A November Halo Story: Thieving from the Desert Part 2

“The knots might be a bit tight, y’all,” Nova said from behind the red bandana around her lovely face. She winked at them. She picked up the briefcase from the undead ninjas, slowly turning back to dust due to the magic leaving their unholy bodies. She frowned at the bodies, not liking to touch something with Dead Magic fueling it. She started strolling toward some giant rocks when the man with a bald head and a dragon tattoo on the back of his skull stared hard at Nova. His gold eyes were off-putting, but it wasn’t the first time she had seen such things.

                “I’ll find you,” he said. “And I will kill you.”

                “Oh, darlin’,” Nova said, blowing a kiss at him, “you’re too in love with me for such things.”

                He fought to escape the ropes, keeping his hands close to his feet. The black and red devil ninja lady tried to break free, but Nova had been doing this job for a long time. She tied some of the best knots in the world, even being often paid for doing such a thing, but she passed down those jobs.

                She got away from the thieves, who she had guessed were from Imperial Japan. They would put another blood mark on her, hoping their assassins would behead her for her sins against the Empire. There were many sins against Imperial Japan and almost every other country. It came with the territory of being among some of the greatest grave robbers in all the world, and she was a damn good thief to boot, along with being an ace shot with almost any gun.

                She saw herself as a treasure hunter since all the dragons were dead. Her family gained fame and wealth from killing those monsters since medieval times.

                It was the reason the dragon hunter pistol was sitting on her hip. A gift from her grandfather, the man who raised her from when she was two after the painful death of her mother. Some Guild assassins gunned her down for being married to her father. The killers were never found. They would never be found.

                People wanted eighteen-year-old November ‘Nova’ Halo dead for her little game of running around the world, gambling, fighting, and stealing, but it was her father’s doing. He was a powerful duke in the Flying City of Omega, where he had endless wealth, so he sent his daughter and son out into the world to make their way.

                Nova pulled down the mask and dropped off the rock onto the back of the Arabian horse, right into the saddle. Nova lifted her cowboy hat under the heavy sun, letting it kiss her tied-up redness brown hair as she raced the horse back to the camp where she met her brother Barak Halo. He was covering her with a long rifle, and they were meeting up with some British spies’ men from the SIS and their hired guns.

                The Halos were hired to still some blueprints for some nasty tanks to keep them out of the hands of their enemies. Nova nor Barak cared about keeping it out of anyone’s hands; Japan, Germany, or Russia were all the same to them as long as they got paid.

                She had to get to the Brits to collect her payment and rode the horse to their meeting point, where they were all waiting with some Nygaard’s jeeps. The jeeps would get them out of the desert to the next airport, and then Nova and her brother would jump on an airship to get out of Iran while the Brits returned to their Empire.  

                So, many damn Empires.

                It was a simple job that paid well. She would go home for a few months back in Texas to help out some lawmen there with the Mexicans and Indians before another job came around. She hoped she could get to North Carolina to see Richard Templar and tease him. She planned on marrying the man one day, but the day wasn’t now or tomorrow.

                She slowed the horse down, seeing Barak waiting for her. He was tall, like a tree that was nowhere in sight. She was sure it was why most people who lived in the sand were scared of his height, and his might was not hidden in his body. He kept his cowboy hat low as she came strolling up to her.

                “I hate the sand,” she told him, making Barak smile. “It’s all in my boots, up my pants, and other more unpleasant places.”

                “There are things,” Barak said with a thick Texan accent matching her,” which I don’ need to know, sis.”

                She shrugged, both falling side-by-side, heading to the meeting point. They rode a bit softer, rounding one of the bends to find the men pointing their rifles at them but lowering them all when they saw the two of them.

                “Calm your horses, Red Coats,” Barak said, narrowing his eyes at the guns.

                Mr. Muninn, dressed for the sand, came walking around the fast and heavily armored jeeps. He was chewing on a cigar with tanker boots and specially made pistols on his hips. Mr. Muninn was a good-looking gentleman, making Nova eye his body, but his right red eye was slightly off-putting. She had heard he had a brother with his left eye the same burning hue.

                “I don’t too much like working with you, Yanks either,” Mr. Muninn said with a deep, hoarse voice.

                “We ain't no damn Yanks,” Barak said, jumping off the horse, “we’re southern, Red Coat, and those are fightin’ words.” He rushed up to be right in Mr. Muninn’s face, making all his men stand on edge. The Brit blew smoke into his face, making Barak laugh and grab the man’s hand. They were old friends, and Barak was the only one in the group who knew his real name.

                “Boys,” Nova said, jumping down, “you two need a room.”

                “Good to see you, November,” he said, smiling at her.

                She was going to say you as well, and it was good to see their old friend had joined them on this mission, but the creak of the rifle threw them all scattering behind the armor as one of the men’s heads blew open. More rifle fire started to rain all around them, causing them to hide.