Monster Hunter International

"No thanks," said Milo. The rest of us followed the experienced Hunter's lead and turned him down as well. Trip really looked like he could use one though. I think the ugly truth was just sinking in. Kind of like when you are young and you eventually learn that your heroes are only human, only I imagined that this was probably a whole lot worse.

The Elf Queen appeared in the doorway. Perhaps filled the doorway would be a better description. She was probably pretty close to me in weight, but about two feet shorter. She was wearing a flaming red muumuu and white bunny slippers. Her arms dangled fat rolls, and I stopped counting chins at number five. Her blond hair was up in curlers, and her blue eyes were beady between layers of lard. Other than the pointy ears, there was not much magical here. She was a definite candidate for gastric bypass surgery.

"Presenting Queen Ilrondelia. Ruler of the Elves of the Enchanted Forest. Mistress of all she sur-vaaays. Y'all have a good un." He popped a Budweiser and went back into the trailer to watch wrestling. The Queen waddled over to her Lazy Boy recliner/throne and flopped into it with a satisfied grunt.

"Your Majesty. We have come to ask for your wisdom. We seek knowledge," Milo told her.

"I don't do spells no mo. I'm on disability. I done hurt my back. Get me a check from the gubmint, says I can't do no spells no mo," she said in a very plump and semiliterate voice.

"Well, Your Majesty, that's fine. We aren't looking for any spells. We're looking for some information. Elves are long-lived and wise, and you pass down the wisdom of your forefathers."

"Yup. I'll be a hunnert an' fifty in August." I did a double-take at that. She looked to be in her forties. Milo did not seem to question it.

"So, Your Majesty. Since elves are so much more in touch with the spirit of the earth, we need to know if you have sensed a new evil in this land."

"There be plenty of evil in this land, Hunter. Y'all know that." She smiled in satisfaction as the bug zapper electrocuted something particularly large.

"Yes, but something landed on the coast in the last few days."

"Oh, him? Yup. Felt it clear to the Enchanted Forest. He's a bad un a'ight. I figured he was why y'all came to call."

"Do you know who he is?" Milo asked excitedly.

"Nope. But he's been here before. Back 'fore he got hisself cursed, he was jus' a man. Came here before the first elves settled in these parts, back when we all lived in Yur-Up. He was some high an' mighty type general or sumpin. Cut a deal wit the Old Ones, down in wha' y'all call Bra-Zil nowadays. Got hisself cursed for it real good."

"How long have elves been on this continent, your Majesty?" Trip asked.

"Oh, my grammy brought our people over, four, maybe five hunnert years ago. Back in them days, the Enchanted Forest was a heck lot finer place." Her jowly face broke into a wide smile.

"I bet," Holly muttered under her breath.

"What kind of deal did he make with the Old Ones, Your Majesty?" Milo queried.

"I don't rightly know. You know how the Old Ones is. Everythin' black and dark and scary evil like. It was sumpin to do with messing wit time. No mortal man can mess wit time, but he wanted to turn it backwards. He lost his love, and he wanted to make it right."

"His love?"

"I ain't be knowing the story, jus' wha I gets from my cousins over in Yur-Up, but they don't ever call no mo. This noble's wife or lady friend got herself kilt, he went too damn far trying to get her back. 'Bout all I know."

"Do you know why he is here now?" Milo asked. She shrugged her meaty shoulders. Her muumuu had ranch-dressing stains on it. "Can you sense where he is now?"

"No, but I reckon right now he's near water. Cain't say why I know, but I know."

Fat lot of good that did us. You couldn't swing a dead cat in the South without hitting a body of water.

"Do you know about an artifact that can kill time?"

"Lots of artifacts out there I reckon. I'd have to see it to tell y'all."

"Do you know about a Place of Power nearby?" I asked.

"Boy, don't y'all go messing wit that. Humans ain't equipped to deal wit that stuff."

"He's looking for a Place of Power."

"They are all over the place. Especially this land, can't go no place wit out being someplace right powerful. Good thing they ain't active mos' of the time. Only some times when the sun or the moon or the stars is just in the right spot and that only happens so many times in a life, an' I ain't talking 'bout no short little human life. Stuff gots to line up jus' right to have a Place of Power."

"Do you know where the next one is going to be?"

Another shrug. "Y'all about done? Wheel of Fortune comes on in a minute."

"Well, that is what we came for, your Majesty. Thank you for your time," Milo said.

Suddenly there was a horrible high-pitched screech. I jumped, startled off of the urine couch. Something the size of a bird was stuck in the bug zapper. Blue flashes and sparks fell to the porch as the device swung wildly from its chain. The Elf Queen took off one of her bunny slippers and hurled it against the zapper. The slipper hit true, and what appeared to be a tiny human with butterfly wings buzzed hurriedly away. "Damn pixies! Stay offa my porch!" the Elf Queen shouted as she shook her blubbery fist in the air.

Milo gingerly picked up the slipper and handed it back.

"Y'all be careful. I don't know whas coming, but I can feel it. Sumpin big is coming. If it ain't stopped, then I figure we all done in." She put her slipper back on, and leveraged herself to her feet. She lumbered into the double-wide while we excused ourselves and stepped off of the porch. She stopped in the doorway, turned and shouted.

"Which one of y'all is the dreamer?"

Milo nudged me to respond.

"I guess I am, ma'am."

"You seen the tattoo man. The one with the ink?"

"Yes, ma'am. I have." That was a surprise. I had just thought that was a normal dream.

"If'n you see him fo' real. Run. He ain't nothin' but the spirit of hurt and revenge."

"What do you know about him? Who is he?"

"I don't know, but I seen him in my dreams too. Y'all run. Run fast as y'all can go. He ain't on nobody's side, not good not evil." She started to waddle away, but then thought better of it.

"Dreamer. One last thing. Y'all got a mission. Don't screw up. Or we all git dead. This here is serious, and I ain't just funnin' ya." She regarded me solemnly. "As Queen of the Enchanted Forest, I order y'all not to fail. Kill the bad un, or it's all over."

"What's all over?" I asked.

"Everything… Now git. Wheel of Fortune is on." She turned away and the red muumuu swished. An argument started up immediately between the residents of the double-wide over game shows versus WWF.

"Let's get the hell out of this hole," Holly said. We all agreed. Trip almost looked like he could cry.

We drove back into town to grab some lunch and call in our findings to headquarters. We stopped at a Subway in Corinth. It felt good to be back in civilization. People were friendly, the cars weren't on jacks, and I was relatively certain that nothing had urinated on my seat. Trip had not spoken since leaving the Enchanted Forest. We ordered our sandwiches and sat in a corner booth. Milo stepped outside for a little privacy while he called headquarters.

"That really sucked," Trip finally said around a mouthful of food.

Holly was serious for once. "I really am sorry. Forget about the nerd teasing. It's tough when your illusions get shattered. I know about that. Trust me I do, but you will feel better."

"It's just that I got my hopes up. You have to understand, I loved my life. I loved teaching kids. When it all went to hell, I just couldn't go back. Once I found out what ugliness was out there, the magic was gone. Everything became bleak. So when I got the chance to fight evil, I took it, plus-don't get me wrong-the massive pay raise helped too; I'm not fighting evil for free or anything naïve like that. But come on now, with so much secret evil in the world, I thought for just a minute that there might be a secret good. I just got really excited. Maybe the magic was still out there, you know?"

I nodded. Personally I was still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that I had just seen a pixie and was apparently having visions. I looked at the mushrooms on my sandwich suspiciously.

"I'm sure there is a greater good out there that offsets the evil, Trip. You will find it someday, just don't give up hope. You have seen the dark, but for every dark thing, there is light," Holly said, and patted him on the back of the hand. That was possibly the kindest and most upbeat thing that I had ever heard out of Holly Newcastle. Of course she immediately followed it with, "But if I have to deal with another stupid elf and their mystic crap I swear I'm going to shoot them all in their stupid inbred hick faces and burn their stupid trailer park down."

Milo came back and slid into the booth. He tore into his sandwich with a vengeance. "Don't let me forget to pick up a sub for Skippy too. He loves tuna salad," he mumbled with his mouth full.

"Milo, I've got to ask. Why did Harbinger and the Shacklefords freak out so bad in the meeting this morning?" I asked.

He hesitated. "I probably shouldn't answer that. It's Earl's job to tell the story about '95. I'm just the gadget guy. It's a touchy subject is all, what with all the death, and unimaginable horror, and rifts in the very fabric of reality, and whatnot."

Now I was really curious. "Come on, Milo. You're way more than just the gadget guy."

"True, I'm the guy that takes care of all of the little things. Hey, Milo, we need to make det cord pretzels. Hey, Milo, where can we find a thousand gallons of Holy Water at two in the morning? Hey, Milo, hurry up and build some new device that we need right now out of old junk A-team style. Hey, Milo, cast out these evil spirits. That kind of thing. But when it comes to a good suggestion, No, Milo, we won't go with your idea, because we’re sensitive."

"Everybody takes advantage of you," I said.

"Ha. Nice try. I'm still not talking. You want to know about the Shackleford family and what happened at the Christmas Party, you got to talk to Earl. He saved my life when I was only fifteen years old. I've been with them ever since." He chewed his food for another minute.

"You really rebuke evil spirits?" Trip asked. "Cast them out like in the Bible?"

"Sort of. Hey, I'm a Mormon. Every team has to have at least one person with a little faith. Not all problems can be solved by shooting the heck out of them. Well, most problems can. If not, then high explosives can really be your friend, but every now and then you just need to put your faith against the bad guys. For most Hunters that's a losing proposition, so that's why company policy is that if it don't have a physical body, take it up with the religious authority of your choice. Sometimes we don't get a choice in the matter though…" He slurped noisily from his straw. "Look guys, back to the subject, I grew up in Idaho, the youngest of fourteen kids. So family's important to me. When most of them got eaten, MHI became my family. And I'm loyal, so if Earl doesn't want me to tell you about '95 then I'm not gonna do it."

"Fair enough," I said. We all went back to our food and studiously avoided talking. Milo appeared to sink into his beard, deep into thought, chewing contemplatively.

After a few minutes of actual relaxation, Milo signaled that it was time to move out. We refilled our drinks and prepared ourselves to move back out into the stifling heat. Our group got a few looks from the locals saying that we obviously weren't from around them parts. I picked up a sandwich for Skippy and another foot-long meatball for myself. The senior Hunter waited for the other two to walk out the door before catching my arm.

"Owen." He looked to make sure nobody was listening. "I know you like Julie and that's why you're so intent on finding out what happened to her family." He pulled off his little round glasses and wiped them on his horribly ugly shirt.

"No, it's not that at all," I lied.

"Whatever. I didn't fall off the potato truck yesterday. Look, all I'm saying is that if stuff heats up, and this Cursed One turns out to be as bad as my gut tells me he's going to be, I'll fill you in on the details-provided you do me a couple of favors."

"And those would be?"

"Help me talk Julie into speaking with her dad. He might be the only person in the world who knows what's really going on. I don't want to go behind Earl's back, but this might be the only way. She might listen to you."

"Really? Why would she listen to me? Did she tell you she liked me?" My hope spiked temporarily. Milo quickly brought me back down.

"No. But she thinks you have visions."

"I'm not going to lie to her."

"I don't want you to. But if the choice comes down to having the world blow up, or having a painful Shackleford family reunion, personally I would rather have the reunion."

"Why don't we just go speak to him ourselves?"

"He's real particular who he talks with," Milo whispered. Holly sounded the horn. She actually held it down for a full ten seconds. "Just stop by my workshop tonight, and we'll talk then. And I've got a piece of hardware I want you to try out. I think it might actually suit your personality."

"Little green book-keeper visor that clamps to my helmet?"

"Nah. Full auto, magazine-fed, 12-gauge shotgun."

My earlier hunch had been correct. Milo Anderson was a mad genius.

The drive back to Booneville and the return flight to the compound were uneventful. The rest of the Hunters were busy reading through old books or making phone calls. I helped give a short debriefing about the information we received from the Elf Queen. At the end of the little meeting I was taken to task for not telling the others about the Tattooed Man from the dreams.

"You should have said something. We could have been researching him too. Who knows what clues that might have turned up?" Julie snapped at me. She was tired and discouraged from a long day of research. I couldn't really blame her.

"Sorry. I didn't know. I thought they were just normal dreams."

"Yes, but your dreams are somehow tied to this case. I don't know how, but until we figure it out, you need to report every single dream you have." She pushed away from the table and stood to leave. "I'll go see if I can find any records matching the Tattooed Man's description. If you will excuse me, I've got a hundred years of dusty garbage to read."

After she stormed off, Harbinger assigned me to go to the range and help coach the remaining Newbies with their pistol shooting. At least there was one thing that I was good at. I stopped by the armory and picked up another pistol on the way. I needed to replace my poor broken Kimber. Stupid vampire.

There was an absurd number of weapons to choose from. The armory was actually a concrete bunker with a bomb-proof door, filled from floor to ceiling with weapons. I could spend hours in that room fondling and drooling over the various guns. There was a wall dedicated to just.45 caliber handguns: Colt, Springfield, Kimber, H&K, CZ, Sig, S&W, Beretta and other lesser known brands. I picked out a lightly customized CZ 97B. I was always a sucker for a big.45. Ten rounds in the mag, plus one in the chamber. I could carry it cocked and locked; it would not be in the armory if it had not passed the reliability test with our ammo. I took the CZ, an inside-the-waistband holster, and several extra magazines. Dorcas would make sure that it came out of my check.

That evening I stopped by Milo's workshop. It was a corrugated steel building located behind the main office. All manner of tools and gadgets were hung on the walls. Drill presses, welders, machine tools and worktables filled almost every square foot of the large space, leaving only narrow foot trails to navigate through the mess. A large American flag was taped up on the far wall. Huge speakers mounted in the corners were playing Oingo Boingo. Sparks flew as Milo used a grinder on some sort of massive device that appeared to be a harpoon launcher. He lifted his plastic face shield when he saw me coming.

"Ooo-wen. What's up, my man?" He bobbed his head to "Only a Lad."

"Milo, what the hell is that thing?"

"Harpoon launcher."

"What for?"

"In case we need to harpoon something."

I nodded slowly. I think even by the bizarre standards of Monster Hunters, there were still a few of us who marched to the beat of a slightly different drummer. In another corner there was a stuffed head mounted on the wall. It looked kind of like an alligator, but it had antlers. I did not dare ask if it was real.

"Check this thing out. We can still hit the range while there is a little bit of light left." He led me to a workbench where a strange-looking gun was mounted in a vise.

"Saiga?" I asked. That was a Russian shotgun that was based upon the action of an AK.

"At first. On this one I mounted an adjustable ACE stock, with recoil pad of course, FAL pistol grip, holographic sight system, EOTech in particular, night vision compatible. Full rail system, so you can mount lights or IR illuminators, or as you can see here, a Tula 6G15 40mm grenade launcher, front-loading, single-shot. The barrel has been cut down to twelve inches, modified choke, gave it the Vang comp treatment also so the patterns are good and tight and recoil is softer. I modified the trigger group, so top position is safe, middle is full, bottom is semi. I've got the gas adjusted so you are looking at about 700 RPM on full."

He was speaking my language. "Don't these only come with five-shot magazines?"

"I've got a bunch of nine-round box mags, and two twenty-round drums. I've tested them all, all are reliable, but on full you can run through the nine rounder in a second, so use it sparingly. Go ahead, check it out."

I gently picked up the massive weapon. It was short, but it was thick and heavy, and that was while it was empty. Add almost a box of shells and a grenade and it would be even more so. I worked the action. The bolt was slick and the spring was powerful. Milo had thoughtfully added a shelf to the safety so that it could be operated with the trigger finger. It pointed better than it looked when I snapped it into position.

"What about specialty munitions?"

"There is a gas regulator at the end of the hand guard. I machined a new one so that it now has three positions. If you have the regulator in the right spot for the right ammo, it isn't going to malfunction."

I ran my finger along the regulator, and found detents for the different power levels. There was also a mystery button. When I pushed it a hinge unlocked, and an eight-inch, heavy-duty bayonet was released. The blade was absurdly sharp and thick. With a flick of the muzzle it locked into place with a snap. It was not the world's best-balanced spear, but I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it.

"No freaking way. That is awesome."

"I got the idea off of Czech CZ52, but I improved it. It folds to the side, out of the way of the grenade launcher. You don't hardly even know it's there until you need it. Bottom edge is good cutting steel, on the top edge is a silver inlay. You stick this in a lycanthrope and it's going to know it."

"Why did you paint it brown?" I asked as I slowly turned the monstrous weapon over in my hands. It felt good. I realized I was grinning like an idiot.

He shrugged. "I'm tired of black guns. Everybody has black guns. I wanted this to be a little different. Plus black gets hot in the sun. I tried to give it kind of a desert-tiger-stripe thing. So do you like it?"

"Milo… This is the coolest gun I have ever seen in my life. And I've seen a lot of guns. How does it shoot?"

"Let's go find out. From what I've seen from you in practice, and from what Julie told me about your shooting on the freighter, I have been waiting for somebody worthy of Abomination."

Abomination? That was just too cool. Milo handed me a sack of loaded magazines. "Okay, just one more question. Exactly how many gun laws does this break?"

Milo's red eyebrows scrunched together in thought. He started to count on his fingers, and then thought better of it.

"All of them."

The Abomination shot far better than I had expected it to. It was not sleek, it was not stylish, it could never be considered pretty. But it was reliable, and it was amazingly fast. The front-heavy weight swung quickly, and the heft helped keep the barrel down as I poured shell after shell into the targets. The holosight was amazingly fast. At close range you just put the target into the giant floating circle and pulled the trigger. I knocked down steel plates, I dusted clay pigeons out of the sky, and I put slugs into pie-plate-sized targets at a hundred yards with ease. The mag changes were so fast that it put my old reloading trick to shame. If I felt the need I could keep the rate of fire high enough to melt the barrel off of the mutant shotgun from hell.

I even got to run through a dozen flour-filled practice grenades, and even a handful of high explosive shells. Shove them in the front of the stubby launcher until they click, pull on the absurdly heavy trigger, and launch a blob of deadly high explosive out to the end of the range. The explosions threw clouds of red Alabama clay high into the air. What's not to love about that? By the last grenade I had figured out the approximate amount of holdover necessary to get hits out to two hundred and fifty yards. Well, perhaps not hits, but like the old saying goes, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

By the time I had emptied all of the magazines, it had been dark for hours, and I was standing in a sea of spent plastic hulls. My clothing reeked of unburned powder, and the muscles in my face hurt from smiling. What can I say? I'm a gun nut.

"Oh my gosh. That is so cool," I gushed. "I have to have one of these. This thing is going to rock against undead."

Milo was obviously proud of his latest creation. I had no idea how much he was paid by MHI, but whatever it was, he certainly deserved more. "Go ahead and take it. It's yours."

"For real?" I said, putting the warm gun over my shoulder.

"Yeah, you get to be the beta tester. If any other Hunters want one I can build more. Personally, I'm going to stick with my carbine. Abomination is a little on the clunky side for me."

"Thanks, dude." Christmas had come early for Owen Z. Pitt.

"You can consider it bribery. Remember what I was talking about earlier? About that…" He drew in close. I felt rather conspiratorial. "Look, here's the deal, after Julie's mom was lost on a mission, her dad kind of withdrew from the world. He spent all of his time down in the archives. He read and studied every book we had, and then he started gathering more from all over. It became his thing. You think Julie is smart? She gets that from Ray. He was probably the smartest Hunter we have ever had. If anybody has heard of this Cursed One it would be him."

