Free Server Down by J.M. Hayes Page A

monster with a double-bladed ax and smiled as Pam sailed by. It didn’t stop Fig Zit from slamming them again, but, as Madwulf toppled, Puff and his army peeled off from their pursuit of Pam and began bathing the Vampire Wizard with their fiery breaths and rending him with scalpel-sharp teeth and claws.
    â€œWatch,” Mrs. Kraus said, pausing before sending Madwulf to the local graveyard again.
    Fig Zit surprised her by killing five dragons and seriously damaging the last two before his corpse toppled and lay beside their own.
    She hit the button and they were back at the cemetery, their spirit resurrected by the angel-like creature that resided there. They hadn’t taken a dozen steps when Fig Zit’s voice boomed out of the speakers once again.
    â€œDamn you, Pamela Epperson. You should have minded your own business and had a good night’s sleep in Las Vegas. Now I’m going to have to revenge myself on you, as well as some meddlesome folks in Benteen County. No more fun and games, little people. This ends now.”
    And, suddenly, they weren’t in the magical forest of towering waterfall trees anymore. Their screen had flashed back to the log-in page where a message declared, “Server Down!”
    â€œI think we pissed him off,” Englishman said.
    ***
    The professional wasn’t supposed to kill this one. Just make an impression, scare her. That didn’t rule out a bit of maiming, he decided. Lopping off a few fingers with the hatchet, for instance, should accomplish his assigned task while sending the client a little message.
    The back door opened on a dark utility room. Just beyond, he found a kitchen—clean, nearly scent free. It hadn’t been cooked in lately. Next was a small dining room, and on its right, a living room that was more functional than ornamental. Not your run-of-the-mill woman living alone, he decided.
    The living room was lit. A folded blue blazer lay on the arm of a wingback chair near the front door. A purse sat on the cushion and a cell phone was plugged in for recharging on an adjacent end table.
    At the far end of the long narrow living room was an arch, like the one he’d passed through as he left the dining area. Opening on a hallway to bedrooms and baths, he decided. And someone was moving around back there. He could hear her coming his way. Her shadow appeared a moment before the light went out behind her. He launched himself toward where she was about to be—where she suddenly was.
    She was handsome in a kind of formal manner, but not pretty. Her slacks had rigid starched pleats down the front of each leg. Her blouse was equally perfect and without wrinkles. But what caught his attention and stopped him in his tracks was the badge that was clipped to her belt, and the holstered pistol just behind it. His employer really should have told him she was a cop.
    It was too far to cross the living room and get to her before she could draw her weapon. Maybe he could get back out through the dining room before she pulled it and fired. It would be close. Too close. That left one possibility.
    â€œMad Dog?” she whispered. At least the makeup had been effective and she wasn’t going for the gun yet.
    He smiled, half turned from her, and then came around with the hatchet. He threw it at the center of her chest. Getting away trumped fulfilling the terms of his contract. He wouldn’t mind if his aim proved true, but he didn’t stay to see the results. He had thrown axes before, but it wasn’t one of his primary skills. Instead, he used the throwing motion to pivot and dive back across the dining room toward the exit. When a bullet whined by his ear and took a chip out of the trim around a kitchen cabinet, he knew the ax had missed.
    ***
    The ax missed Parker’s left hand by inches. By then, her right was full of SIG-Sauer. A nine mm slug tore into the elaborate woodwork just inside her kitchen but, like the ax, failed to