The Beginning – Fairy Bad
“Prepare to die.” Unsheathing a knife from his well-worn leather waistband, the robust fairy with the fragile pink wings directed its tip at Cobra’s chest.
“What the hell?” Cobra exclaimed, releasing the Harley’s throttle and grabbing the brake a little too hard as the flying menace appeared from thin air and flew straight at his oncoming motorcycle.
“Hell has nothing on me, white man.” The fairy landed ten feet in front of the motorcycle as Cobra lowered his left foot and forced the bike to a squirrely stop. Zoe’s head knocked against his back.
“Ow,” she complained. “My nose. Why’d you stop so suddenly?”
“Unexpected incoming object,” Cobra answered, his gaze focused on the seven foot tall creature holding the knife, its blade glinting against the afternoon sunlight. If the monster had jumped in front of the bike while Cobra and Zoe were still barreling down the highway at sixty mph instead of lumbering up a dirt driveway at ten, there’d be no preparing – they’d already be dead.
“Warn me next time,” Zoe griped. “My nose is all bent out of shape now.”
When isn’t it? Cobra thought.
Craning her neck over his shoulder to scan the scene ahead, Zoe scoffed. “And I don’t see any incoming object, Dad. Stop BS-ing me.”
“Yeah, BS-ing,” Cobra muttered as he glowered at the creature before him. The creature glowered back – enormous, ferocious, and with a Native American savagery Cobra had only seen in old cowboy movies. Snuggles, strapped in the pet crate behind Zoe, yapped and growled.
“Your child does not see me,” the fairy said in a booming voice befitting his size.
“Good,” Cobra muttered under his breath. The less crazy crap Z got exposed to, the better.
“But that doesn’t make me any less real,” the giant clarified with a flutter of his dainty wings. “Don’t speak, white man. Just listen. I understand you are Selma’s grandson. Now you understand something; it’s my job to protect this property from ex-con shitheads like you. My name is Billy, I’m the guard dog here, and I’ll rip off your scalp and shove it up your ass before I’ll let harm come to this peaceful place. Got it?”
Cobra silently nodded because saying, “kiss my ass, fairy man” seemed stupid.
“Good.” Billy grinned scornfully. “Keep the peace, or die. It’s that simple.” He retracted the knife, fluttered his wings some more, and disappeared just as quickly as he’d shown up. Cobra blinked hard and shook his head.
“Hey, Dad,” Zoe jabbed her finger against his shoulder. “Who’s that lady on the porch?”
Cobra planted his other foot on the ground and killed the Harley’s engine, trying to shake away the freaky image. Then he glanced up, his gaze following the long, dirt driveway to its curve in front of a white Victorian farmhouse with red trim. On the old-fashioned wide porch stood an attractive brunette in white stretchy pants, a matching tank top, her hair done up in a messy bun. She pushed her glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose like a geek girl then folded her arms across an abundant chest. A fat, fluffy beige cat stretched out on the table beside her. The pair surveyed Cobra suspiciously from under a sign that read:
Welcome to Rest Inn Peace…Where Life Begins At The End Of The Road.