"What happened to her dad? Why the falling out?"

"From all of his studying, he learned things that no human should have ever learned. It was stupid. Ray loved his wife and tried something desperate to get her back. It did not go according to plan."

"So why doesn't Julie want to speak to him, and why does her grandfather and her uncle freak out at the mention of his name?"

Milo jumped about a foot off of the ground when he heard Julie speak. "Because my dad is dangerous and insane." We had not heard her approach. I stupidly removed my ear plugs. I had shut down the amplification to avoid wasting the batteries. I found myself wishing that I had left them on.

"It didn't go according to plan?" Julie snapped at Milo. She strode between us, and stopped directly in front of him, arms folded. She was quite a bit taller than he was. "Didn't go according to plan? Don't you think that's a bit of an understatement?"

"Well… I suppose that you could say…"

"According to plan? According to plan? Milo, all hell broke loose. Literally. Ninety-seven Hunters were killed, and it was only a miracle that we didn't suck all of Alabama into another dimension. Even then the government shut us down, and put all of us out of work. Monster attacks on innocent people went through the roof because we weren't around to stop them, and Dad is responsible for that too." Milo shrank a little in the face of the onslaught. She whirled and faced me. "And you. What did I tell you before we left Georgia?"

"Stay out of your business?" I answered, feeling like an idiot.

"Do I need to put that on flashcards? Do I need to have it branded on your forehead? I could have it put on backwards; that way you could read it in the mirror." She was seething. "Were you two going to try and get me to talk to Dad? What the hell were you thinking?"

"Julie, listen. The bad guys want to destroy time. That sounds like a bad thing. We have seven Masters tromping around working as a gosh-darn team for heck's sake, and it has even scared the elves and the Feds. If the bad guys get to the Place of Power and turn on their evil gizmo, we could be screwed. Ray can probably tell us where that's going to be," Milo asserted.

"Yeah. What he said," was my addition to the argument. Julie gave me the evil eye.

"Owen. Listen to me very carefully. You have no idea what level of trouble we are talking about here. The reason Milo thinks my dad is going to know where this evil place is, is because it is similar to the insane stunt that he pulled. He risked the lives of every living person for thousands of miles."

"He did it for a good reason," Milo insisted. "He was crazy with grief. Your dad was desperate."

"He risked the lives of millions to try to bring back one single person who was already dead. That is the definition of insanity!" she raged, grabbing Milo by the shoulders and shaking him violently. "Don't you get that? My dad did evil things. He is one of the bad guys. If I had known just how far gone he was I would have shot him myself."

"Ray did evil things, but he wasn't in his right mind. I'm not saying that we should let him out, just that you should talk to him. Get information, prevent another big problem. If he could help us stop the Cursed One, then it would be a way for him to make up for some of what he did," Milo shouted back. "He is our best chance. We could still be screwing around in the archives when they set off their evil gizmo."

Julie dropped her hands and kicked some shotgun hulls angrily. Her face was drawn tight, and she was frowning. She tucked an errant strand of dark hair behind an ear. "I know," she muttered.

"And another thing!" Milo started to yell, and then stopped abruptly. "You know?"

"Yes. I know. That was why I was looking for you, you idiot. The situation has gotten worse. We just got word from Boone. He's been keeping tabs in Georgia. About forty-five minutes ago there was an attack on the home of another university professor, strong vampires, at least a couple. Right in the suburbs, just after sunset. They were looking for something. Unfortunately the prof was throwing a party at the house at the time. The place is crawling with the Feds' reaction team, so Boone couldn't get a good look, but he was guessing at least twenty dead."

"Let me guess. A colleague of Dr. Turley?"

"Yep. She was on our list to contact. A Ph.D. in anthropology, religion specialist."

"Smart vamps don't hit parties in the suburbs," Milo said. "That brings too much heat and attention. Vamps feed on the outskirts. It doesn't make sense."

"Unless the payoff is worth the risk," Julie said. "My guess is they're looking for the when and where to use their artifact."

"You think we're running out of time?"

"Why else would they risk having the Feds track them? The Monster Control Bureau guys are not the most efficient bunch, but they have resources we can only dream about. Vampires, especially old ones, don't pull stunts like this. That's how they lived to be old to begin with," she said with authority. "I don't think we are running out of time-I know it."

"So who's the idiot now?" Milo queried, somehow managing to look both smug and innocent at the same time.

"Don't push it. Milo, tomorrow you cover for me. Grandpa and Earl can't know what I'm going to do. Pitt…" That was a good indicator that she was not happy, she almost never called me by my last name.

"Yes?"

"Try to dream something useful tonight, because tomorrow you're going to meet my dad."

"Sounds like fun."

"It won't be."

Chapter 13

Dreaming. Pleasant dreams, just the normal disjointed clearing of the human subconscious. I slept deeply, able to tune out Trip's snores from the other bunk, and my only visions were good ones. Julie's beautiful smile and full-auto assault shotguns.

Then it changed. Events came into focus. My consciousness shifted gears. The pleasant normal dreams evolved into something sharper, with seemingly real physical sensations. Cold snow under my bare feet, and the smell of smoke in the air.

I was standing in the remains of a small town. The nearby buildings had been shelled into rubble. A light dusting of snow covered the broken stone, shattered wood and rusting metal. There were a few signs and torn advertising on some of the crumbled walls. I did not recognize the language, but it seemed familiar. The style of the art was simple and old-fashioned. A gray winter sky loomed fat and heavy overhead. The world was totally and impossibly silent.

The Old Man leaned against a piece of rubble, cane in hand. He took a pocket watch out of his homespun coat and examined it absently when he saw me.

"You are late, Boy. Much work to do."

"Sorry."

"No, I the one that is sorry. Almost killed, I got you last time."

"When the Cursed One saw us on the beach?"

"Too dangerous to take your spirit out of body. I not know what I doing. I new at this. Too, how you say… stupid to do again. But I had to show… show Cursed One to you so you know what I know. Too dangerous. No more out of body."

"What would have happened if he had caught us?"

"For me, probably stay same. For you, you end up like me. Something else probably come and take your body while it empty." He shivered when he said that, drawing his collar up against the winter cold. "Would be bad."

"Something would inhabit my body?"

"Yes, there are things that not have body of own. They are, how you say… jealous. We not leave your body again. Not safe. I have to find new way to show you things."

"So where are we right now?" I gestured at the silent town.

"In your head, Boy. Where did think?"

"I don't know. I've never been here. I've never been to that field we met in before either."

"In your head. But from my memory. I am friend, I am guest here. I can show you thing that I know. Is hard to show, but I getting better. For smart boy, you are sometimes dumb."

"Hey now," I said defensively.

He laughed deeply. "Is fine. I forget. Real world is different where I am. Rules change. Come, I show you." He pointed with his cane, and walked away through the snow. I followed.

The church had been old and battered even before most of its roof had been blown off by artillery. The stained glass windows had been shattered, and small parts of the walls were charred ash where the church had caught fire. It was obvious that it had been a simple but beautiful structure at one time.

"What is this?"

"Is church. Got blowed up." He made an explosion noise and opened his hands, pantomiming a bomb. "I not know name, I go to synagogue own self."

"I can see that. I mean, what are you trying to show me?"

"Is Place of Power. Cursed One brought ancient artifact here. Under this land was place where old kings make sacrifices; before man, other things use this place. This is last place that Cursed One used to try to destroy time. Time is his enemy. Lucky for us, his learning was not right. He was not ready for such bold move. He failed." We continued toward the building. The stone stairs were cold and slick with ice. "Lucky that time."

"What would have happened if he had succeeded?" I ducked my head under a broken beam in the doorway. The interior of the church was just as damaged. Pews were smashed or knocked over. There was an altar at the far side of the room. "What does it mean to destroy time?"

"He not want to destroy. Cursed One thinks he can control. He has old device. Older than world. When matter was organized to create this world, the artifact was already there. Not meant for this world. It can torture time. Turn it… backwards. Make it stop for some. Go for others. Is bad. Very bad. Cursed One is vain, full of pride, nobody can control time. Will destroy world."

"The Elf Queen said that he is trying to get back his lost love."

"Yes. That was first reason. Now I think he is so much twisted with evil and hate I not know. I will try to show you. If you understand him, maybe you can stop." He reached up and put his cold, arthritic hands alongside my face. "I try to show. I not take you out of your body, but I can maybe show you Cursed One's memories."

"Wait. What is your name? The vampire called you Bar Eeka."

"Byreika," he corrected. "Not important who I am. Now shush, is hard to show. Must concentrate."

"Are you a ghost?"

"Ugh. Quiet, Boy. Time is short. Maybe is ghost. I not know." The Old Man squeezed my head. He wore an intense look of concentration.

"What is this place?"

He took one hand away, and brought it back with a surprising slap. It stung.

"Always with the questions. Respect your elders. Now shush!"

The Old Man closed his eyes in concentration. The church and the smoldering town began to darken and fragment. Falling snow froze in midair. The world he had created began to fall apart without his attention. I could see my reflection in his glasses. As I watched, my face changed into someone else.

Confusion, resolving itself into a hazy vision from long ago.

The jungle road was hot. My horse was exhausted by the heat and lathered with foam. My plate was splattered with the blood of my enemies, and my helmet and plume sat heavy on my sweat-drenched brow. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of powder. I rested my battle-ax across my saddle and passed my matchlock to my secondary to be reloaded. Large carrion birds circled overhead, eager to have their chance at the carnage on the jungle road.

My men were following after the routed, scattering enemy, cutting down as many as possible. Worried about possible counterattacks, I signaled my northern mercenary captain to call the men back. When the undergrowth became thick, the advantages of our muskets and plate were negated. The big man spurred his horse forward, shouting for the men to rally at his position.

I dismounted my steed as a prisoner was brought struggling before me. My men shoved him to his knees. The prisoner was obviously a man of some importance, adorned with gold jewelry and wearing complex armor made of hide, and crowned with a helmet constructed from a jaguar's skull. The prisoner babbled in his incoherent pagan language. I took my helmet off and waited patiently for Friar de Sousa.

The priest came. As a man of many letters, he had made a study of the enemy's language, and was able to communicate with them in a very rudimentary fashion. I waited as the priest and the pagan spoke in a mixture of words and hand signals.

"He is a leader of his people. He says that a great ransom will be paid for his return," the priest said. Shots echoed through the jungle as my men happened upon a few other stragglers. "His city is wealthy and the very streets are paved in gold."

That was more like it, for gold was the very essence of this conquest. Legends of the natives' Dorado, their land of endless gold, were what kept my men focused. "Where is his city?" I asked. The priest translated. The prisoner pointed down the road and said something, holding up a pair of fingers.

"Two days' march."

"Excellent… Why take a ransom when you can take the whole city?" The priest understood and stepped away to avoid splattering his robes. I casually raised my ax and brought it swiftly down on my captive's head.

NO!

Calm down, Boy. It is not you. These are Cursed One's memories. You see world from his… how you say… perspective.

But I just killed a man. I couldn't stop it.

No. Cursed One killed him. Killed him five hundred years ago. He is… I think you would say, mean son of bitch. We just observing.

How?

I am attached to him. Hard to explain. I have gone back too far in memory. Must go forward.

The jungle road faded away, only to be replaced with a city of giant stone buildings and massive pyramids. The city was wedged between jungle-covered peaks and surrounded by a swift river. Brilliant scarlet streamers hung above the roads, and trained jungle birds sang from cages hoisted over the intersections. The vision was jerky as the Old Man tried to control what I saw. If I was truly viewing the Cursed One's memories, that would explain why I somehow understood medieval Portuguese.

It was a strange and unnatural sensation, to see through another person's eyes, to smell the odors of a city long since gone, to hear the voices of people dead for hundreds of years, even to feel the sensations through another's skin, like wearing an all-encompassing suit made out of human senses: it was perhaps the strangest thing I had ever experienced. And worst of all, I could hear his thoughts-not truly hear them, but hear them as though they were my own, only not under my control.

The scene was slightly distorted. Less important details were fuzzy or incomplete, leaving gray patches on the otherwise brilliant landscape. Time moved quickly, only to drag to impossible slowness. Sounds were distorted. Conversations of less interest were merely buzzes of background noise. Of course, memory is an imperfect recording device.

The occupants of the city lined the street. Almost all of them bowed in fear. I ordered my men to kill the few who did not bow as a warning to any who would dare challenge their new rulers. My small army had penetrated further into the interior of the continent than any previous conquistadors and I intended to claim the riches of this city as my own. I led my men toward the central palace, lances up, muskets ready. Many of the people averted their eyes rather than see us in our armor and upon our horses. Bah… primitives.

The people of the city were right to be afraid. We had ground their entire army into the earth only a few hours before. I had lost seven men and a few hundred native conscripts. They had lost over a thousand. Their army had been for ceremonial purposes, full of show, and probably good at raiding small villages to take slaves and sacrifices. My army was made up of hardened warriors, good at nothing other than killing and looting. Isolation rather than strength of arms had been this city's real protection, but no longer.

The priests were happy. We were going to send souls to the Lord, one way or the other. My men were content. There was more plunder, gold and women than they could have ever imagined. It was only through fear and loyalty to me that I had kept them from immediately looting the city. My troops worshipped me, and an entire country feared me. It was a good day.

I had a dream. Dare I say a vision? I saw myself riding forth at the head of a great army, conquering all of this land and making it my own. Returning home in glory, not as a failed merchant, not as just one of the many sons of a nobleman, but rather returning home in my own glory and with my own riches. I ordered no messengers to be dispatched to the sea. This was going to be my bounty, and mine alone. King Manuel would learn of this only when I was ready for him to learn.

My troops marched toward the city center, where the largest palace loomed. I called a halt as we entered the central courtyard, and had my men set up the cannon just in case a trap had been prepared, for surely not all of these backwards people could think that we were gods.

The royal entourage met us in the courtyard. They were brilliant in their finery. A contingent of jaguar-helmeted guards surrounded the royal family. Scores of priests and priestesses, wives and concubines, scribes and courtiers filled the square. A man stood at their head. His skin coated in gold dust, his raiment a robe of brilliant feathers, surely this was their king. He was frail and weak with age. The king approached, ahead of his personal bodyguard, and laid his staff upon the ground in front of my horse's shoes. His eyes were the sad eyes of a broken man. I summoned Friar de Sousa to translate.

"In the name of his Royal Highness, King Manuel the Great of Portugal, your kingdom has been conquered, and must pay tribute. I am General Joao Silva de Machado. My word is law in this land. You will provide gold and treasure as I see fit. You will provide food, lodging and clean women for my soldiers. You will provide able-bodied men to join my army in the continuing pacification of this land as I see fit. Your people will learn the true Catholic faith and receive the blessings therein. Failure to follow my orders will result in your death and the deaths of your people. Trickery will not be tolerated. For each of my men attacked by your people, I will kill five hundred of yours. For any of my priests attacked by your people, I shall kill five hundred of your priests. If any of you tries to harm my officers or me, I will raze this city to the ground until no two stones stand upon another. I will kill every man, woman and child, feed your flesh to our hounds, and salt the earth so that nothing will ever grow upon this blighted land ever again." I waited for the friar to catch up. He spoke loudly so that the whole crowd could hear. I imagined that de Sousa's gift of languages would only carry him so far, but as long as the heathens understood the fundamentals of what I was trying to convey, I would be satisfied.

"But do not think that you can harm us. For we are gods to you." The priest stuttered a bit as he translated that bit of blasphemy. "You have witnessed the power we control. I can call fire from the heavens and smite you to dust. You cannot harm us, but you can try. If you try, you will be punished. Is that understood?"

The priest finished and the king bowed before me. The royal party did so as well. Jaguar helmets touched the ground as their army followed suit. I could grow used to this.

All bowed except one, a dark-skinned woman in the opulent robes of a priestess. She alone met my gaze. She stood proudly as the other members of her strange priesthood cowered. I had not seen such beauty and poise since I had been banished from the royal courts so long ago. I gestured for two of my men to seize her and bring her forward. She held up a hand to stop them, and approached of her own volition.

The king glared at her as she made her way across the courtyard, and hissed something at her in their incomprehensible language. I spurred my horse forward. With a snort and flared nostrils, the mighty beast knocked the king roughly to the ground. The royal party gasped in astonishment as the old broken man scurried away from my war-horse's iron-shod hooves.

"Who are you and why do you think you should not bow?" She was a beautiful wench, and it was going to be a waste to kill her as an example, but the pagans could not be allowed to see weakness from my army. My fingers drifted toward the handle of my ax. Regardless of the answer I planned to take her head, though perhaps if she amused me I would have my way with her first, and I would do it in front of the royal family. Friar de Sousa hurriedly translated.

She cut him off. "I am Koriniha, High Priestess of the Temple of Neihor."

My hand moved away from my ax. "How do you speak our tongue?" Many of my priests and soldiers began to murmur at this surprise. We were the first civilized Christians to make it this far into the interior of the continent, that we knew of at least. Had some of the blasted Spaniards beaten us here?

"There is power here, untapped for generations. I have learned your language in preparation for this very day. The spirits burned your words into me so that I may speak with you," she boldly retorted. "I have been waiting for you. Your coming was prophesied by the Old Ones. Your men come here, searching for riches, like pigs, simple in their greed. Your priests come for souls, numbers to feed their machine. But you, my Lord Machado, you are different. Your quest is for power. It is what you seek in your heart. I can offer you power. Power beyond your dreams."

"She is a witch," exclaimed Friar de Sousa. "Kill her, Lord Machado, the devil has given her our speech."

"Silence, priest. Do not presume to tell me what to do." The friar bowed his head in submission. I was interested. Something about the beautiful priestess provoked something deep in the back of my mind. "What do you speak of, woman? Make it good or I will be most displeased by this interruption."

She bowed slightly. "I can offer you much, Lord Machado. With my help I can keep this city docile and willing to serve you."

"They will do that now," I stated.

"But only out of fear. You are a wise general. You know that eventually they will rebel. Brave ones will rise up, as they always do. I know that you are only men. Mighty and wise men to be sure, but you must sleep, and you must eat our food, and your flesh can be pierced by an assassin's blade when your guards are not alert. You need not rule this city out of fear, if I can make this people serve and worship you. Why plunder one country, one people, when you can instead bend that city to your will and use it to build your own kingdom out of this land?"

I found myself intrigued by the ruthless cunning of the witch.

"Tell me more, Priestess."

I blinked and the vision was gone. I was no longer an unwitting passenger in the Cursed One's memory. We were back in the destroyed church, except now the make-believe world was no longer in sharp focus, there were blank spots around us filled with nothing. The Old Man was losing his concentration. He was sitting on the steps of the altar, pale and wheezing. His hands were shaking. I sat down next to him.

"Sorry, Boy. Can only do for so long. Is very difficult."

"What were you trying to show me?" I felt unclean from seeing the world through the Cursed One's eyes, feeling his pride and his calculating mind, hearing his thoughts, and experiencing his casual brutality.

"Can't explain. Must show. I will try again if there is time, but now am weak. Very weak."

"How are you tied to Lord Machado?"

The Old Man was silent. He gently tapped the hard wood floor of the church with his cane, apparently lost in thought.

"How are you tied to him? I want to help you."

"Don't worry about me, Boy. I am trapped. I am no matter."

"Do you know where he is? Or where he is going? Can you show me a current memory?"

He laughed tiredly. "You can see his old memories from when he was man, but now? One look in his head and you either dead or go crazy." He used his finger to make a swirling motion around his ear. The universal sign of insanity. "Maybe I can send image. Maybe like photograph from what he sees. I will try… after I rest."

"Thank you." I thought for a moment. "One last thing."

"Hurry."

