Reign of Evil

CHAPTER 15

Laws still wasn’t certain what he’d seen, but the uneasiness it had created within him had sent his Spidey senses thrumming. He’d seen Ms. Murphy lock the door from the inside behind him when he’d entered, but what she hadn’t seen was the wad of Silly Putty he’d shoved into the space where the lock would go. It was a good thing too, because it had appeared that Mr. Van Dyke hadn’t intended for him to leave.

Van Dyke’s appearance was that of a two-hundred-year-old version of the man in the pictures. The man standing next to Schwarzenegger and Nicholson and Magic Johnson had a vibrancy the man who’d stood before him lacked to such a degree, he might as well have been the husk of who he’d been. And why?

They sat in a booth in a corner of the bar by windows facing the water. They’d only ordered waters, much to the displeasure of the sixteen-year-old waitress who snapped gum like it was an Olympic event.

“Let’s go over it one more time,” Holmes said.

His back was to the corner, and he occasionally glanced up to see who was entering and leaving. So far no one had sat by the booth next to them. It was mid-afternoon and there wasn’t much traffic.

Laws took a drink of his water as he glanced at his three teammates. He was normally cool and collected, living by the dictate WWSMD—What Would Steve McQueen Do. Growing up in Hollywood, Laws had been surrounded by the uncool, the wannabe cool, and the supercool. Although he’d never met McQueen, Laws’s father, who’d worked on several of his films, including Bullitt, told him that the man was the coolest he’d ever met.

Laws began slowly describing the man’s appearance. “I just thought he was sick, but then as he was signing the document, I happened to glance at one of the pictures. I could see my reflection perfectly, but his was smudged. I remember blinking my eyes several times, thinking it was me, but no, it was as if someone had come and wiped their hand across his image.”

“I thought vampires didn’t have a reflection,” Yank said.

“That’s fiction written by people following the tradition of Stoker,” Laws said, unable to keep from being the Encyclopedia Supernatural.

“Our mission logs reference human smudging in reflective surfaces,” Holmes said. “But it could refer not only to a vampire, but to someone possessed, like with a demon.”

“Like that makes it better,” YaYa said. “Thanks for the clarification.”

Holmes sipped thoughtfully at his water. “No problem.”

“Let’s talk this out, though. If it is a demon, what kind? Given we’re dealing with druids, it could be anything, not necessarily those from Christian ideology. Perhaps like the thing that had you,” Laws said, nodding his head at YaYa.

The young man absently rubbed his prosthetic hand. “The obour,” he said softly.

YaYa had been infected with an ancient forest demon on his first mission while they were operating in Myanmar. The creature’s malignant influence had become so bad, YaYa had been co-opted by a shape-changing Los Zetas hit man, which almost led to the death of the entire team. In the end, the only way YaYa could fight the demon was to remove the site of infection, which was his left forearm.

“Although we have the entire pantheon of demons from which to choose,” Laws began, “considering we’re dealing with druids, one would have to believe it would be a nature spirit of some sort. Remember any readings on those, Boss?”

Holmes shook his head, then held up a hand.

A family of four, mom, pop, son, and daughter, trundled by and took a seat two booths down. Both kids were sulking. The waitress was on top of it and took the orders for two double martinis like it was a military operation and was moving fast toward the bartender before Laws continued.

“Me neither.” He leaned back. “Then I guess we follow SOP.”

“Wait,” Yank said, looking from Laws to Holmes. “There’s a Standard Operating Procedure for dealing with demons?”

“Of course there is. Why wouldn’t there be?”

“Well, it’s just that…” He seemed to fight for a way to articulate what he wanted to say. “It’s just that we’ve been flying by the seat of our pants for the last few missions, so the idea that we have manuals and SOPs for these things is… well, incredible, I guess.”

Laws grinned for a moment, then turned to Holmes. “FNG just said it’s incredible. What do you think about that, Boss?”

Holmes shook his head. “Remind me when we get back to the shop that we’re going to begin practicing immediate action drills.”

“Like how to remove someone’s head from their ass?” YaYa said, staring plainly at Yank.

“Or how to remove someone’s foot from their mouth?” Laws added.

“More like weapon improvisation against catalogued supernatural enemies.” Holmes sighed. “Yank’s right in a way. Although I prefer to call it operational flexibility instead of flying by the seat of your pants, we’ve barely had a breath since our last op. Last time we practiced at all was in New Orleans against the undead.”

“Scenario development?” Laws asked.

Holmes nodded. “Think about how we’re going to build the training around specific circumstances and environments.”

“I can get Musso to begin working on that for us. I hear we’re getting a replacement for Jen as well. Someone named Riley Ferguson.”

They all stared at nothing for a moment; then Holmes spoke. “Everyone order something. I’m going to call back for our go bags to be delivered. We’re not leaving this mountain until we’ve engaged the demon.” He stood up and pulled his phone from his pocket as he headed out the door.

“You heard the man,” Laws said. “Let’s eat.” He kept his smile on and his eyes bright, but inside he felt the darkness in the creature known as Van Dyke. Soon they’d know it was his real name.