do you know, I’m remembering a story, really a legend. It probably doesn’t relate, but I wonder.”

  “A legend? I thought you sprites were a legend.”

  “We are. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have legends of our own, derivative as it may seem.”

  “Weird. What’s your legend?”

  “That there were magic-eating worms on a far planet, but there were bugs there that ate the worms. So now there are no worms there. That’s about all I remember. Maybe it was just a dream.”

  “Sprites dream?”

  She laughed. “Certainly we do. I’m dreaming now of getting big and solid and becoming your dream.”

  “I’d like that.” But something was nagging him. Bugs?

  “Hey, in your mind—follow that up. It may be something.”

  He laughed. “Something in my mind? Other than eating, fighting, and cheap dames?”

  “It is a stretch,” she agreed. “Those will be limited once I get my full magic. But humor me.”

  Dang. She meant to turn him into a decent law-abiding hombre, and there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it. Not if he wanted her favor when it counted.

  “Correct,” she said. “Now focus on the bugs.”

  He focused on bugs. Actually, they seldom bothered him, any more than the hornets did, because his skin was too tough and smelly; it gave them nausea. Once, long ago, two flies had bitten him when he’d been too busy to swat them, then had immediately squared off and fought each other to the death. His blood had that effect.

  “That’s not it,” Dia said. “There’s a drunk. That’s the one.”

  The drunk. Now he remembered. The guy had meandered on about worms that did something other than feed birds, and bugs that ate worms. Bad Buffalo never heard the end of the story, because the drunk had gotten in his way and he’d plugged him without paying much attention. Could those worms and bugs have been magic? It hadn’t seemed to make any sense, then, but now it was starting to. Knowing Dia made a big difference. “Bug-eating worms.”

  “Suppose there was this planet where the worms thought to feed on the magic as usual, only it wasn’t what they expected?” Dia asked. “Instead of the worms sucking the magic out of the bugs, the bugs sucked it out of the worms? What would the worms do?”

  “They’d damn well hightail it out of there and leave that planet alone.”

  “They would,” she agreed. “But there must be a connection between that world and ours.”

  “Why?”

  “How else would the story have gotten here? The worms wouldn’t tell. There must have been a traveler, maybe with his own magic tunnels, who then paused at Earth and mentioned it.”

  “The drunk!”

  “Maybe so,” she agreed. “Maybe he was bragging a bit. Men do foolish things when drinking, which is why you won’t be doing it anymore.”

  “Who says?
” he demanded.

  She floated up out of his pocket and spread her little legs in front of his face.

  “Oh, that,” he said. It was part of the price of her and he knew he’d have to pay it. She knew it, too, reading his mind.

  Meanwhile the wormholes hovered in their places. What were they waiting for? Reinforcements? There were already hundreds.

  Dia returned to his pocket. “If there really is a planet with bugs like that, maybe there’s a way to reach it. If we got some of those bugs, maybe we could drive the worms from this planet, too.”

  “How could we get any bugs?”

  “I don’t know. But there’s something else in your mind. You’ve got an idea.”

  “I sure don’t know what.”

  “Let’s reason it out. If you were a wormhole worm, and you discovered that a particular planet was dangerous, what would you do?”

  “I’d blast it to smithereens!”

  “But if you had to go to it to do that, and if you opened a wormhole there, suppose the bugs were lurking, ready to invade your tunnels the moment you opened it there? What if some were already in that particular tunnel?”

  Bad Buffalo concentrated. Thinking like a worm was hard, and thinking like a damn coward was harder. But he tried, and got a kind of answer. “Maybe I’d not go there. Maybe I’d seal off that tunnel and never use it again, and spread the word: DANGER, THIS HOLE IS BUGGY.”

  “I think that’s it. You’re so smart.”

  He got an ugly suspicion. “Are you managing me, you little fairy?”

  “Of course. But I think you’re right. You have managed to think like a worm.”

  He gazed down at her in his pocket, getting a good view down her classic little front. “When you get your whole magic, you’re going to owe me a lot of poking, you know that?”

  “And I will gladly pay it all,” she agreed, taking a deep breath that further enhanced that profile. She obviously knew what she was doing, flashing him and praising him. He’d have been furious, if he didn’t like it so much.