"What about the tattooed man?"

"Guardian of the artifact. Do not trust. He wants one thing. Just one thing. Get in his way-" The Old Man dragged his bony finger across his throat and made a gack sound. "You go now. Help your lady friend. Keep her safe. She is good girl. You two make cute babies someday." He patted me on my arm.

"Huh?"

"Go, stupid boy. Try not to get dead!"

I awoke with a start. My alarm was buzzing with all of the gentleness of an air-raid siren. I pounded the snooze button and jumped out of bed, alert and breathless. The sun would not rise for a few more hours, but I had to tell the others about my dream immediately. I still did not understand exactly what was happening to me, but somehow I was being given some serious knowledge about our adversary. I threw on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and rushed out of the barracks, not even bothering with shoes. I crashed into Trip on the way out the door. He swore as he spilled his coffee. I shouted an apology as I sprinted for the main office building.

The MHI library was located in the basement. It was a massive room, tight with shelves and dusty tables. All of the company's monster encounters had been logged and documented for the last hundred years. In addition, books of topical value had been brought here by more scholarly-minded Hunters the entire time. In total there was a century of accumulated paper moldering away in that room. It was probably the world's biggest collection of actual monster lore, but it was a daunting task to find any one particular thing.

I found Earl Harbinger in the archives, staring vacantly at a heavy old book. From his appearance I could not tell if he had gotten up really early, or if he had never gone to sleep.

"Another dream? Did you learn something?" I nodded in the affirmative. "What did you get?"

"It was weird, but I got his whole name, General Joao Silva de Machado, and I know a lot more about him. He was an evil bastard when he was human, and apparently he has just gotten worse with age."

Harbinger smiled tiredly. Apparently that was the best news he had gotten lately. "Good work. With that I bet we can pin him down. I'll go get the others," he said as he left.

I pulled out a chair and sat down tiredly. Whatever happened when I had these dreams, it certainly wasn't restful. I put my head down on the old wood table. I closed my eyes. The minutes ticked by. I did not feel so good.

Then the vision began. The Old Man had been true to his word. Once he had recovered enough he attempted to bring me a more recent memory from the Cursed One. This was merely a visual snapshot, just a single image that might help us locate the enemy, nothing more.

However, it came from such a tortured mind, so filled with hate and darkness and pain, that just the brief second I felt the connection was enough to knock me to the ground and leave me gasping for air in a blind panic. The Old Man must have made a mistake. I could feel the Cursed One as he sensed me intruding. I could feel his anger, and his promise to destroy me and the very fabric of my world. He sent me a message. I screamed in agony and clutched my face as I was wracked with spasms of unspeakable pain. Crashing out of the chair, I twitched wildly as thousands of invisible blades stabbed at my flesh. Tears streamed from my eyes as I thrashed about, trying to evade the pain. Everything went mercifully black.

The others were standing over me. Julie was kneeling at my side, her hand gently resting on my forehead. They all looked very concerned.

"What happened?"

"You were having a seizure or something," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Like crap. That wasn't a seizure. Lord Machado sensed me. I had another vision."

"While you were awake?" Harbinger asked sharply.

"I requested it. Last night in my dream. I asked for a picture, a current memory…" The other Hunters looked at each other in confusion. "I'll explain later, look…" I tried to sit up but I was too dizzy. I gave up and embraced the cold floor. "I saw one of his memories. I saw the world through the Cursed One's eyes. I don't know from when, but it was a recent memory."

"Owen, take it easy. Tell us what you saw." Julie's voice was soothing and relaxed.

"He was in some sort of vehicle. It was dark. I just saw the road illuminated in the headlights. They were approaching a sign…"

"What did it say?" Julie asked.

"Welcome to Alabama."

Chapter 14

The Appleton Asylum was located on the banks of the Alabama River. It was an isolated location, far off of the main road, nestled deep into the thick surrounding trees. According to the map it was only sixty miles from the MHI compound, but the barely paved route to the asylum was so circuitous that I think we had to go twice that far. The nearest actual town was Camden, and to call it close was a stretch. The afternoon air was still thick with dew. Spanish moss dangled over the roads, dappling them in shadow, and dragged along the roof of our van.

The asylum itself was an enormous, four-story gothic construction, gray and stern, surrounded by a high, wrought-iron security fence. The narrow windows were barred, and the building emanated a quiet bleakness. The sign above the entrance said appleton. I had almost been expecting it to have a quote from Dante's Inferno instead.

Julie and I had slipped away after the morning debriefing. I had given as much detail from my dream as I could to the other Hunters. None of us really knew what it all meant, but we knew that the Cursed One and his minions were now on our turf. Unfortunately, as near as we could figure, there were at least a dozen roads along the border that had a sign like the one I had seen, plus we had no idea how old the memory was. Reports had begun to drift in that the government had activated all of the National Guard units in the southeastern U.S., including units that had just gotten back from long deployments overseas. The morning news had a report showing tanks and trucks parked at the Pharr Mounds in Mississippi. Reports indicated that there were also troops protecting Civil War battlefields, Indian burial grounds and historic monuments. The spokesman from the Department of Homeland Security explained that it was merely an exercise to prepare for potential terrorist threats. Apparently the Feds were nervous as well, and trying to cover any spots that might potentially be the Place of Power.

Julie Shackleford was silent as she drove up to the gate. She had barely spoken during the drive. Her lips were set in a hard line, and she wore a look of concentration similar to the one that she had before we had stormed the bowels of the Antoine-Henri. She tapped her fingers nervously on the steering wheel. She was not looking forward to speaking with her father.

"It will be okay, Julie. Don't worry about it," I said, in an inane attempt at comforting her.

"Are your parents weird?" she responded, still staring out the window. She had stopped besides the security intercom, but she had not yet hit the button.

"Mom thinks that if we don't eat all of her cooking we don't love her. When she gets excited she forgets to speak English. My dad made us kids call him Sergeant."

"Well, Owen, that sounds like Leave It to Beaver to me. My mom disappeared on a mission and my dad locked himself in a library for a few years. He twisted forces of ancient and unspeakable evil to his will and tore open a rift in the fabric of space and time to bring her soul back from the other side. He failed, and a horde of rampaging demons from a different dimension killed most of the friends I have ever had. Now Mom is still dead, and Dad's insane… so don't think that you can tell me that it is okay."

"Got it," I answered. So much for being helpful. Another minute passed in silence. Finally, with a dejected sigh, she rolled down the van window and pushed the intercom button.

"Who is it?" asked the tinny and static-laced voice of the intercom.

"Julie Shackleford. I'm here to visit my father-Raymond Shackleford. He is a patient of the Doctors Nelson." There was a long pause before the heavy, iron gate creaked open under hydraulic pressure. We drove through.

"Doctors Nelson?"

"Lucius and Joan. Husband and wife team. One is a psychiatrist, the other is a psychologist. I can't remember which is which though."

"What's the difference?"

"Beats me. I was a history major. You're the trivia nut," she replied. "They are actually both retired Hunters. They bought this place from the state when they left MHI. They're good folks. I've known them since I was a kid. They are getting up in age, but they do really good work here. The Nelsons have done some great research. They help a lot of people with special problems."

"Special problems?"

"Mostly they work with regular mental problems, like any treatment center, but they specialize in people who have had monster encounters. Not everybody has a flexible mind like those of us who become Hunters," she answered.

I had never thought about that. I was still internally freaking out about the things that were happening to me. I could only imagine how some people would react from that kind of trauma. Apparently here was my answer.

We parked in the near empty lot under a large tree. Thick leaves dangled across the windshield. Julie cautioned me to make sure the door was locked. Her suggestion made sense considering that there were crazy people roaming the lawn, and we had something like a dozen firearms, grenade launchers, a flamethrower, edged weapons, and several pounds of high explosive in the back of our huge Ford passenger van.

The grounds around the asylum were immaculate. The lawns were green, and comfortable chairs had been placed in various strategic locations for the patients to make themselves at ease. A group of casually dressed people were sitting in a circle, listening to one of their own tell a story. The woman was very animated, and obviously distressed.

"They would bite me, and it would hurt, and they would suck on me until I was so weak I was almost dead. But they would never kill me. They would just go until they got full, and then they would just stick me in the hole with the others. They would throw enough food down the hole to keep us alive. It was always dark, so we couldn't tell what we were eating, but it was always raw meat. But we were so weak and hungry that we had no choice." The woman was crying and shaking. She was twisting the bottom of her Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt violently. She was young, and had been probably been very pretty once, but was now prematurely aged from stress. "Sometimes, when one of us would finally get too weak, and… and… and finally die… Then the next day there would be more food. So we knew what it was. But we were too weak to fight. Some of us went crazy. Crazy. Waiting for them to come back and drag another one of us out of the hole to feed on. It went on and on and on like that. I don't know how long because it was always dark. So dark." She finally broke down in deep pitiful sobs.

An older woman who was obviously a doctor stood and comforted her, hugging her and telling her that she was so brave, and that it was all going to be okay now. The group echoed the sentiment, congratulating the woman for sharing. The crying patient returned to her seat.

"Vampires," said a man who had stopped beside me.

I had been so distracted by the patient's story that I had not heard him approach. He was a short, pudgy gentleman with huge, thick glasses and wild hair. His pants were hitched up over his belly button and kept there with a giant pair of suspenders. If I were to guess I would have to say that he was in his sixties.

"One of the ways that they stay off the radar. Abduct some poor folks, and keep them locked in a pen, like cattle. Rotate through, feeding just enough to keep them alive. They don't need to take as many victims that way. Keeps them from drawing the attention of Hunters. Saddest part of all is that even if a victim has only been bitten once, even if it was years and years before, when they die, they will return as a vampire themselves. That's the real reason we embalm people nowadays. Keeps them from coming back. Even though this poor girl survived, she has to deal with that knowledge the rest of her life."

"Dr. Nelson!" Julie exclaimed. She hugged the man. He grunted as she almost lifted him off of his feet.

"Ah… little Julie. You have grown so much. My gosh, let me have a look at you." He studied her for a moment at arms' length. "My dear, you look just like your mother. Susan was a beautiful woman too."

I swear that Julie the fearless Monster Hunter blushed. "Thanks, Doc. I'm told that a lot. Everybody loved Mom."

"Yes, we did. She was a shining light to all of us knuckle-dragging hooligans. She kept us in line, kept me and Joan alive on more than one occasion as well. How is your grandfather? Still a cantankerous old bastard I hope? Is he well?"

"Of course, on the cantankerous part. Health wise? He's getting older, but he's tough."

"Good, good. And Earl? Staying out of trouble? He needs to call more often to check in. I would love to write a paper about his condition if he would just sit on my couch long enough for an interview."

"Earl is good. I'll tell him to call…" She changed the subject. "This is Owen Pitt. One of our newest Hunters."

The doctor shook my hand. His grip was strong for an old man. His grin was infectious.

"Nice to meet you." He pumped my arm vigorously. "Considerable facial scaring. Claws, yes?"

"Werewolf," I said, self-consciously touching my face. "I pushed him out of a tall building."

"You must be the lad from Dallas then. Good show on that one. I knew as soon as I saw the report that you would become a Hunter, though I would not have minded having you here for my research-werewolf encounter, survivor's guilt, and a near-death experience, all in one patient. My, but that would make a splendid paper. Perhaps if you have the time you could give me a blow-by-blow account, maybe tell me about any psychosomatic problems you have faced since, obviously not lack of appetite. Ha!" He punched me lightly in the stomach. "Perhaps bad dreams or sexual dysfunction then?"

Julie snickered at my discomfort. Luckily I was spared any further quizzing by the arrival of the other Doctor Nelson. She was a small, thin, birdlike woman. She was probably about the same age as her husband, but the main thing that they had in common was the enormously thick glasses. She also hugged Julie, but before they could even converse, Doctor Joan called the group of patients over.

"Look, everybody. These two people are from Monster Hunter International. They are real live Monster Hunters." I waved sheepishly. Some of the patients oohed and aahed. Others held back, and sullenly smoked cigarettes.

"You are so brave."

"Hunters saved my life."

"You were my savior."

"Thank you."

Probing hands grabbed at me. I was hugged and kissed on the cheeks, and tears fell onto my clothing. I was stunned by the outpouring of emotion, and mostly tried to keep my hands on my concealed weapons. I did not want to find out if any of the patients were feeling suicidal or homicidal. Finally the crowd drew back, leaving Julie and me disheveled and tear-stained. It was a strange experience to be thanked by total strangers for things which I had never done.

"Where were you people when my kids were getting torn apart?" one of the patients snarled. He was a middle-aged man who did not look comfortable in casual clothing.

"Now now, Barney. The Hunters are only human. They can't be everywhere. They can only do their best. We can all learn from that example." The female Doctor Nelson clapped her hands. "Okay, everyone, the sharing circle is done for today. It's lunchtime. Today we are having meatloaf."

"Bah." The man named Barney spit on the ground in my general direction and stormed away. The group dispersed.

"What's his problem?" I asked.

"He must not like meatloaf," Lucius Nelson answered.

The interior of the asylum was much warmer and friendlier than the gothic exterior. The Nelsons had remodeled the building until it looked less like a state-run ward, and more like a comfortable and relaxing place to live. The walls were painted warm colors, and the staff was courteous and friendly. Julie had gone with Doctor Joan to see her father. She had understandably not wanted my company for the painful meeting. If we were needed, Doctor Lucius had his beeper.

I was getting the tour. "Those patients you met are some of the more well-adjusted people we have staying here. Most of them are on the verge of really dealing with their issues. Hopefully some of them will be able to return to the world soon. We also, I'm afraid, have others who are not doing so well. This common area is made up of people who are no longer really a danger to themselves or others. The other sections have greater security."

"Which one is Ray Shackleford in?"

"Maximum security. He is actually a ward of the state, and only released into our custody because of the nature of our facility. We are required to keep him locked up and guarded."

"Is Julie going to be safe?" I could not help but ask.

"I saw that girl beat an Indonesian blood fiend into submission when she was sixteen years old. I'm not worried. But just in case, Ray has been restrained. I would have administered drugs, but I'm guessing that you want him lucid." He adjusted his suspenders. "I wish that MHI would have called and warned us you were coming."

"It was kind of a surprise decision." I shrugged. Some of the patients were playing Ping-Pong. One of them had scars that made my own look miniscule.

"Well, I'm glad that Julie is finally speaking with her father. I just hope that she has prepared herself for this. It could be potentially traumatic." He chuckled softly. "That is why my wife went with her instead of me. She is the loving one."

He pointed at other patients as we continued walking. "Part of the problem we face here is the whole government-mandated secrecy about monsters. Many of our patients were put into regular mental health facilities after their encounters, before we were able to find out about them and bring them here. Unfortunately, when a severely traumatized individual is taken in for treatment, and they are already struggling with the reality of what they have experienced, regular doctors are not much help. Can you imagine going to a normal psychologist and explaining that your boss turned into a werewolf and tried to eat you?" He did not wait for me to answer. "They would think that you were delusional and they would pump you full of drugs. You know what you saw. They don't think that is possible, so after a while the sane and healthy patient begins to doubt their own memories, that leads to insecurity and that snowballs into all sorts of mental problems. If you can't trust your own memory, what can you trust?"

"I got security camera video," I replied.

"Ha. Like most of these poor people get to see anything like that. Damn quacks can ignore piles of evidence, because they are sure that monsters are only figments of our subconscious. I've read huge textbooks explaining how the werewolf and vampire legends, that date back to the dawn of recorded civilization and span every single culture on the planet, are neatly explained by mass hysteria, religious fervor, vain attempts at understanding natural pathological psychoses, or even hallucinations caused by ergot in bad rye bread. Ha. Joan and I were staking vampires while we were still in medschool, so our methods are a little unorthodox in the scientific community. Learn this, Mr. Pitt, there are three kinds of people in the world: people who can't believe in anything, suckers who believe in everything, and a few of us who can face the truth."

We stopped in front of a large security door. A hulking orderly nodded at us, and Doctor Nelson scanned his badge to get us through. We entered a long corridor, lined with steel doors with small window slits. Screaming, crying and gibbering nonsense echoed through the hall. It gave me shivers.

"This ward is for people who have had serious monster trauma and are not coping with it well. They are suicidal, violent, or unable to distinguish reality from fantasy." We stopped before a door. I peered through the slit. A man was sitting cross-legged in the corner. He was wearing a straitjacket, and he was softly beating his head against the padded wall. He was humming "Mary Had a Little Lamb" over and over again. Drool was running down his chin, and forming a puddle on the floor.

"Believe it or not, Carlos here was a Monster Hunter. He worked for MHI up until about fifteen years ago. He was one of our team leads in New England. Brilliant man, great Hunter, good leader."

"What happened?" I asked softly. Carlos cocked his head to the side as if listening to something very far away. After a few seconds he went back to humming.

"Have you ever read any H.P. Lovecraft, Mr. Pitt?"

"Please, just call me Owen. I read a little bit when I was a kid, why?" I did not say that his stories had given me nightmares.

"Lovecraft was no Hunter, but he heard the stories, and he did his research. He had a pretty good idea of what was out there. If you remember, a common theme in his work was the protagonist's gradual descent into madness over a period of being exposed to the darkness of the other side. There are things out there which man is not meant to ever see or understand. Poor Carlos here is a perfect example."

"What did he see?"

"Nobody knows. His whole team went missing, and he was found wandering in the countryside, naked and confused. Just keep that in mind as you continue your career, Owen. There are some things that are best just left alone."

We exited the ward, leaving Carlos and the others to their songs.

Lunch was filling, and the meatloaf was surprisingly edible, considering it was mass-produced in an insane asylum's cafeteria. Doctor Joan called at one point to tell us that Ray was finally speaking a little bit to his daughter. I overheard part of the conversation. He was coherent, but the Shackleford family reunion was not exactly a joyous occasion.

After we ate, the tour continued, terminating on the back lawns of the Appleton Asylum overlooking the sluggish Alabama River. A high fence ensured that none of the patients decided to take a swim. It had rained briefly, and this time it was enough to break the humidity and lower the temperature to an almost comfortable degree.

As we walked along the lawns, many other patients came up to speak with me. Some wanted to touch my hands, or give me hugs. Many of them thanked me for what I did with heartfelt emotion. I was not used to such attentions.

"They are trying to give their thanks. Of course, I find out about many of my patients from your organization. Many of them would not be alive if it weren't for MHI or your competitors," the good doctor explained. "They see people like you as saviors, as heroes, as champions."

"I'm no hero," I replied. "I'm not even particularly brave."

"It doesn't matter. Everybody needs something to believe in. So for those who have been hurt by evil, they need to have champions of good to offset that in their minds. For the victims, they see people like you as Batman or the Lone Ranger. It keeps their worlds in balance. Mankind needs our heroes."

"I'm not sure exactly what I am, but I'm nobody's champion."

"Don't be so sure. I've been around Hunters longer than you have been alive. It is a job that requires bravery to the point of insanity. Everyone has their own reasons. Some of us are just in this for the money, others are in it for the thrill, others because they need a place to vent their violence in a manner that is not only legal but encouraged. Some do it out of a thirst for revenge. Some, like Julie I'm afraid, do it because it is the only world they know or really fit into. And then there are the few, the very, very few, who do it because they really are heroes, and they don't have it in them to be anything else."

I thought of Trip when he said that. My friend was in this for the right reasons. He just wanted to do good and help people. Guys like him were the heroes. I was just an accountant with a gun.

"So why are you doing this, Owen?"

"You going to psychoanalyze me now, Doc?"

He laughed. "I'm just a curious man by nature."

"Honestly, I don't know. I'm still not sure this is right for me."

"Why?"

I scratched my head. "Well…" He was a shrink after all. "Growing up, my father had this weird apocalyptic idea about the future, and he wanted me to be ready for it. So he pushed me into being something that I didn't really think I wanted to be. Then when I got older, I felt like I let him down, so I did something really stupid, lost my temper, and almost killed somebody who probably deserved it, but that's beside the point. So when I tried to distance myself from that kind of thing, and tried to be normal, I find myself involved in something even worse than before. Monsters are real, and it looks like maybe my father was right all along, and the future really is bleak, and I'm supposed to be a violent brute, and it's good that I'm good at killing things. But I still lost my temper and almost killed another Hunter, who once again, probably deserved it, but at least the sharks didn't eat him, so I'm still managing to screw stuff up. Now I'm having visions and hearing voices."

"Okay… I'm going to need to bump a few appointments from my calendar this afternoon to squeeze you in…"

"No time for that, since it looks like some super monster is trying to destroy time, and somehow I'm tagged by fate or the universe or something to fight him. But when this is over, if I live, I really need to figure out, do I really want to do this kind of thing? Or is it better to just forget this ever happened, and go back to my normal life?"

Doctor Nelson digested my ramblings for a few moments while we strolled along the walk. "Ehhh…" He shrugged. "Normal people are lame. Stick with monster hunting."

We stopped as another patient came up to shake my hand.

"Thank you for what you do," he stated vacantly. "The screaming killer frogs done ate my whole family. But y'all came and saved the rest of the town. Thank you. Thank you."

"You're welcome," I said. I did not have the heart to tell him that I did not even know what a screaming killer frog was. "Our pleasure. You just get some rest and get to feeling better. Okay?"

He thanked me a few more times before letting go of my hand. He had some more information to share. "There are some killer frogs flying around. Big ones. These ones are shaped like men. But bigger. And they have wings and horns, so I reckon they ain't really frogs. But you know how that goes. I done saw them in the trees by the river, watching the place. If you get a chance, Mr. Hunter sir, you should probably go kill them or something."

"Thank you for the information, Travis. We will look into it." The doctor patted the young man on the shoulder and sent him on his way. We watched as he ambled off. "Poor boy. He has spent more than half of his life here and he is still delusional. That's too bad. He has not been seeing monsters for quite some time. I'm afraid he may be relapsing. I'm going to have to adjust his meds."

The doctor sat down tiredly when we came to the next bench. We had a good view of the forest, the river, and the back of the asylum. "It has been a long day. I need a little break, and then I'm going to have to return to my duties. And my door is always open, when you take care of your current monster problem. I'm afraid Joan and I don't get many visitors. I do realize that many people find this place kind of depressing."

"Just a little," I lied. I stretched my legs and studied the intricate architecture of the building. It was a remarkably depressing structure considering how much good the Nelsons were trying to accomplish. The building was hideously dark. The walls were thick blocky stone, with carved designs on the edges, and the look was completed by the pair of massive stone gargoyles that sat on the building's roof. "Maybe it's the setting? This place looks more like a haunted castle than an institution dedicated to helping people."

"That it does. But you should have seen it before we bought it from the state. Joan and I wanted to put our earnings from MHI to good use. This facility is perfect for what we do. Though I will agree, it does bring to mind The Hunchback of Notre Dame."

"Yeah, it looks like what insane asylums look like in horror movies. Sorry, mental health facilities," I said. "Heck, you even have gargoyles. Isn't that kind of a bad idea with patients who are scared out of their minds by monsters?"

He adjusted his absurdly thick glasses and studied the roof.

"Hmm… I may not need to change Travis's medication after all."

"Huh?"

"Our building doesn't have gargoyles."

We watched as one of the giant statues swiveled its horned head as if it was analyzing the air. The other creature slowly and ponderously stretched one of its wings.

"Oh shit," we said in unison.

Chapter 15

"Julie! We have gargoyles on the roof. At least two of them," I shouted into my cell phone as I sprinted around the property for the van and our stash of weapons. Doctor Nelson had left to sound the alarm to lock down the facility.

"How big are they?" she asked.

"Freaking huge. Probably ten or twelve feet tall. I think they're the big monsters from my dream." I leapt over a bench, surprising a patient who had been napping. "Get inside! Run!" I shouted at the patients as I went past. Just as I said that a horn began to blow. The alarm. "What do we do? I haven't learned about gargoyles yet."

"Grab big guns. Explosives. Gargoyles are stone golems. Animated creatures. If you have to engage with small arms, go for the joints-those are fluid. That's how they move. I'll call Earl." She hung up.

I made my way to the parking lot in an all-out sprint, fumbling in my pocket for my keys. I looked up in time to see a third gargoyle land on the front roof of the Appleton Asylum. The roof splintered and cracked as the creature settled its weight. Its wingspan had to be forty feet across, and it nearly blotted out the sun. There was a whooshing noise as the monster gently flapped its wings. It settled deeply into a powerful crouch, talons digging into the roof tiles. Massive arms dangled at its sides, ending in pointed claws. Long horns extended from its head, and continued down its back, terminating in a stubby tail. The beast was gray, and had the texture of poured concrete. It swiveled its head and studied me with blank stone eyes.

I crashed into the van, keys in hand. I picked out the correct one, but before I had a chance to insert it, the gargoyle spread its wings and leapt downwards, covering the four stories in an instant. There was no natural explanation for how such a big thing could glide. It landed on the roof of the van, crushing the center, shattering every window, and compressing the shocks. I jumped aside as the van rocked wildly. The gargoyle swung an absurdly long arm at me, and I barely had time to fall backwards as the claws dug long furrows into the asphalt.

Patients were screaming, falling to the ground and covering their heads, running or hiding, and a few were just standing there mumbling to themselves. I ran for the entrance, and seconds later heard the concrete stairs break behind me as the creature jumped from the roof of the van. Not looking back, I jerked open the double door and entered the asylum. It closed automatically behind me.

Doctor Lucius was there, pushing his way through the panicked crowd. He was breathing hard and his face was gray. The retired Hunter knew to fetch us some hardware, though. The doctor shoved a rifle into my hands, and then shakily lifted his own. They were old M1 Garand rifles from WWII. He handed me a few 8-round en-bloc clips that I dropped into my pants pocket.

"Armor piercing.30-06. That should get his attention. It's already loaded," he gasped, and then added, "I'm really far too old for this kind of thing." Patients and staff were moving around us in confusion. "Get out of the main hallways. Get to your rooms, or get to the basement!" he ordered.

I stuck my finger in the trigger guard to remove the safety. I pointed it at the door and waited. Nothing happened. The doctor continued to bellow orders over the screaming and hysterical crying. Since I had a moment, I took my electronic earplugs out of my shirt pocket and stuffed them into my ears. If I lived through this, at least I might keep some of my hearing. I quickly studied my surroundings. A large open room, some Ping-Pong tables and couches, there was no real cover to use in the common room. Nothing that a giant stone creature couldn't just bull its way through.

I interrupted the doctor's shouted orders. "You better get out of here. Get your people and go. I'll hold it as long as I can." I kept the old rifle pointed at the door. I did not know what the creature was waiting for.

"No way. This is my home. No monster pushes me around."

"Then we stick and move. Fall back when I tell you to."Had the creature taken back to the sky? Could I risk returning to the van for some bigger weapons? I caught the doctor nodding out of the corner of my eye. Good, the last thing I wanted was for him to stay here and get turned into paste. Then I heard the noise as stone talons clicked rapidly toward the entrance.

There was a tremendous crash as the gargoyle threw itself against the doorframe. Mortar rained from the wall under the impact as the wooden doors broke inward. The heavy wood flew, crumbling into splinters. A horned head appeared through the cloud of dust. The creature tried to crawl through the entrance, but its shoulders were too large. The doctor and I opened fire.

I fired my eight shots in a few seconds, the empty clip ejected with a metallic ping. Dust rose from the gargoyle as the bullets struck. The impacts made small craters in the stone, but the creature was seemingly unfazed. It pulled its massive bulk back, and crashed into the frame again, dislodging several heavy stones and knocking them to the floor.

"Fall back, Doctor!" I shouted as I reached into my pocket and pulled out an en-bloc clip. I thumbed it into the open action, narrowly avoiding getting my thumb pinched as the bolt flew forward. The doctor obliged and I lost track of him as he retreated toward a side hallway. I took careful aim at the creature, trying to find a joint. The monster's giant stone face opened, showing a throatless mouth filled with huge blunted teeth. It was a roar, but no sound issued forth. The gargoyle drew back for another run, crashed into the stones, and then backed up to come again. A few more tries and it would be inside. I placed the front sight carefully on the gargoyle's massive neck and fired. The bullet struck high and ricocheted off. I adjusted my aim and shot it again. This time there was a flash of molten liquid as the.30 caliber round punched into softer material. The thing reeled back. It had felt that one. I shot it in the armpit when it tried to cover its throat, and was rewarded with another splash. The monster flinched as if in pain, and leapt straight into the air and out of my view. I could hear the powerful beating of wings as it soared upwards.

"Doctor Nelson! Are you okay?" Nobody answered. I heard whimpering and crazed babbling from some of the patients who were too confused or paralyzed with fear to run. "Anybody seen the doctor?" I shouted again.

"He's over here. I think he's hurt," someone called.

Doctor Lucius had made it a few yards down the hallway before he had fallen. He was clutching his chest and his face was contorted in a grimace. A female patient was cradling his head and an orderly was trying to help him.

"He-he-heart…" the doctor said. Sweat was rolling off of his forehead and he had lost his glasses.

"Aw hell." For all I knew the gargoyle could be coming back any second. "Get him out of here. Drag him if you have to. Find a doctor or a nurse or something." The orderly and the patient complied.

There was a loud crash from above, and dust fell from the ceiling. Julie! I sprinted back into the common room and up the stairs. I barely reached the second floor when the entryway exploded in a cloud of stone, wood and debris. Pieces of furniture were hurled clear to the second-floor balcony.

The gargoyle had not retreated at all. Rather, it had taken to the air to build momentum. The thing rolled crazily through the foyer, turning furniture into kindling. I had no idea if all of the patients had evacuated or not, though I doubted it, and I had no time to find out. The unnatural creature stood on its crooked hind legs, and somehow I knew it was searching for me. Its wings unfurled outwards, filling the big room and shattering many of the barred windows.

The Garand barked as I fired down on the beast. The gargoyle folded one huge wing over its body like a shield, and the bullets shattered against it. The empty en-bloc clip automatically ejected, and I reached for a new one as I resumed running.

The center of the Appleton Asylum was one large room, with stairs that circled clear to the top. I knew from my conversation with Doctor Lucius that the maximum-security ward was on the top floor. I pushed myself as fast as I could go, fervently wishing that I had spent more time on the company Stairmaster. Unable to spread its mighty wings inside the confines of the asylum, the gargoyle clambered up the stairs after me. It crawled rather than walked, long arms extended. The stairs and support boards cracked as each stone claw came crashing down.

So far, the creature appeared to be ignoring the patients and concentrating on me. I did not know if the gargoyle was targeting me because it somehow knew I was a Hunter, or because I had the nerve to shoot it, or because it recognized me from my dream.

The gargoyle paused as something struck it from behind. It swiveled at the base of the stairs. A patient was standing defiant, holding Doctor Nelson's rifle. It was the man who had not liked Hunters. I believe his name was Barney. He held the rifle at his waist, pointing it in the general direction of the monster.

"I hid from you demons last time while you ate my kids. But not this time! Die you son of a bitch!" Blam! He jerked the trigger. The first shot fragmented off of the monster's wide chest. The next shot impacted the wall four inches from my head. The patient laughed in glee. "I'm free. I'm finally free!" He shot the creature in the foot.

"Barney! Run! Get out of there!" I shot the gargoyle in the back, but the armored wings covered all of the vulnerable joints.

The creature absently flicked one long arm, talons spread wide. Barney exploded in a red haze. His lifeless torso bounced off the wall, leaving a huge stain of blood and entrails on the bright paint. He slid to the ground, almost cut in two. Having dealt with the annoyance, the monster turned and regarded me with lifeless eyes. I ran.

Third floor. The gargoyle was directly under me and gaining fast. It was cumbersome, but it was impossibly large and covered a lot of stairs with each lunge. I leaned dangerously far over the edge and fired at it. The creature barely slowed as most of the bullets bounced harmlessly off of its stone body. I was going to need a bigger gun if I wanted to do anything other than just piss it off.

"Owen! Up here, quick!" Julie shouted from the fourth-floor balcony. She had her pistol in one hand and was guiding a strait-jacketed man with the other. Doctor Joan was behind them, aghast at the destruction being visited upon her facility. I clambered up the stairs toward them. I heard Julie order the doctor to take her father, and then gunfire broke out as she tried to slow the climbing gargoyle.

"Down that hall." Julie gestured with her head as I reached her position. She was inserting a new magazine into her 1911. She dropped the slide. "Elevator. Hurry." My pursuer was about to reach the fourth floor. More noise rang out from the opposite corridor as another gargoyle tore its way through the building's walls.

I ran a few yards down the hall, gunshots banging away behind me as Julie tried in vain to slow the monster. I took up position, and waited for her to leapfrog past. She fired until her pistol was empty, and then turned and sprinted past me. At least three thousand pounds of unnaturally animated, living-stone destruction and pure evil came bearing at me, blank eyes wide, stone mouth gaping. I slowed it down as I placed bullets into its knees and elbows, splashing molten rock onto the walls, which immediately began to smoke and smolder under the superheated fluid.

The monster stumbled, limbs temporarily buckling, and face planted into the balcony floor. The sudden blow brutally shook the fourth-floor balcony. The old wood structure tore away from its supports with a dust cloud and a screech of bending nails and breaking boards, spilling the gargoyle over the edge. It clawed at the ledge, but the thing was far too heavy, and its talons pulled through the building materials. It fell silently, lacking the room to spread its huge wings, and a second later I was rewarded with a massive echoing crash as the gargoyle smashed through the floor tiles and into the basement.

"So long, sucker!" I shouted as I ran for the elevator. There was still another gargoyle on this floor. I could hear it breaking its way through the narrow halls to reach us, and there had been a third one on the roof that could be anywhere by now.

The ceiling exploded. A porous rock claw grasped at my head. I dodged under it and dived into the waiting elevator. Doctor Joan stabbed at the buttons frantically as Julie fired on the monster's arm. We had found our third gargoyle.

"Going down?" I asked as I rolled over and patted my pockets searching for another en-bloc clip. I was out.

"You got a better idea?" Julie asked. It was taking the doors forever to close. The nearest gargoyle was battering its way in from the roof; tiles and wood splinters rained down as it applied its bulk and fury against the feeble barrier. We only had seconds.

Gradually the door closed. Pulleys whirred as the elevator started down.

"What happens if it comes after us while we're still stuck in here?" I asked absently as I pulled myself to my feet and drew my pistol from inside my waistband.

"Have you ever stepped on a ketchup packet?" Julie asked rhetorically. "Kind of like that, but a whole lot nastier." She kept her 1911 pointed at the roof of the elevator car. Not that that would do us an iota of good if the gargoyle made it into the shaft. Dropping several thousand pounds of animated stone onto the car would probably kill us all instantly. It was a tense moment. I thought about telling the doctor about her husband's apparent heart attack, but I refrained. It wasn't like she didn't have enough other problems to worry about right then. Soothing instrumentals played over the elevator's sound system.

"Kenny G?" I asked, also keeping my CZ.45 pointed upwards in a futile gesture.

"John Tesh," answered Doctor Joan. Great. Not exactly the music I would have chosen as the soundtrack for my death. I had been hoping for something a little more dramatic. And with drums. It had to have drums. The elevator continued down. Crashing noises echoed down the shaft.

The third floor gradually passed. "Why aren't we stopping?"

"The door is stuck on that floor. We were going to have it fixed," the doctor explained patiently. "Really, we were meaning to get around to it."Wonderful. Our getaway vehicle was the slowest elevator in the world. We all jerked upwards in surprise as small bits of debris began to rain on our metallic roof. I did not think we were going to make it.

Ray Shackleford sat on the floor, staring blankly off into space. He was a surprisingly big man. In his prime he must have been nearly as muscular as I was. His nose was hooked, and had been broken many times. His hair was prematurely gray, long and unkempt. His face reminded me of the senior Shackleford, and vaguely of Earl Harbinger. Julie must have taken after her mother. Thank goodness.

"Since we're about to die together, my name's Owen. Nice to meet you," I told him.

He regarded me sullenly for a moment before responding. "And I'm Napoleon Bonaparte. Nice to meet you… Chill out kid, just kidding. I'm not that kind of crazy. Julie, please tell me this moose isn't your boyfriend."

Julie kept her eye on the ceiling. "No, Dad."

"Good. Damn, he's ugly. Now will somebody get me out of these restraints? I can help here."

"Not a good idea," Doctor Joan stated.

"Joan, you old biddy. I'm not gonna wring your neck. You and Lucius have been right kind. But I can help, damn it." Something heavy rebounded off the top of the car, shaking all of us, causing the lights to flicker and the easy listening music to stop. Finally. I shot two quick rounds through the roof. The sound from the silver.45 slugs inside the narrow confines was brutal. I was glad that I had put my plugs in.

"Hold your fire! That was just the doors coming down. Cut him loose, Doc. Get ready to bail," Julie ordered. The doctor moved to unlock Ray's restraints. The digital display stopped at 2. A chime sounded. I knew that at any second, several thousand pounds of gargoyle were going to land on us. The doors gradually began to slide back, not fast enough. I wedged my body between them and forced them to open faster.

"Go!" We spilled into the hallway. A horrible screech of metal on stone came from the shaft as one of the gargoyles finally forced itself into the narrow passage. The elevator car was crushed as the massive creature smashed into it. The car and the monster disappeared down the shaft, hurtling toward impact in the asylum's basement. Dust billowed up as car and monster collided with the concrete floor.

"They're after my dad," Julie said as she glanced down the now-open shaft. The dangling cable jerked wildly. "Crap. Monster's already starting to climb. Wish I had a satchel charge."

"I think one of them is after me," I said. "They seem to be ignoring everybody else who isn't shooting at them. If we can get out of here they'll probably follow. The van got stepped on, but it should still be driveable."

"Let's go." Julie quickly led us to the main room balcony. The stairs curved down to the common area and our escape. There was a huge hole in the floor from where the first gargoyle had crashed from the fourth-floor balcony. "Clear," she said after a quick scan revealed no giant monsters. If the sound coming from behind us was any indication, the elevator gargoyle was almost free.

We ran down the stairs, jumping carelessly over wreckage. Doctor Joan gasped when she saw her dead patient, Barney, nearly cut in two. But she was a former Monster Hunter, and she did not shake easily. I stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"You need to tend to your husband. He's down that hall."

"What do you mean?" Her eyes widened and her head bobbed as she swallowed in surprise. "What happened to Lucius?"

"I think it's his heart."

"But, but…" she stammered. Her eyes blinked in confusion. She was wearing bright blue eye shadow. "Not Lucius."

"You'd best go." She nodded and ran in the direction I was pointing. She was fast for an older lady. I sure hoped that her husband was okay, and I also hoped that this worked and these damned evil things followed us out of here and away from all of the defenseless patients.

I ran around the edge of the massive hole in the floor. Wild sparks flew from severed electrical cables and water poured from busted pipes. I saw a slippered foot sticking out from under some wreckage. Not all of the patients had run after all. Damn. Julie was at the smashed doorway, with her father standing right behind her. He was breathing heavily, not used to the physical exertion.

"I don't see any of them. Let's head for the van."

"I'll drive," Ray offered.

"Oh, hell no," she responded.

I felt it before I heard it, a deep rumble as a stone body rubbed on walls. A claw, as big across as my torso, crawled up over the edge of the hole. The monster pulled against the floor, trying to heave itself up and at us. A second gargoyle appeared above us on the ragged edge of the destroyed balcony. The elevator shaft gargoyle smashed its horned head through the wall on the second floor. Three pairs of blank eyes fixated on our position.

"We got company," I said. All three creatures exploded forward at once.

We reached the van in record time. Ray tripped on the broken stairs, and almost fell. I caught him by his arm and pulled him along. Julie headed for the driver's seat. I had lost my keys, so I reached through the already shattered window and unlocked the passenger side door. I hurled Ray in headfirst, and I squished myself in beside him. Between our twin bulks, I was not even able to close the door.

Julie turned it over. The powerful V8 caught with a roar. She slammed it into reverse and stepped on the gas. The nearest creature leapt off of the stairs and lumbered at us on its squat legs. I pushed Ray out of the way as I fired my pistol out the front window. The van whipped around in a squeal of rubber.

My neck snapped back painfully as the rear end smashed into a parked Lexus with an MHI Alumni bumper sticker. Julie put the big vehicle into drive and floored it. The van roared past the nearest gargoyle. It swung a claw at us and with a screech of metal and sparks the creature tore the sliding door completely off the side of the van. Julie swerved around the next monster as its talons ripped a huge gash through the sheet metal on the driver's side.

We escaped in a spray of gravel. Ray flopped into the back seat. I pulled the door closed. In the rearview mirror the gargoyles spread their huge wings and with powerful legs launched themselves into the sky.

"They're airborne," I warned.

"I bet they can't do a hundred," Julie replied. The van tore down the Appleton Asylum lane at reckless and dangerous speeds. She continued to accelerate as we approached the gate.

It was a very heavy-looking gate.

"Julie. Gate. Gate!" I pointed. Wind rushed through the broken windshield.

"I know. Buckle up. This is going to hurt."

"Honey, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Shut up, Dad."

I quickly fumbled around for my seat belt, snagged it on my holster for a panic-filled moment, and then got it buckled. The gate approached far too quickly. I closed my eyes and braced for impact. Crash. Our front end crumpled. The van shuddered, but our momentum tore the heavy gate from its rusted hinges. Julie turned hard to the side and we slid onto the open road.

"That was awesome," was all that I could think to say.

"Yeah, that was cool," Julie said as she picked her glasses out of her lap and put them back on. "I don't see them. Are they following… ack!" She struggled against the wheel as something huge collided with our roof.

I turned in time to see a stone talon pierce the sheet metal over the rear of the van. More claws appeared as the creature wedged its way in and began to peel our van open like a ripe banana. I tried to get up, realized I was still strapped in, and then hit the button to set myself free. I fell into the back seat beside Ray and groped on the floor through the various gun cases. The van shook wildly as the gargoyle's weight shifted. I found the case I was looking for and unzipped it. I lifted the heavy weapon, inserted one of the huge magazines into the gun's side and worked the heavy bolt. It was so long that it was difficult to turn the gun from the horizontal to point toward the back of the van in the tiny space available.

"Cover your ears!" I shouted. Ray obliged. Julie was driving and I just hoped that she had put her plugs in, otherwise the blast from the Coke-can-sized muzzle brake on the end of the.50 BMG was probably going to blow her drums out.

The Ultramag 50 was equipped with a 10X scope for precision fire at extended ranges. It had not been designed to be used inside the confines of a moving vehicle. I stuck the butt stock under my armpit and pointed the muzzle in the direction of the gargoyle. At this range the barrel was halfway there.

BOOOOM!

If the windows had not already been shattered, I had no doubt that the concussion of the 750 grain bullet would have done the job. The enormous slug impacted the monster at nearly 2,800 feet per second. Stone fragments imbedded themselves into the seats, hot fluid sprayed the interior of the van, and I yelped in pain as some splashed on my unprotected arm. The back seats caught on fire. The gargoyle flinched as the massive chunk was torn violently from its arm. It did not, however, let go.

"Get off my van!" I had four more where that came from. I worked the heavy bolt, ejecting the smoking brass case and shoving another huge armor-piercing round into the chamber. I elevated the muzzle slightly and fired again. The gargoyle fell from the van as the second bullet pulverized its face. It pulled the rear doors clean off of their hinges. Monster and metal fell, clanking and clattering down the asphalt, pieces flying everywhere. We kept accelerating.

"Damn! That was loud!" Ray exclaimed.

"Julie, are you okay?" I shouted.

"Fine. Hang on." She pumped the brakes, and somehow managed to keep the van on the road as we careened around a corner. The van was not a sports car, but it did manage to stay on all four tires. She accelerated out of the turn. "If I can build up speed I can lose them, but the roads are too curvy. If I push it we'll end up in the trees."

"Is there a straightaway around here somewhere?"

"Son, you're in rural Alabama. Just how many straight roads do you think you're gonna find?" Ray asked rhetorically.

I swore, climbed over the center seat, and positioned myself in the back cargo space. I scanned the skies through our new gargoyle-supplied sunroof.

"I don't see them," I shouted over the roar of the wind. I held on as Julie slalomed our boxlike van around another bend. "Ray, pass me that OD green case. The stubby one," I ordered. If we couldn't outrun them, we would outfight them. I spotted a huge black spot in the clear sky, heading right for us.

There had to be some sort of explanation for how the creatures were able to fly so fast. They were huge. They were heavy. But they flew like birds. When this one folded its wings and dived, it came out of the sun like a Stuka dive bomber. I yelled a warning as I planted the rifle against my shoulder. The.50 weighed thirty-two pounds, most of that towards the muzzle. It was designed to be fired from a prone position with a bipod. I was about to use it while kneeling in the back of a wildly moving vehicle. Not the best recipe for success.

Julie shouted something, and I was flung against the wall. I lost my balance and almost fell out the open rear of the van. Pavement rushed by, painted lines and a trail of fluid leaking from our damaged radiator, all a foot under my face. I scrambled to grab onto something. An air horn blew in protest as Julie swung us beside a loaded logging truck. We were in thick forest on a curving hillside road. This was not a good place to be stuck trying to pass somebody. If another truck came around the bend, we were going to be road pizza.

I pulled the heavy weapon up, searching for the diving gargoyle. I spotted it above us, losing altitude quickly. I snapped the rifle to my shoulder, struggling to find the creature in the narrow field of view of the scope. One of the world's most powerful sniper rifles had never been meant to be used like a skeet gun. I shot. Missed. Worked the bolt. Shot. Missed. The recoil pounded me each time, but I did not have time to notice. Last shot. The creature was larger now, looming above the logging truck and heading our way. It spread its wings to control its descent, aimed directly at us. It flashed black through the scope, I raised the muzzle and let the heavy weight bring it down. I fired as something darker than sky filled the lens.

The.50 BMG did a real number on the gargoyle's wing. A hole appeared in the stone membrane, molten stone splashed as one wing dipped and the creature crashed onto the top of the logs. The heavy chains kept the load in place. It lashed out with its talons, sinking them deep into the wood, and anchoring itself to keep from falling. Blank eyes locked onto our van, and it immediately began to slink toward us.

I dropped the now-empty rifle to the floor, reached around to take the green soft case from Ray. He was one step ahead of me. He had removed Abomination and held it out for me to grab. The gargoyle was moving, ready to leap onto our van. Julie was trying to get away, but the truck was swerving in panic. We were in range of the gargoyle. I reached forward and pulled the heavy trigger on the under-slung grenade launcher. My aim was a little off. The 40mm shell struck under the gargoyle, but it was close enough. The explosion was more of a muted thump, turning green logs into kindling, and snapping heavy safety chains. The gargoyle fell back, hanging onto the load now by one talon.

The trucker laid on the horn, confused by our gunfire and whatever the hell was landing on his trailer. Julie had not been able to pass on the narrow, curvy road. The driver must have decided we were the threat, because the truck drifted into our path. Julie would have made a great NASCAR racer; she braked, dodged the trailer, then took us onto the shoulder and partway into the grass to avoid the oncoming tons of steel and wood. The van thumped and rattled over the ruts and potholes. An unfortunate armadillo blundered into our path and was sent on its way to armadillo nirvana.

Unfortunately our loss of speed put us right next to the gargoyle clinging to the trailer. It launched itself, smashing into our van with the force of a car wreck. I lost my balance and flopped about in the cargo area. Claws pierced through the side wall as the gargoyle latched on. I shouted for another grenade and Ray thumbed through the case. When he found one of the yellow painted shells he handed it over. I could not use the grenade against a target so close, and the shotgun shells would be virtually useless. The van swerved back onto the road behind the weaving trailer. Julie looked in the mirror, saw me loading the grenade and shouted something.

"What?" The grenade clicked into place. Farmland and forest flashed by. One stone arm came searching for us, tearing through the van like it was made of tinfoil, ripping through the still smoking center seat and sending foam bits into the rushing wind. Ray pushed himself as far away as he could without falling out the opening where our sliding door had been.

"Hang on!" She stepped on it, and we pulled behind the accelerating semi. She timed it perfectly, waiting for the end of the trailer to sweep past, red-flagged log ends only feet from her open windshield. The van pulled alongside the rear of the trailer, and Julie swerved toward it. She was going to attempt to scrape the gargoyle off. I pushed myself against the far wall as claws swept past. The arm was still stained with red. It was the gargoyle who had gotten poor crazy Barney. The van shook as Julie played bumper cars with the eighteen-wheeler.

Ray looked at me with wild eyes. "I taught her how to drive," he said.

Julie leaned on the wheel, forcing the gargoyle into the rear set of trailer tires. The van screamed in protest. Truck tires popped in a moving cloud of smoke and rubber. The giant claws were sucked away from my face as the gargoyle was pulled and partially crushed under the trailer. Much of our van was peeled away with it. We swerved from the trailer, back onto the shoulder, but then back again as our monster-side tires blew and sent us out of control. Somehow the gargoyle was still hanging on. Chains snapped and logs spilled onto the narrow road.

For an instant, time seemed to stand still as we tilted, then it sped forward as we rolled onto our side in a fury of sparks and tearing metal. I fell as down changed to sideways. Somehow I managed to hold onto the back seat for dear life, a torn opening gaping below me, hard pavement flashing by.

Luckily we only rolled onto our side and no further. The van gradually slowed as our remaining energy was spent against the pavement. The seat cushion tore in my grasp and I slipped from safety.

Crying out, I fell through the gap and onto the road. Rolling, pain, tearing, everything a wild flashing of movement, cracking myself against the pavement and leaving inches of skin behind. I slid and flopped to a wet stop.

I lay there in the road.

It hurt to think.

Excruciating agony. I looked at my hands. Blood. All down my arms, a bloody road rash. Bits of gravel were imbedded deep into my skin. I tried to sit up. I realized that my clothing hung in ragged tatters, torn away by the gripping pavement.

"Son of a bitch! Worthless fucking monster bastard asshole!" Blood splattered as I shook my fist in the air. I forced myself to stand. Grimacing against the road rash, I stumbled down the road. The van was thirty feet away, resting on its side. The logging truck disappeared around the bend, torn tires flopping madly. The driver was no doubt glad to be away from the crazy people who had been shooting at his load. A few huge logs lay splintered, blocking the way. A tranquil and cozy farmhouse stood a hundred yards to our side, behind a small pen full of goats. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. I had to reach the van. There was still one uninjured gargoyle somewhere and I was fresh out of big guns.

The van's wheels had stopped turning. The engine had died. There was an eerie silence punctuated only by ticking noises coming from the hot engine. A green pool of antifreeze was spreading. As I approached, my pain-fogged mind realized why the van had not kept rolling when we had flipped on our side.

The gargoyle was wedged underneath. Its massive bulk was partially crushed into gravel, silver liquid poured from its interior, steaming and smoking on the pavement. One of its arms was missing. The other ended in a jagged stump. Its lower half was trapped under the driver's side. It continued to stab at the roof with its stump, searching for Julie and Ray.

My hand flew to my holster, only to discover that at some point of my road-rash roll my CZ had been knocked loose and lost. I spotted the.50 lying in the road, scope shattered, scuffed and battered. It looked operable, but it was empty. I picked it up to use as a club. The gargoyle shoved its pointed stump through another spot in the roof directly over where Julie would have been buckled in. I heard a scream of pain come from the van. The stump came out.

The jagged end was splattered with blood.

The pain stopped. My anger focused like a laser beam.

"Hey!" I shouted, limping toward the wounded beast. Its gray eyes turned in my direction. "Yeah. I'm talking to you." It tried to move against me, but it had been hopelessly damaged by the truck. It did not matter. I was coming for it. I was not going to let it get the others.

I raised the heavy rifle over my head and charged. It swung its stump. I stepped out of the way as it crashed into the asphalt. I smashed the rifle into the stump, again and again. The butt stock broke off, so I shifted it in my hands and used the barrel like a bat. I pounded the stone arm until it quit trying to move, and then I stepped over the dusted remains and with a cry of rage swung at the monster's head. I struck it again and again. The barrel bent, and my hands bled as I swung at the unyielding rock, steel bar against stone face, over and over. Muscles straining, I continued to shout as smoking fluid spilled from the creature's broken face and splattered me with burning bits. "Die! Die! Die!" I raised the barrel and drove it forward like a pack bar. The creature twisted its powerful neck and I lost my weapon. I spotted something else that had spilled from the back of the van. I left the creature for a moment, retrieved the tire iron, and then went back to work. I hammered the creature as it twitched and thrashed.

Finally it quit moving. The molten stone that served as the creature's blood formed a smoking puddle, and then gradually solidified as it cooled. Cracks formed in the stone body. Perhaps it had never truly been alive, but it was certainly dead now.

"Can anybody hear me?" Gasping, shaking, I went to the front of the van and knelt before the shattered windshield. Julie was trapped on her side, and there was blood on her shirt. Far too much. "Are you okay?"

"I whacked my head. Then got stabbed." She gestured weakly at the hole the monster had just punched through the roof.

"How bad?" I asked frantically as I tried to gently pull her through the window.

"Hurts…" She had her hand pressed against the top of her shoulder. "I can still move."

I pulled her out and helped her sit. The entry wound appeared to be through the flesh above her collar bone, and into the muscles of her back. It was bleeding, but not very fast. I did not know squat about anatomy, and I had no idea how deep it had penetrated.

"Dad? Where's my dad?"

"I don't know. Just keep pressure on it." I kept scanning the sky. There was one gargoyle left somewhere.

"Find him, please."

"What about you?" I asked.

"I'm fine. I don't think it's that bad. Find him, Owen. Keep him safe…" Her eyes rolled back, and her head dipped forward. I caught her.

"Shit. Julie. Julie! Come on. It's going to be okay. Julie!" I shook her. She did not respond. Blood rolled out of her hair and down her cheek from her head wound. I rested her on the ground and went through the window for the first aid kit that was stored under the passenger seat. I tore a wider opening in her shirt. I pulled out a package of Quick Clot, ripped it open, and poured it into the hole in her shoulder. I stuffed a bandage over the top of that. It wasn't much, but it was the best that I could do at the time.

I felt the rush of air before I heard the beating of stone wings. The final monster did a pass overhead, slowly circling. Wings spread, it landed twenty yards away and perched on top of one of the many spilled logs. The huge wings folded and the creature put its long forearms down until its clawed fists rested on the ground. It began to crawl toward us. It was the size of a compact car. All I had was a tire iron.

I flung the tool at the creature. It ricocheted harmlessly away. I abandoned Julie; no matter how much I did not want to, I did not have much choice. I dived into the van, searching for a weapon-any weapon-but preferably a really big gun. Stone feet crunched as it made its way closer.

"Hello there, big fella. I think I'm the one you're after."Ray. Julie’s dad appeared out of nowhere. Looking a little worse from the accident, he limped calmly toward the monster. The gargoyle stopped, seemingly confused by having a human not run from it or shoot at it. "No reason to kill these others. You want me, you can have me."

The gargoyle turned away from the van, and started for Ray. He made no effort to evade the monster. He spread his arms and walked straight toward it.

"Come on. That's a good monster. Yeah, that's a good boy. Just kill me and get it over with."

But the gargoyle had not been dispatched to kill him. The Cursed One was looking for information. The monster reached out and grabbed him around the waist with one gnarled claw, easily lifting him into the air. The creature spread its massive wings, preparing to leap into the sky.

My hand landed on Abomination. Somehow the brutal, stubby shotgun/grenade launcher had not been tossed out of the vehicle. I hugged it against my bloody chest and crawled for the exit. There was no way I was going to be able to make it in time to save Ray, but I was going to try.

The monster crouched, building energy in its powerful legs, wings spread a full forty feet across the road. Ray was tucked easily under one arm. The man was not even struggling. Julie was still out. I pulled myself along, trying to think of something, anything, which I could do to stop the monster.

The gargoyle shook as the heavy bullet struck its head. The weight of the impact was enough to jar it. The boom followed a split second later as the sound caught up. I pulled myself out of the van, shotgun lifted ahead of me. I had no idea where the bullet had come from. The second mystery shot collided with the creature's upper arm, splattering liquid stone from a pierced joint. It spasmodically dropped Ray Shackleford to the pavement. Ray lay there, unmoving.

I flipped the selector to full-auto and dumped twenty shells of alternating slugs and buck into the monster as I charged it. The shot was mostly useless, except for the few pellets that struck joints. The slugs, however, carried quite a bit of energy, and disoriented the creature further. I snagged Ray by his arm, and dragged his limp form away from the monster. If I could get him far enough away, I could use my grenade. The mystery shooter fired a third shot, striking the monster in the neck. The gargoyle raised its hands to the injury as rock splashed forth.

I dragged Ray back by Julie and dropped him. I turned toward the monster and aimed Abomination, fingers seeking for the 40mm launcher's heavy trigger. I did not know for sure if we were safely out of the minimum safe range for the blast radius, but I did not have much choice. The gargoyle reared up, wings spreading in a roar. I pulled the trigger.

There was barely enough distance for the grenade to achieve the rotations necessary to disarm its safety mechanisms. The heavy shell impacted just under the gargoyle's chin. The thump of the explosion shook me and I was pelted with stone and bits of superhot liquid. The gargoyle fell backward in a cloud of dust and fragments. Its chest was ragged, blasted and scorched.

It shrugged off the impact and wobbled to its feet.

"Aw, crap."

It took two hesitant steps, weeping cracks spider-webbing across it, before it shattered like a dropped glass, stone clattering onto the pavement in a spreading pool of silver.

I knelt beside Julie. She was breathing, and the clotting agent and the bandage seemed to be working. Her pulse was decent, not great, but decent. Her head wound looked pretty ugly. Ray was mumbling something and waving at the air.

"Hey hey we're the Monkees, and we like to monkey around!" he sang. I resisted the urge to put my size 15 boot through his head.

"Are you folks okay?" a voice called. The man was older, and had a thick southern accent. He came walking tentatively from the nearby farm, an embroidered NRA hat on his head, and an enormous bolt action rifle in his hands. "What in the hell was that thing?"

"Gargoyle. Animated monster. Bad mother."

"Damn." He saw Julie, bloodstained and unconscious. "My wife called the cops and told them to send the paramedics. They're coming out of Camden, but they should be here right quick. Brother, you look like you need them your own self. You look like hell."

I looked down at my road-rashed arms. Blood was welling from several spots around embedded gravel and there were a few spots that appeared to be totally devoid of skin. It really stung. Thus far I was showing a bad tendency to get my ass kicked in this job.

"That was some good shooting back there," I told him. "You saved us. Thanks."

"Yup. I was in my living room when you crashed. I saw it right out my window. Saw the big monster thingy hanging on the side so I grabbed my big gun." He shook the heavy rifle. "Four-fifty-eight Winchester Magnum. And to think my wife told me, Carlyle, you don't need no damn expensive elephant gun. What're you going to do with an elephant gun? Harumph. Women… Showed her."

Amazingly enough my wallet was still in my pants. I thumbed through it until I found the business card with the little green smiley face with horns. I had not had the chance to get my own made up, so Harbinger's would have to do.

"Tell you what, Mr. Carlyle. If you ever get tired of farming and want to kill monsters for a living, give this guy a call. Tell him Owen Zastava Pitt sent you. I'm gonna pass out now." I wearily slumped down next to Julie, ignored Ray's babbling, and settled in to wait for the ambulance. I was unconscious in seconds.

Chapter 16

The Old Man was waiting for me on the steps of the bombed-out church. He was whittling away at a small block of wood with a tiny pocketknife. The world of the destroyed town was once again whole and complete. Battle damaged, but at least there were no gaps of nothingness. Snow crunched under my bare feet, yet it was not cold. In my dream, I was not in pain. I received a scowl and a firm finger-shaking as I approached.

"Boy. You not very good at this job. Werewolf scar you. Wight paralyze you. Fall off boat. Vampire beat you. Policeman beat you. Gargoyle chase you, and now you fall off car. Moving car at that. Maybe I think we should have picked some other person." He continued shaking his finger. He reminded me of my Czech immigrant grandfather-easily exasperated, and often having a hard time expressing it. "You can no seem to help. You are like, how you say… punching bag. You say, hey monster, here I am. Hit me in head."

"Look, I'm pretty tired of getting my ass kicked too. You want to pick somebody else to bug, feel free." I sat down beside him on the steps. I could not tell what he was carving. One thing was for sure, he did not appear to be very good at it.

"I need to get back. Julie needs me. I need to wake up."

"Sorry, Boy, not can do. You are hurt. Need time for body to rest. You must take time for other things now."

"I've got an idea then. How about some straightforward answers for a change?"

"Bah." He spit in the snow. "You want answers. I give you answers. I try to help you, Boy. Some thing I not can say, I can only show. Is hard to do, you know."

"Why did the Cursed One go after Julie's dad?"

He shrugged. "He is just like you. Always wants the straight answers. Just like you, even has the same questions."

"Where's the Place of Power and when's he going to use it?"

"See. What did say? Same questions. How am I supposed to know this thing?"

I picked up a rock and hurled it against some rubble. I was rewarded with a crash.

"Boy. You are mad, yes? Very angry?" I nodded. The Old Man paused in his carving for a moment and patted me gently on the arm. "You are mad because girl is hurt. Old doctor is hurt. And some of crazy people get smooshed by gargoyle, yes?"

I did not respond. After a moment he got tired of waiting for my answer.

"Hunters must learn, not can save everyone. Sometimes not can save own self even. Is just how it is…" He trailed off. "Bah! Enough talk. Time is short. You wake up soon. I try to show you more memories."

"Not anything recent, I hope," I said fearfully. My brief encounter with Lord Machado's mind had left me very uneasy about that idea. I did not want to risk that again, because I had a sneaky feeling that I might not wake up from it.

"No. Is old memory again. Much safer. He probably not know about this. I not strong enough to try new memory. Too dangerous. Put worms in your head. Eat your brain out."

I did not dare ask for an explanation of whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

"Listen, Boy, hard to explain. This Cursed One, I not can show you things that are in his mind now, for he will know. But these other things, they are long ago in his past. Buried like body in ground. He not pay attention to them now anymore. So we sneak in for look, he not know. You shut up and learn."

"How can you do that?"

He scowled as he searched for the words. "I stuck here, because of stupid artifact. Because of Cursed One, I not can move on. Trapped for long time. Cursed One forgot about me. But he-how you say?

underestimates things I do to try stop him. I sneak chance to talk to you, to help. He not expect that. Now shush. See what you have done with questions? Waste much time."

He set aside his carving, folded his knife, carefully put it away, and placed his hands on my face.

"Let's do this thing," I said, with more courage than I actually felt.

The blasted town faded away.

Lord Machado's memories. I settled into them like an actor taking on a role. I was immersed into the senses of a man who had long since ceased to be a man. The memories were hazy, fragmented, but the important things had engraved themselves deep into the Cursed One's mind.

The priestess Koriniha led me deep beneath the pyramid. I followed, hoping to find answers to my questions. My reign over the city was a success thus far. Treasure filled my coffers, and my small army was training a much larger army of local conscripts. She had been good to her word: the city did not just abide me as a conqueror with an iron fist. They were treating me like their true king, and perhaps, dare I say… their god. I could grow used to being worshipped.

She had told me of her dark and secret knowledge. The priestess' offer had been intriguing. Eternal life and strength. An immortal army under my command. Powers so great, that not only could I control this new land, but I could return to my old, and take upon me the very birthright that was taken from me. If the words of Koriniha were even partially true, I could return home and take the very crown, and the crown of any kingdom I desired.

I desired all of them.

King Manuel the Great? I would show him who the great one really was. Philip and his blasted Spaniards would be next. After that, why not all of Europe, forcefully united under my banner. If a fraction of the dark secrets the priestess had whispered to me were true, then all of that would be a simple task to accomplish. And from the signs that she had shown me, I believed her to be telling the truth.

I followed her farther into the darkness. The priestess' hips swayed beneath her thin robes. She was a wanton creature, beautiful and cunning, wise in many arts unknown in my homeland. I had already taken her as my concubine, as was part of our initial agreement. It had been a very beneficial arrangement indeed. It had legitimized my rule over this people, and I enjoyed the benefits befitting a man of my station.

The torch in my hand flickered and spat as damp winds traveled down the tunnel. I had a brace of pistols in my belt, fresh matches stored in a wax-tight pouch, and the very ax that was the source of my family name slung over my back, yet somehow I still felt uneasy. There was darkness under this pyramid, not just darkness of the eyes, but a darkness of the soul.

Friar de Sousa had attempted to warn me away from the priestess and her strange cult. I had discovered him trying to send a messenger back to our ships on the coast. The note had been intercepted. The Jesuit had been worried that I was descending into madness and following a pagan religion, and especially damning, he wrote of the riches of the city and how I had thus far kept our expedition a secret from both the crown and the church. He had been a kindly man, wise and merciful, and his knowledge of languages had been a valuable tool of conquest. It had saddened me momentarily when I had ordered him burned at the stake. Of course to keep that fact from the men, I had blamed it on the locals and had had five hundred of their priests executed, supposedly in retribution. Appearances had to be kept up, after all.

Some of the men had been suspicious, but as long as I kept them supplied with riches, I was not worried about their loyalty. Sacks of gold would satisfy even the most pious amongst them. The crown's military governor had no knowledge of our expedition's location, so my troops were effectively sealed from the outside world. My secrets were my own to keep.

We walked for what seemed like hours, always down, always descending. The walls changed from stone and mortar into natural rock, and then finally into something else. Something that I had never seen before. Slick, soft and oily, almost pulsing with its own strange energy. Out of the corner of my eye it would sometimes seem as if the very walls were moving.

Finally we entered a huge space, deep in the bowels of the earth. I could not tell how big it was, but my meager torch could illuminate but a small portion. The floor was smooth and slick, and I had to be careful to maintain my footing. Water drizzled down from above, splashing upon my armor. The air was heavy, and did not taste like air that should be breathed into the lungs of men. It was salty, and the cavern smelled faintly of decaying fish.

Koriniha led me toward the center of the vast darkness. We walked for miles. I realized that if she had so desired, she could have run out of the circle of torchlight, and I might not have ever found my way out. A lesser man might have felt fear at that, but not I. The temperature dropped until I could see my breath. The floor became softer, and my boots left impressions in the oily surface. The priestess halted in front of the first landmark we had happened upon in the otherwise featureless room.

It was an obelisk of black metal, tall enough to disappear into the darkness above, yet so thin that I could not comprehend how it could stay upright. The object had been inscribed with strange writing. Not like the now-familiar picture writing of the civilization above, but something rather far more complex. The runes appeared to move under the flickering light of the torch. A small, unadorned stone box sat in a tiny alcove of the obelisk. It hurt my eyes to look directly at it, as if I had stared into the sun.

"What is this thing? Is this the key? Tell me now," I ordered.

She smiled at me wickedly, dark eyes flashing red in the torchlight. "Yes, Lord Machado. This is the key to unlock infinite power. The very power of the Old Ones themselves, and they have been waiting for one such as you."

"Such as I?"

She placed her delicate hands on my bearded cheeks and her eyes bore into mine. They seemed to flicker unnaturally in the light of the sputtering flames.

"Yes, my lord. The Old Ones left this device. It is ancient. Older than this world. It is an item of such power that it was never intended to be used by mortal man. It is a device intended for the service of what you know as angels or demons, and even then best left alone even by them. Yet every five hundred years, a man will be born, a mortal with the power to use this device and bend it to his will. You are this man, you are the one who has been prophesied by the Old Ones." As she spoke, I felt the air rush past as if something incomprehensibly huge had just taken a breath.

"Tell me this prophecy, woman."

She took her hands from my face and gestured at the obelisk. The runes changed, and were now written in the Latin letters I had learned as a youth.

He will come

Son of a great warrior

Taught in the skills of the world

Yet drawn to the sword

His very name taken from

The weapon of his fathers

Given a quest by the crown

To defeat an impossible foe

Possessor of visions

Ally of dark forces

Friend of monsters

Leader of men

Only he will have the will

And the power

Through his love of another

To break time and the world

The words resonated with me. I was the one meant for the power and the greatness. My family name came from the very ax now strapped to me, the very weapon used by my forefathers. My father had been a great general. As one of the younger sons, I had been sent away for an education, expected to manage the family fortune, yet I had failed, and become a soldier and eventually a commander. My task was to pacify this land for the crown and deliver its treasure unto my king and its inhabitants' souls to my mother church. I had visions of leading my host to glory. As for darkness, I had no doubt that my concubine and her cabal of heart-removing priests and their rivers of sacrificial blood would serve that purpose.

"So what does this mean? What must I do now?" I asked. The priestess did not answer. She reached into the alcove and removed the small rectangular box. She shouted something in her language, and the rush of air changed direction as if something massive had just exhaled. I held out my hand, and she placed the box gently in my palm. It was small, but unnaturally heavy. I shuddered as cold shivers pulsed down my arm. "What is this?"

"It is the key, my lord. Alone, it is an object of mighty strength, capable of great magic, but when you are prepared, I can take you to the proper place, a Place of Power. There you can utilize it to inflict your will upon the entire world. No one shall stand in your way. The world will be yours."

"Is that all?"

"There is but one last thing to fulfill the prophecy, my lord. You must do it through love of another. You are a lover of power, but not of people. You must do so to utilize the artifact. Love is a notion of the weak, yet through it great power can be unlocked. It is a tool to be used as needed."

"I have a wife and children in Lisboa, will that not suffice?" I did not have time for weak notions such as love or mercy. Not when there was plunder to be taken, and lands to be crushed. A wife of good blood was a political necessity and a way to produce heirs, nothing more.

"Perhaps not, my lord. But I will provide a way." The priestess untied the front of her robes and let them fall to the slick floor. "I can be your love. Together we can rule the world."

The damp wind picked up again, almost as if the cavern itself was filling unseen lungs, far greater in intensity this time. My torch was blown out, plunging us into darkness.

I was sitting on the steps of the church, once again in my own body, and seeing the world through my own eyes. Reliving the Cursed One's memories left me feeling unclean. The Old Man had gone back to his carving, gently flicking the blade of the knife over the small block of wood. Chips were falling onto his homespun pants. Even if the clear winter sky around me was a figment of my imagination, it was a far nicer place than the mysterious unnatural cavern.

"Why are you showing me these things?"

"So you understand. Is important."

"What is important? That Machado was an evil bastard when he was human, so bad that even the Aztecs or the Incas or whoever they were prophesied him coming, and that some mysterious Old Ones wanted to give him a magical whatchamacallit to blow up the world?"

"You not have name for that people. They are gone. World not know about them today. Is probably for best. But there is more, Boy. You must pay attention more."

"Pay attention to what more? He was about to score with the evil priestess chick. That was pretty hard to miss," I replied.

"Young people. Mind always in gutter. No, more important things to learn."

"How about you just tell me how to kill him?"

He shrugged. "I not know."

"Who are the Old Ones? The Elf Queen mentioned them also."

"Very bad. Very much bad. I not know. But they here long before us. Not supposed to be. But they are-how you say?-trespassers. They want nothing more than to kill world. They kill anything they not can have."

He used his coat sleeve to brush aside the snow on one of the steps, creating a clear spot. He placed his carving on the smooth surface and spun it. The little top made it only a few turns before flopping over. It looked like crap and was horribly unbalanced. He was not very good at whittling.

"Your top is broken."

"Is not 'top.' Is dreidel. Fun little game. Should be made out of clay. But I try wood." He picked it up and went back to carving. "No laugh, Boy, is harder than it looks. Time for you to go. You wake up now. Be careful of big red thing. No want to crash."

"What big red thing?"

"You see."

I woke up disoriented and confused. I was lying on some sort of gurney, and I cracked my face painfully into a white metal cabinet when I sat up. Julie was a few feet away, also lying on a stretcher. Her shirt had been cut away, and a much better bandage had been placed on her shoulder. She was still out. A siren was blaring. We were in the back of an ambulance.

"What the hell?" I said, as the ambulance turned far too sharply and I bounced off of the wall. Mad laughter came from the front.

"Hang on, kid. It's been a while since I've driven last. You know, with being locked up and all that." Ray Shackleford honked the horn and screamed out the window. "Watch out, moron!"

I squeezed my way through the narrow space and into the passenger seat. I had to push aside a big black duffel bag. I was glad to see that it was the bag that held my armor and personal gear, including spare magazines and grenades for Abomination. My shotgun was sitting on the dash, sliding crazily back and forth as Ray jerked the wheel. The speedometer showed one hundred and five miles an hour. I had not known that an ambulance could go that fast.

"What happened?" I shouted over the siren. Ray's gray hair was flapping madly in the wind from the open window. He was grinning maniacally, and having far too much fun for an escaped lunatic.

"You passed out. Can't say I blame you. You look like shit. Julie had a cell phone in her pocket. It started ringing so naturally I answered it. It was Earl." The crazy man laughed. "Old son of a bitch was a bit surprised to find himself talking to me. Didn't expect that one bit. Well, anyway…" He swerved around a truck and into oncoming traffic, dodged a station wagon, and jerked back into the correct lane. I cringed. "As I was saying, Earl called, said that the Feds were heading this way fast. They put out an APB on me and both of you. He said not to go to the hospital because the Monster Control Bureau guys were already en route, and not to go back to the compound because the place was already crawling with Feds. So I'm supposed to take us someplace safe to hide out."

"You didn't kill any of the paramedics did you?" I gestured at Abomination.

"Oh no. I've never killed a human being… on purpose at least, so I ain't gonna start now. I bluffed our way out. Told them I was an escaped mental patient."

"Gee whiz? I'm surprised they believed you." I had not realized, but he was wearing sweats, and a bathrobe. With the matted hair, and the unkempt beard, he looked the part. Plus when I had passed out he had been singing the theme song from the Monkees.

"I know. Imagine that." He scratched himself as we tore down the road.

"Julie needs medical attention."

"Earl has arranged for some. Don't worry. We're going home."

"But the compound is covered in Feds."

"Nope. You'll see. Earl said 'Go to your house, Ray. You can remember how to get there. Just go home.' "

Ray turned to look at me as he explained. Crazy people must use the Force to drive or something. "We're going home. It'll be just like old times. All the kids, Ray the fifth, Julie, even little Nate, they can play in the tree house. And Susan will be there too. It'll be great. We can have a barbecue."

"Ray. Watch the road." I noticed flashing red lights ahead. He was no longer living in the same world; instead he was taking a little trip down memory lane.

"Maybe there'll be an Alabama game on today. Roll Tide. That would be fun. Maybe even the Alabama versus Auburn game. Best game of the year. Yep, I lost a lot of money on that one last season, I tell you what." I realized that the flashing lights originated at a train crossing. The crossing arms were coming down.

"Train. Ray, brake. Hit the brakes!"

He turned and studied it absently. "Yep, train. How about that? You like hotdogs or hamburgers? Susan might have even marinated some steaks if we're lucky." I watched in horror as the train came into view. The engine was enormous and red. We were not going to make it in time.

I shoved my way over into the driver's seat, squishing Ray painfully into the door. I stomped my boot down on the brake and I fought for control of the wheel. The tires locked up with a squeal, leaving behind plenty of rubber and smoke. Ray tried to fight me. I elbowed him violently in the forehead, snapping his head back against the seat.

Keeping the van under control while braking and fighting for the wheel against an insane man while barreling toward a train is not a pleasant experience. Luckily the ambulance had some decent brake pads installed. We broke through the wooden safety rail with a slow crack, and skidded to a halt, our front bumper inches from the sparking train wheels.

"Car-jacking! Car-jacking!" he shouted in my ear as he tried to stick his thumb in my eye.

Ray kept fighting, unaware that I had just saved his life. He tried to choke me with the seat belt, so I elbowed him in the face until he stopped moving. It took three good blows to his noggin to put him out. I'll admit, I enjoyed that part. I put the van in park and crawled back out the passenger door. I went around, deafened by the roar of the train only scant feet away, opened the door, after a moment found the switch to kill the highly annoying siren, pulled Ray's unconscious body out of the driver's side and set him on the gurney in the back. There were straps to hold down thrashing patients, and I applied them snugly.

Julie stirred. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Owen. What's going on?" she mumbled sleepily. "Wait a second," as she realized that her shirt was cut open and she was only wearing a bra beneath. "Pervert."

"Hey, blame the paramedics. Listen, Julie. I don't have time to explain. We need to get you someplace that your dad called home. Earl is going to have help for you there."

She was obviously high on painkillers or something that the paramedics had given her. She smiled absently. "Hey, what happened to Dad?"

"Uh, he got sedated. Look, can you give me directions? Earl said for us to go home, not the compound, but someplace your dad would think of as home."

"Sure… I can find home. Where are we?"

"I don't know. Look, I'm going to help you to the front seat. You just stay awake and tell me where to go, okay?"

"Okay. Can do. And look, next time you want to see me naked, just ask. Don't cut up my clothes. That's creepy… and I liked this shirt." Her eyes closed and she went back to sleep.

I carried her to the passenger side, as gently as was possible, careful not to disturb her wound or bandages. I buckled her into place as the last of the train cars passed. Julie stirred and mumbled something.

"What?"

"I know this place. We're near Greenville. Just keep going." Her speech was slurred, but she did not appear to be losing any more blood. I decided that if she started to look any worse I was going to take her to the nearest town and doctor. Keeping from getting arrested was not worth her life. Hopefully I would not have to make that choice.

I put the ambulance into drive and continued down the road.

Chapter 17

The home that Ray Shackleford had been referring to was an enormous old plantation house nestled in a beautiful patch of woods and streams. It was far off of the main drive and isolated from the rest of the world. The home had been opulent at one time, but had fallen into disrepair. Thick Doric columns, cracked with age, lined the front porch. Moss and vines were growing up some of the walls, but it appeared as if some recent efforts had been made to paint and restore the old place. There was a black sedan parked near the dry fountain in front of the home.

I parked the van near the entrance, honked the horn, and jumped out to help Julie. She had remained semi lucid for the remainder of the short trip, but she was pale and did not look very good. Despite her feeble protest that she could do it herself, I picked her up in my arms and carried her onto the porch. She was not light by any means, but rather heavier than she appeared because of lean muscle. She winced in pain as the pressure changed against her wound. The main door was open, leaving only a screen.

"Hey! Anybody there? We need help," I yelled.

"Z. Thank goodness." It was good to hear Trip's voice. The screen door opened and he stepped out. A smaller figure stood behind him, totally cloaked in what appeared to be a black burkha. "Come on. We have a spot ready. Earl said Gretchen here's as good as any doctor." The robed figure nodded. Only a small patch of her face was showing through her hood, and even then her eyes were covered with large mirrored sunglasses. She gestured for me to follow.

I cradled Julie's limp form against my chest as we hurried down the entry hall. The interior of the home was undergoing serious renovation. Flooring had been pulled up and was in various states of repair. Some walls had been painted, while others were a work in progress. Sawdust and miscellaneous tools littered the floor.

Gretchen led us across the spacious parlor, through a huge dining room complete with chandelier and twenty-foot table, down a small hallway, and into what was probably meant to be a guest bedroom, though right now it looked a bit like an extemporaneous field hospital. A small table had been moved into the room, covered by a white cloth, and littered with strange surgical-looking implements and jars filled with unknown fluids. Gretchen nodded toward the bed and I placed Julie down as gently as possible.

Julie's eyes peeked out from under heavy lids.

"I can't see," she said.

I began to panic. The blow to her head… had it blinded her? Was Julie going to lose her sight? She was a lover of art, and an amazing marksman. Going blind would kill her. I grabbed her hand and squeezed.

"Don't worry. It's going to be okay. I'm here for you. I'm sure your sight will come back."

"Owen." She closed her eyes and sighed. "You big dummy. Of course my sight will come back. My glasses are on the floor of the ambulance. Be a dear and grab them for me… Is that Gretchen?" The robed woman came over and patted Julie's forehead. I had not noticed that the strange woman was wearing surgical gloves. "Hey, Gretchen honey. I'm glad you're here. I'm going back to sleep now…" she mumbled as she drifted off.

Gretchen took her gloved hand from Julie's head and immediately started to remove the blood-stained bandage. The petite robed woman examined the injury. The wound path actually started behind the point of Julie's shoulder and traveled down into the muscles over her shoulder blade. It was a nasty puncture. I had seen a few knife wounds like that while I had been bouncing, but never one that big or at such an angle. The mysterious woman must have then realized that I was still in the room. She looked up until I saw my reflection in her mirrored shades and she made a shooing motion.

"Me?" I pointed at myself. She nodded and kept waving her hands at me. "Sorry." I backed out of the room and gently closed the door behind me. Trip was waiting for me.

"Don't worry. Earl said Gretchen's the best. She's supposed to be able to fix any injury. Milo and Sam swear by her. I guess we're supposed to leave her alone to do her thing."

"Any relation to Skippy? They share the same fashion sense."

"Yeah. They said she's one of his wives. I think she's like the tribal healer," he said.

"Wives? With an S? As in plural?" That was a bit surprising.

"Sam said he's got like five of them. Hey, different cultures. Whatever works, I guess."

"Dang. I don't even have a girlfriend and Skippy has extra wives," I replied.

"No wonder. You look like shit," Holly said from behind me. Between her sultry looks, her swimsuit model's body, and the.308 Vepr in her hands, she looked like she should have been in a James Bond movie. "You're bleeding all over the carpet. What the hell did you do to yourself this time?"

I turned to regard her and smiled broadly. "I fell out of the van. While it was moving."

"You should stick with accounting. Holy crap. You have gravel stuck in your arms. Sit down, I'll grab some iodine. Trip, get a towel, and by the way, the property is clear. I didn't see anybody out there."

"Julie's dad is strapped down in the back of the ambulance. He's out cold. You should probably see to him first," I told them as I studied my shredded arms. They looked almost as bad as I felt.

"Is he hurt?" Trip asked. "I'm no Gretchen but I know first aid."

"Mildly concussed probably. Crazy son of a bitch tried to drive us into a train so I clocked him in the head until he quit. Watch him. He's nuts. Find a room to lock him in, and keep him tied up. Preferably chained to something heavy."

"You really are a people person, aren't you? Give me the keys too, I'll hide the ambulance around back." I tossed them over. He left to retrieve Ray.

"I'm not kidding. Lock him in the attic if we have one," I shouted after him. "And check the room to make sure there aren't any weapons in it."

Holly forced me to take a seat in the kitchen while she raided the extensive first aid kit. I sat next to the marble sink with my shirt off while she painfully removed each piece of bloody gravel with a pair of needle nose pliers. The kitchen was also under construction, someone had pulled down most of the cabinets to be restained, and a pair of sawhorses and some plywood served as the kitchen table. Mercy was not Holly's strong suit, and after violently ripping each piece free she dropped them into the sink with a clatter. It was not a pleasant experience.

She told me about how after Julie had called from the asylum, Earl had immediately loaded up a response team in the chopper to come to our rescue, only to be intercepted and forced to return to the compound by the Monster Control Bureau's helicopters. While the Feds were watching them land, Earl had called to check on our status and had gotten Ray instead. Since Holly and Trip were considered mere untrained Newbies by the Feds, and not really important in the grand scheme of things, he had given them directions to the Shackleford family home and had them sneak off with Gretchen.

"What's this stuff? Looks like you got splashed with slag from a cutting torch or something," she asked as she removed a chunk of metal from my arm. It left a small hole that immediately began to well up with blood.

"Gargoyles bleed molten. I beat one of them to death with a fifty barrel. It kind of got on me."

"No kidding?" I flinched as she jerked out a particularly pointy piece of asphalt.

"No biggie. It only had one arm. And it was stuck under the van. It was the bastard that stabbed Julie. I lost the barrel, so I finished it off with a tire iron. When I cracked its head it kind of just squirted everywhere."

"You rushed a giant monster with an empty gun to save her?" She jabbed me with the pliers.

"I guess. Ow. Careful." I grimaced as she grabbed a chunk of flesh instead of rock.

"Hold still, you big sissy… Look, Z, let me be honest here. I'm getting a little worried about you. Seriously." Holly sounded earnest. She paused to wipe her brow. It was uncomfortably warm and stuffy in the kitchen. "Back on the freighter you were willing to play chicken with a vampire to save Julie. And now you take on a damn ten-ton gargoyle with a stinking tire iron to protect her?"

"It wasn't that big. And on the freighter I pulled that grenade to save all of us, not just her."

"Sure…" She did not sound convinced. "Z, I'm not stupid. I can see how you get all dopey around her. Whatever. I don't want to see you do something stupid and get killed for her is all."

"Nothing that I wouldn't do for anybody else," I said defensively.

"I don't doubt that either. You would probably do something stupid to save anybody. You and Trip both. Idiot wannabe heroes who would probably run into a burning building to save kittens or some shit. I'm surrounded by idiots."

"I didn't know you cared." I grinned. She stabbed me again.

"Trust me on this one, Z. There'll come a time when you're going to have to make a choice. Somebody who you can't save, no matter what. And then you're going to have to choose, you can either save yourself, or you can die trying. Sometimes the choice is between running like a coward, or fighting like a fool." Holly sounded angry as she said that.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Just something I learned the hard way is all. You know, before…" She trailed off, then changed the subject. "I think that's the last of it. I'm going to put some iodine on this now. You're missing a ton of skin, so this might sting."

"Before what?" I pressed. "You're the only Newbie who has never told us how you got into this business. Everybody knows about my werewolf, or Trip's zombies, or Lee's spiders. Holly, you're tough as nails, and you don't take crap off of anybody, but you're buttoned up so tight about your past. What happened before? You know you can tell me any… Yeeaaarrrgghhh!" I screamed as horrible burning pain ripped through the raw nerves of my arms.

"Oh, my bad. That wasn't iodine. That was rubbing alcohol. All your babbling distracted me. Now shut the hell up," she ordered.

I did as I was told. I wasn't going to push it while she still had that bottle of liquid pain. Damn, that hurt. The iodine stung, but it was nothing in comparison. Trip returned after he had secured Ray and had hidden the stolen ambulance.

"What did I miss?" he asked. "Holly, you don't look happy."

"Nothing," she replied stonily. "Hold still. Some of these holes are going to need stitches."

"Gretchen could do it, probably?"

"She's busy. Julie has a real injury, this is just a boo-boo. Besides, I know what I'm doing. This won't hurt a bit. Well, actually it'll probably hurt like a son of a bitch. Bite down on something," she suggested.

Trip pulled up a chair and sat down next to the improvised table. "I put Julie's dad in a bedroom upstairs. I checked the room for weapons, found this. I think Julie has loaded guns stashed in every room of this place." He placed a.45 Beretta in front of him. "Don't worry though. I've got him handcuffed to a wrought-iron bed frame. He isn't going anywhere."

I thought about that for a moment. It beat thinking about the needle that Holly was running thread through. I hated getting stitches. I had done it plenty of times without local anesthesia. Illegal fighting rings did not exactly have the best insurance. "Where exactly did you get handcuffs?"

He shrugged. "They were in one of the gear bags."

"They're mine," Holly said. Trip jumped. She looked up at us in consternation. "Get your mind out of the gutter. Damn, I am supposed to be the support person, remember? I was just thinking ahead. Earl said we had a dangerous crazy guy to baby-sit."

"Sorry," Trip said.

"Bible thumper," she muttered under her breath as she stuck the curved needle through my skin.

"No really, I didn't mean-"

"Whatever, Trip. Just because I danced naked for money doesn't make me a whore."

"Sorry. That wasn't even what I was thinking," he replied, raising his hands defensively. Holly was quiet as she continued stitching me up. Trip was too dark to blush, but he was obviously embarrassed. "I'll go check on Gretchen." He left the room in a hurry.

I watched as the tear in my flesh gradually closed. She did good work. I felt the need to defend my friend. "I don't think Trip was judging you. He's real religious, but he isn't that way at all."

"I know." She continued stitching. "He's probably the nicest guy I've ever met. And he's real innocent at heart. At least as much as somebody can be in this job." She finished closing the gash.

"You're pretty good at that. I should know… I've been stitched up plenty of times. I've even done it to myself when I didn't have help," I told her.

"Thanks." She tied off the end. "I learned how in nursing school."

"You were in nursing school?"

"Yeah… don't act so surprised. You think I took a degrading job because of the quality people I got to hang around? I needed to pay bills, you know."

"I'm not. I understand."

"I was at UNLV. I only had a couple of semesters left is all… And don't ask."

"Got it." I understood. There seemed to be no shortage of Monster Hunters with secrets in their past. She finished stitching me up and wrapped clean gauze over my arms.

"That's about all that I can do," she said. "You need to get some rest, and you probably need to eat. I saw some food in the fridge. Trip and I will keep watch tonight."

"Thanks," I told her. She stood and stretched, then retrieved her rifle and slung it over her back. She paused on her way out of the kitchen.

"Think about what I said earlier. I don't want you getting killed for no reason."

"I promise I won't," I replied.

"Whatever… Stupid heroes." She left the room. "Sweet dreams, Z."

I picked one of the many bedrooms on the top floor. The plan was for all of us to sleep in the same general part of the house. Splitting up seemed like a stupid thing to do considering that we did not know how safe we were here from the Cursed One's minions.

It was a small room, and the walls were bare sheetrock, but the bed was soft and I was exhausted and still in pain. I popped a handful of Tylenol and hoped that it would help. There were plenty of stronger painkillers in the ambulance, but the last thing I wanted to be was groggy. It took me a few minutes to find a comfortable spot on the bed where nothing was rubbing a scabbed-over patch of missing skin. That was rather difficult considering the extent of my road rash.

The Cursed One was coming. I knew that. I could feel it in my bones. I knew that he was close, I was not aware of how I knew that, but somehow I knew. Ray was the key. Something in the man's head was the secret that Lord Machado was looking for. Some bit of knowledge gleaned from his own forbidden studies in breaking the laws of nature and bringing back the dead. I would kill Ray Shackleford myself before I let him fall into the hands of the enemy. I did not relish the thought of murdering a human being, but it beat the alternative.

I was asleep in minutes.

My dreams that night were brief. The Old Man did not pay me a visit, and thankfully I did not have to see the world through the lens of the Cursed One's memories. For most of the night I slept like a normal man, not bound by strange visions or plagued with old prophecies and mysteries.

I had a brief nightmare, a panicked, disjointed chase through the halls of the Appleton Asylum. This time the gargoyles were much faster. This time I could not save Julie from them. They took her from me and tore the life out of her with their stone claws. A well of rage and hate opened up inside of my soul. Every bit of anger that I had ever possessed was uncorked and unleashed upon my enemies. I crushed the massive unnatural beings into dust with my bare hands as if they were nothing. My rage continued, until finally in my wrath I destroyed everything around me, leaving nothing but a smoking wasteland of death.

I slept.

I woke up late the next morning, sunlight streaming through my window. I felt remarkably good considering how badly beaten up I was. Despite my hectic schedule over the last few weeks, and my total lack of down time, I felt downright refreshed. Rolling out of bed, I could already tell it was going to be a great day.

A horrible odor assaulted my senses. My bandages were missing and had been replaced by something foul. A green, tarlike substance was smeared all over my arms. It stunk of dead road kill and body odor. I gagged reflexively as it hit my nostrils like a hammer.

"Hey! There's something going on!" I bellowed at the top of my lungs. Considering the weirdness we dealt with in this business, I figured that if you woke up to find yourself coated in strange secretions, it was probably best to alert your co-workers. Unlike most polite jobs, of course.

Trip burst into the bedroom, subgun at the ready, scanning for threats. He must have been right outside the door.

"Something slimed me." I held up one goo-coated arm.

"Dude, you about gave me a heart attack."

"What the hell is this?" I shook my arms and some of the stuff splattered onto the sheets. We were probably going to have to burn them later.

"Don't worry. Gretchen checked on you when she was done working on Julie. After she saw your injuries, she made that paste in the kitchen, came up here and smeared it on you. I'm guessing it's supposed to be some sort of salve or something."

"I didn't hear a thing," I stated suspiciously. I could not believe that I had slept through that. And certainly not while sober.

"If you haven't noticed, she moves kinda quiet."

"What's in it? It smells terrible."

"If I tell you, you're either going to puke or straight up shoot her. So I'm not saying anything. Just remember, she's supposed to be the healer… But according to my knowledge of chemistry, I can't think of a thing that it is supposed to do other than reek."

"I'm gonna shower. If you see ninja doctor tell her thanks for the slime." I grabbed my bag and stormed down the hall. At least I had learned from previous mistakes and had packed some extra clothing along with my armor and weapons. A man should always have access to emergency pants.

I found a bathroom, eagerly stripped out of my torn clothes, and jumped into the scalding shower. I had not thought that anything could be grosser than the wight and vampire fluids I had been sprayed with on the freighter, but I had been very wrong.

Under closer examination the stuff appeared to be vegetable-based, except for the particles that I hesitantly identified as ground bones or teeth. Skippy's wife was one weird chick, not that he was exactly a bastion of normalcy himself. As I was scrubbing the filth off under the stream of hot water I realized a few things. First, I should have been in intense pain from the water striking my injuries. Second, I wasn't in any pain at all.

As the stuff was sluiced away, I discovered that rather than being inflamed and scabbed like my arms should have been on the day after such an accident, they were mostly clear, with only smaller spots of scabbing where the very worst of the injuries had been. The gashes that Holly had sewn shut looked like they had been stitched a week ago instead of last night.

Stepping out of the shower I held my arms above my head in amazement. Other than the discoloration and missing hair, the formerly destroyed patches were well on their way toward healing. I turned my arms over, disbelieving what was directly in front of my eyes. It was a miracle. I quickly dried off and dressed.

I found the others in the kitchen. The smell of coffee was strong, and Holly was frying some eggs over the stove. Trip was leaning against a counter, subgun still casually slung and steaming mug in his hands. Gretchen was nowhere to be seen. Skippy's people did not seem particularly social. Surprisingly, Julie was out of bed and sitting at the improvised table, laughing and talking with the others. She had a small bandage on the side of her head, and there was a larger bandage peeking out from under the edges of her shirt. She smiled when she saw me enter, and she looked a thousand times better than when I had brought her here only twelve hours ago. Other than the fact that everybody was armed, and there was a flamethrower sitting in the corner, it looked like a breakfast commercial.

"Good morning, Owen," Julie called happily.

"Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes," Holly added. " 'Bout time you rolled your carcass out of bed. Thanks for all the help with cooking. Both of you."

"Hey, I'm on guard duty," Trip said as he patted his H&K.

"Whatever. I was wandering around the halls with night vision watching for gargoyles until three A.M. so forgive me if I don't cry you a river. Make yourself useful and grab some plates."

"Sorry to interrupt the breakfast club here, guys"-I held up my relatively healthy arms-"but what the hell is going on?"

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Holly. She flung her spatula aside and ran over to look. Trip gasped and dropped a stack of disposable plates on the ground. "This is way better than it should be. The ones I stitched are about closed."

"I told you guys. Gretchen knows her stuff," Julie said.

"No way, man," Trip said as he examined me. "I saw what she boiled up in that pot. It was just a bunch of weeds, dirt and some teeth. She even put a dead raccoon in it. There's no way. Just no way."

"Screw Monster Hunting. Let's sell this and get rich," Holly said.

"We've been trying to talk her into bottling her tribal cures for years. She won't do it. Says that they have to be specifically prepared for each person. On the spot," Julie answered as she sipped her orange juice.

"How's your shoulder?" I asked.

"Much better. I'm sore, and I can't lift my arm above my head yet, but give me a few days and I'll be fine." She reached into her pocket and pulled something out. She dropped it onto the center of the plywood. It was a jagged three-inch piece of stone. "Souvenir. Gretchen pulled this out."

"Damn," all three Newbies said in unison. She was lucky to be alive, let alone walking around in a pleasant mood.

"Seriously. She works magic. All of Skippy's people have gifts. He can do things with that chopper that aren't possible according to the laws of physics. Wait until you meet the rest of his family. They will probably introduce themselves to you when they're comfortable."

I pulled up a chair. "They aren't normal people. What are they?"

"It really isn't my place to say. That's up to them." She changed the subject. "Eggs are burning."

Holly cursed and returned to the stove. Trip put the plates and some forks on the table. "What about your dad?" he asked.

"As far as I care he can eat spiders. Old house has plenty of them," she said coldly.

"I'll take him a plate," I answered.

"Suit yourself," Julie stated as she returned to her juice. I did not know what had transpired between father and daughter while I was taking my tour of the asylum, but obviously it had not been pleasant.

"He didn't run off when you two were unconscious. Do we really need to leave him locked up?" Trip asked.

"My dad may seem fine sometimes, but don't let him fool you. He saw some things that the human brain isn't wired to deal with. His reality is all screwed up. He's dangerous. Doctor Joan told me that he's tried to escape a bunch of times, and he damn near beat one of their orderlies to death. We let him loose and he'll be trying to raise the dead or something stupid in no time flat." She shook her head. "I sure as hell am not going to let that man loose on the world. I fight monsters, I don't help them."

"So what's the plan?" I said. My stomach grumbled loudly. The food smelled great. "After we eat, of course."

"Sit tight. Heal up. Stay low," Holly said. "That's what Harbinger told us at least. We're supposed to keep Ray safe and away from the bad guys. He's going to call us as soon as they work out the problems with the Feds."

"And he's mad at you," Trip added helpfully.

"What about me?" I asked. I had gone along with her after all.

"I think they think you're just a big protective dupe is all," Holly said. "At least that's the impression I got when he said that you were just a big protective dupe following Julie around like a dumb puppy."

"Oh good."

"Then the Feds were crawling all over us. They want Ray and they want him bad. There had to be like fifty of them at the compound."

"I wonder why Earl didn't just turn Dad over?" Julie mused. "It isn't like there's any love lost there. If the Feds just want to keep his knowledge out of the hands of the Cursed One, then they are way better equipped to baby-sit him than we are."

"He didn't say, but I've come up with a theory," Trip said. We waited. "Well, who all knows about Ray Shackleford and his research? Just MHI and the Feds. It isn't exactly public knowledge, I'm guessing, what with all of this being secret and all. The professors who got attacked in Georgia were both well known for their knowledge on esoteric anthropology; vampires can read books too. Ray was just another inmate in an asylum. How did they know what he had in his head? How did they know that he was so important?"

"You think one of the Monster Control Bureau agents is talking to the CO," Holly said.

"CO?" I asked.

"Beats saying Cursed One over and over again."

"Yeah," Trip answered. "If it's only us and them that know about Ray, somebody must have told the bad guys. How else did they know who he was or even where he was?"

Julie thought about it for a moment. "Good point. Humans have worked for evil forces before. Especially vampires-they have a way of enthralling the weak-willed."

"And there is something else. While you were gone yesterday, Lee found some stuff in one of the old journals. Some Monster Hunter who died back during World War Two. We think it was about the Cursed One. I didn't get to see it, but the experienced Hunters were all freaked out. I mean really scared. Harbinger, Milo, even Sam. They were freaked. They wanted to show you, and that's when they found out that you had taken off."

"Those three don't scare easy," Julie stated.

"This journal scared them. Harbinger was talking about the apocalypse," Holly said as she dished out the scrambled eggs.

"So that's why I think Harbinger is having us hide your dad. Something he knows is the key that unlocks the gate for the Cursed One, and it's very bad news. Like the-end-of-life-as-we-know-it kind of stuff. And he thinks some Fed is working for the bad guys. He's scared to death that they're going to get their hands on your dad." He finished his theory and dug into his breakfast.

Holly sat down, looking slightly uneasy. She hesitated before speaking. "There is one other thing… Trip? You want to tell them?"

My friend did not reply. He contemplated his food. Holly did not appear eager to tell us either. Julie broke the silence.

"Let me guess." She leaned back in her folding chair. "If the bad guys find us, we're supposed to kill my dad ourselves rather than let him fall into their hands? Correct?"

The two Newbies nodded. Finally Holly spoke. "I'm sorry. That's what Harbinger told us. He wanted to make sure that we could do it if we needed to. He really accentuated how serious this is."

Julie nodded. "Yeah. I suppose so…" She trailed off.

"I'm sorry," Trip said.

"It might be a moot point. How likely is it that the Cursed One's minions are going to find us here?" I asked. I was not particularly surprised at Harbinger's direction to kill Ray if necessary, having already decided the same thing myself. At least now the others were beginning to understand just how serious the Cursed One was.

"This is the old family place. My great-grandfather bought it way back when. It has always kind of been isolated. Legally speaking, nobody lives here. As far as the outside world is concerned, this place is pretty much a forgotten relic. It was sold a long time ago to the Heart of Dixie Historical Preservation Society."

"Who are they?" I asked. The mansion was obviously a landmark of some kind, and somebody had been working at restoring the building.

Julie raised her hand. "I'm the Heart of Dixie Historical Preservation Society." She smiled wickedly. "Since it's a non-profit organization, all a perfectly legal front, and I technically don't live here, it sure does save me a bunch of money in property taxes."

"So you're a tax evader too?" I mumbled around a mouthful of eggs. "Groovy."

"There are only a handful of people who know about this house, and most of them wear a green smiley face on their armor or their last name is Shackleford." She went back to eating. Julie appeared to be starved, and she should be considering how much blood she had lost yesterday. She paused, swallowed and continued, "And I've got this place rigged with one hell of a security system. If anything drives, walks, slithers or lands on this property, we'll know. There's also a hidden armory in the basement stocked with stuff that would have been confiscated when we got shut down last time, and the compound is only about fifteen minutes away. If we get attacked, we'll just need to hold out that long."

"Will your security system detect vampires?" I asked.

"Probably. As far as we know they still need to walk like anything else. There has never been any actual documented case of them turning into bats or mist like in Dracula, only superstitions say that they can shape-shift. But remember, they can't come into a home unless they're invited. That's the rule."

"Why is that anyway?" I asked. "I mean, I've seen it in the movies, but that doesn't really make any sense."

"Nobody knows. But it seems to be a rule with vampires. Other undead don't seem to care, but it does affect vamps," she said. "Unless you let them in, they can't enter."

"But they came into Dr. Turley's house and killed him and his wife. And he was still in bed. They couldn't have been invited. Or what about the attack in Atlanta?"

"Atlanta was a party. All it would take is a single invited guest to let one in. You guys have only seen newly created vamps. The old ones can be pretty darn charming, and they look just like humans unless they're about to feed. As for the Turleys, who knows? Any indication of invitation would probably do." She forked another piece of egg and dipped it in ketchup. "Did they have a door mat or any signs that may have said welcome, or something like that?"

I nodded as I remembered the Turley home's open rear door, along with the mud stained welcome mat. I swore that I would never own one of those things again.

"Gargoyles?" Trip asked.

"I've got a Barrett.50, a 20mm Lahti, and some grenade launchers in the armory. Also an RPG and for the worst-case scenario, a Spig 9. After we eat, I'll break those out and dust them off. I'm going to need help getting the Spig up the stairs," Julie said. I did not know what a Spig 9 was, but if it was in fact a gun that she needed help to even move, I was very excited.

"What about the CO?" Holly asked. I did not like the abbreviated name. After having seen him, and feeling a taste of his power, calling the evil creature something so innocuous seemed a little silly. The residents of Tokyo didn't call Godzilla "Big G."

"Unknown quantity," Julie stated. "We have no idea what would work on him. It could be something as simple as just shooting him full of holes, or lighting him on fire, or blowing him up, I don't know. Some monsters are hard to kill." She looked at me for help.

I shrugged. "Beats me. The Old Man won't or can't tell me that. I'll say this though. I don't expect him to go easy. I've got a feeling that he's going to be one mean son of a bitch."

Julie finished her breakfast and pushed the plate away. I dished myself a second helping. Trip sipped his coffee. Holly made sure her sidearm was still there.

"One last thing," Julie said. She was fully confident, and back in command mode. "If they find us. If we get attacked. And we can't beat them or hold them off until help arrives. If and only if the bad guys are about to take Dad away, then we have no choice. Kill him. And do it in a way that they can't bring him back. Shoot him in the head, and burn him." She said this casually, as if she was telling us about the weather. "It's one thing to kill monsters, but it's another to have human blood on your hands… If we have to do it, if possible I'll do it myself. My family, my business… Everybody okay with that?"

The rest of us nodded dumbly.

Julie scooped up a plate of rapidly cooling eggs and sausage and passed it over to me. "You had best take him some food. He's probably starved. Tell him I send my regards."

Ray Shackleford was sitting on his bed, one wrist handcuffed to the wrought-iron headboard. He regarded me sullenly as I entered. His gray hair was wild, and he had a black eye and bruises from where I had hit him. At least he seemed coherent now.

"I brought you some food," I said. I did not add that I had only supplied him with a plastic fork.

"Let me loose, kid," he ordered.

"Can't do that. This is for your own protection."

"Fine, then I'll take a dump on the floor."

I had not thought about that, but then again I had never kidnapped a crazy person before either. I set the food down on a dresser and removed the handcuff key from my pocket. There was an attached bathroom, there was only one way in, and the window over the shower was too small to squeeze out of. I checked the bathroom for any hidden weapons (this was Julie's house after all), but found nothing.

"Okay, fine. But if you try anything stupid, I will beat you down. I'm just itching for a reason to get my violence on. Got it?"

"Fine. Just hurry up." I unlocked the cuffs and waited patiently as he made his way to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him. I opened it.

"Nope. I don't trust you."

"Fine. Suit yourself… freak."

I waited while he took care of business. Once he had washed his hands and pulled back his hair, I escorted him back to the bed and put the cuffs back on. He gave me no trouble. I passed the food over and he gobbled it down messily.

"You knocked me out," he said between bites. "If I was in the shape I used to be, I would have kicked your ass."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself," I said.

"Don't get cocky. I've been around guys like you. I know your type. You're hired muscle. Just a trigger puller. I bet Earl brought you on because you're good at hurting things. You know what? That don't make you special. Hurting things is easy. Understanding them is hard."

"I don't like to complicate things. I see the monster. I shoot the monster. There. Nice and simple," I said.

"Let me let you in on a little secret, kid. Guys like you are a dime a dozen. A real Hunter understands his prey. He knows how they think. He succeeds where others fail because he knows the monster better than he knows himself. I was the best Hunter we've ever had because of that."

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster…" I said.

"And when you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you. Ahh… an educated man. Well, you're not as stupid as you look. Don't quote Nietzsche at me, kid. That German crackpot wouldn't know a real monster if it bit him on the ass."

Actually I hated philosophy. I had memorized the quote from the intro of a video game. "You about done?" I asked.

"Julie told me a little about you. You're the dreamer. You've been having visions. You want what I've got up here." He tapped the side of his head with his fork, leaving ketchup in his hair. "You want me to help you find Lord Machado."

"Pretty much."

"I can do it, you know. The other Hunters can read those old books forever, but they ain't gonna answer your questions. It isn't what you read, it's putting the information together in your head like a puzzle. Only when you're all done can you really see the picture. I've had lots of time on my hands for the last six years. I've sat in a padded cell all day long with nothing to do but put those puzzles together. I can see the whole picture now. You fools are still trying to find your corner pieces and sorting them out by color."

"Is there a point to this, or are you just trying to get me to punch you in the head some more?"

"Here's the point: I can help you. I can tell you where and when Lord Machado is going to use his artifact. I can tell you what to do. I can tell you how to stop him. I can even tell you how to kill him. The dead guy in your head can't answer those questions, but I can."

"So why don't you just tell me what I need to know?"

"Because, kid, what's in it for me?"

"The world doesn't get destroyed. That sounds kind of beneficial don't you think?"

"I tell you. You tell Earl. You guys kill Lord Machado and the seven. You save the world, cash big fat checks. You get to be heroes. I go back to Appleton and rot in a cell until the day I die. You want my help, you let me go and I'll tell you everything I know."

"And I'm just supposed to let somebody who opened a gate to hell in the middle of Alabama walk free."

"I learned from my mistakes. I won't do that again. I'm not as crazy as everybody thinks I am. I know the score. Let me loose, I promise not to meddle in that business again; I'll just disappear off the radar and nobody needs to know where I went. I've got money, fake IDs, passports, all stashed. You let me go, and nobody ever hears from me again. I'll go down to Mexico and sip margaritas on the beach with pretty senoritas."

"I'll run that past your daughter."

"Julie's squeamish. She's a goody two-shoes like her mother. Believe me. I've learned from my mistakes. I'm done. Earl will tell you no. My dad will say no. They don't trust me. My offer is to you, kid. Think about it." He smiled hopefully. I did not trust him as far as I could throw him.

"How about you give me a little information up front? Let me see if what you know is worth it."

"I give you enough pieces of the puzzle, you'll figure it out yourself. You won't need me and I go back to Appleton. On good days maybe I get to play Ping-Pong in leg irons with Dr. Nelson. Look out the window while crazy people whine about what monsters did to them. Like those pussies know jack squat about real torment. Whoopee. No way, kid. I talk. I walk. That's the deal."

"Screw you, Ray." I took his empty plate and walked away.

"Wait!" he cried. I paused with my hand on the doorknob. "You have to understand. I can't go back there." I opened the door. "Stop. Listen. I tried to bring my wife back. Is that so wrong? I loved her. I know I made a mistake. I was desperate. You would do the same. I loved her too much to let her go. I know not to try again. I saw things in that rift. Things you can't even begin to understand. I know what's out there. My mind is scarred worse than your face. Believe me. I promise that it won't happen again."

"Good-bye, Ray. I'll send somebody up around lunch for a bathroom break." I stepped out the door into the hall.

"Wait! Don't leave me alone! You want some information. Fine," he shouted. I paused. "There is no real Place of Power. It isn't a fixed piece of geography. There's a nexus of magical energy. The place is where those lines intersect. They are always moving. They are always changing. But I know where and when they are. Those professors that got killed, it's because some of the dead cultures they studied had their fingers on the puzzle. They maybe had bits and pieces. I can see the whole puzzle. I can see the picture. I can even see the box the pieces came in. It's going to happen at the full moon."

"Tell me more, Ray."

"You have three days before the concept of linear time becomes obsolete. Lord Machado thinks he knows what he's doing, but he's wrong. The world you know is going to cease to exist. Billions will die, and the handful that survive are going to be nothing more than cattle living in a blinded stupor. Mankind is going to be nothing but food and entertainment for the Old Ones. You had better think about my offer, kid. The clock is ticking. In three days it stops. Forever."

"Your dad made me an offer," I told Julie when I found her on the main floor. She must have gotten bored after cleaning and hauling up all of the interesting weapons from the basement, because she had busied herself by returning to her renovations.

"Make yourself useful and hold this." She handed me the end of a tape measure. "Put it against that edge there." She walked a few steps and lowered the tape to the floor. She took a pencil from behind an ear and marked a spot on the floor. "I need more flooring. I've got enough to finish the front hall, but not the main entryway."

"You don't want to hear his offer?" I asked. I think that I already knew the answer to that one.

"Let me guess. Let me go. I promise to be good. No more demon summoning. Blah, blah, blah. I'll tell you what you need to know." She let the tape measure snap closed in her hand and dropped it into a pocket.

"Pretty much. But he did say that the Cursed One is going to strike on the full moon. That gives us just three days."

"Not much time. Figures. Bad stuff always goes down on the full moon. How did this get here?" She bent down to pick up a belt sander that was lying on the floor. Grunting in sudden pain, she paused, and slowly stood back up. "Forgot. Big hole in my shoulder. Would you grab that for me? I need to put it away."

I picked up the sander. "You should take it easy."

She shook her head. "I can't. I'm a little tense. My insane dad is upstairs, in the home that I grew up in. It's just a bit awkward is all… I like working on the house. It keeps my mind off of things, you know?" I nodded. "It helps me to keep busy. I feel better when I'm improving something."

The whole mansion was torn apart. Every room that I had been in so far had some project begun in it, but very few had been finished. Apparently Julie had a lot of things that she did not want to dwell on.

"You seem to be pretty good at it," I said. That was true enough. The work that was finished appeared to be meticulous and professional. Which was not really a surprise considering what I knew about Julie Shackleford's nature.

"Thanks." She paused uncomfortably. "Enough about my dingbat father. I'm just glad he didn't stab you with his plastic fork."

"I did check the bathroom for guns before I let him go."

"Beat you to it." She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a.38 Detective Special. "Bathroom number three gun. I've got them stashed all over."

"You really are my kind of girl."

She smiled. "Thanks. Most regular people think I'm insane."

"Screw regular people. They suck." It was good to hear her laugh again. "Since you're too injured to lay floor, how about a tour of the Heart of Dixie Historical Preservation Society headquarters?"

"That I can do. And by the way, I never said thanks for saving my life from that gargoyle. That was a little too close." She absently touched the bandage on the side of her head.

"No big deal. That was some pretty good driving."

"If that jackass in the truck would have just let us pass, I could have lost them."

"Jerk," I agreed.

"Tour?" she asked.

"Gladly."

Chapter 18

The Shackleford ancestral home was an imposing structure. Once one of the finest of the great antebellum homes of the Old South, it was the crown jewel of a once-massive plantation. Ages ago it had been the center of thousands of acres of timber and farming cut out of the woods of Alabama. The original builder's heirs had sold the home and the property to the first Raymond Shackleford nearly a hundred years before.

"You can see out this window where the slave quarters used to be, the kind of empty spot right there. You can still make out the foundations. They were pretty rickety and busted up by the time I was a kid." Julie pointed out the back windows off of the main corridor. "I burned them down when I was twelve."

"Why? Some sort of protest against the injustice? A young girl trying to right the wrongs of the past?" I asked.

"Nothing so noble. Me and my brothers were learning how to make homemade napalm. Styrofoam packing peanuts dissolved into a bottle of gasoline. They make the best Molotov cocktails. I let one of mine get away from me. I'm just lucky that it didn't spread and burn the house down… Those were the days."

"I can understand. I did something similar once when I was a kid. My brother and I built a pipe bomb. Big thing. We smuggled powder out of my father's reloading room for almost a year so he wouldn't notice. Mixed it with a whole bunch of other ingredients. Detonated it in the backyard when my folks weren't home. It was a little bit bigger boom than expected though, dug a four-foot trench in the yard, cut the gas main and forced the neighborhood to evacuate."

"No wonder the ATF has your name on file," she said. "I wonder if all future Monster Hunters blow stuff up as kids?"

"Probably. The ones that live that long at least." I shrugged. "Hey, I was an upstanding citizen until I met you guys."

"I bet… Anyway, I was sad when the old slave quarters burned down. I was just a little girl. I hadn't really understood what they stood for. I mean, I knew what they were, but not why they were important."

"Lot of history in the South," I stated.

"Don't go getting high and mighty because of slavery. You grew up out West, you have no clue about the South. My family might own this house, but that doesn't mean that we approve of the kinds of things that happened here. I had ancestors who fought for the Confederacy, but I would be real surprised if any of them had two nickels to rub together, let alone owned a slave. People think that the South is racist, and it was, and some parts still are, but for the most part, we've dealt with our history. The biggest racists I've ever met aren't here, they're in politics, and they are smug bastards. They're the ones that are quick to play the race card, the ones that pimp poverty. Those are the real bigots."

"Touchy subject."

"I guess. But Bubba Shackleford employed black Hunters in his very first group of Professional Monster Killers. Remember 'Flexible Minds.' He made that little credo up. That's not just about the unnatural, it's about how you look at the world. He only cared if they could fight, and that they kept it together when strange stuff started. They were some pretty tough Hunters too. You don't want to know what happened to the Klan boys that messed with them."

"I can guess." I could only imagine that after dealing with werewolves and vampires, yokels hiding under white sheets were not that big of a deal.

"Rumor has it that a bunch of night riders ended up buried in the back forty. Great-great-grandpa never had much trouble from those folks after that." She changed the subject. "Let me show you the ballroom. This is probably my favorite room in the whole house." She pushed open some double doors and led the way into a huge space. The floor was vast and open, ornate antique chairs lined the walls, and an opulent crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Most of the walls were mirrored, with old-fashioned and slightly distorted glass. A large stage filled the back corner of the room, complete with carved pillars capped in brass. Staircases spiraled around and upward to the second floor, perfect for the Southern belles of old to descend for their grand entrances.

I walked into the room. My boots echoed on the worn smooth wood, stirring up small clouds of dust. I could imagine the parties of bejeweled women and men in Confederate gray, royalty of a forgotten time and kingdom. "Impressive."

"I haven't done any work in here. I don't really want to. I'm just going to leave this one alone. We never used this room growing up. If this old place has a soul, it would be in this room. So I leave it closed." I watched her reflection in one of the many mirrors. She awkwardly placed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "I know it sounds silly, but that's how it is."

"I understand," I said, not really, but it seemed like the correct answer. Even though there had not been any music played in this room for generations, I had to resist the urge to ask her to dance.