He leaned in for that awkward car hug, gave me two sharp pats on the back and headed in. Once I saw him safely inside the building, I pulled back into traffic and towards the Chicago Regional Marshal’s office.
✽✽✽
The US Marshals, and thus the MCD, follow the District Court's divisions. Chicago and the surrounding areas fell into the Northern Illinois District, which actually had two Marshal’s Offices.
The main office was in Chicago, but there was a sub-office out in Rockford due to the population densities. We largely split along Illinois 47, which was largely considered to be the boundary of the Chicago sprawl. Inside 47, the Chicago were the first responders, outside Rockford was expected to respond first. What this meant is that any impromptu, and most planned, all-office meetings were at least in part conference calls. Danvers had offered to set up video conferencing, but Slate hadn’t approved it yet.[49]
By the time I arrived in the conference room, most of the staff was already there. I grabbed some coffee from the corner and set aside a donut for McCoy. As I did so, I nodded hellos at the assembled, each in turn. Slate was sitting, of course, at the head of the table. On his left were Jodi Chalmers and Malcolm Brooks, our other two non-EEP members of the MCD. Chalmers was somewhere north of 45 and starting to show the grey in her hair. She used to be part of the Witness Security Division, but got tired of all the traveling, so she volunteered to be transferred to MCD so she would be more localized. Brooks was a local police officer who had decided that volunteering for the MCD Task force was the best way to get promoted. The times I had interacted with him, he was quiet and kinda bland but had gained a bit of a reputation as a bit of kiss ass. Most days I just ignored him.
Next to them sat Jacob Danvers and an open seat. Officially, Jacob was support staff on loan from the NSA and thus not mandated to be here, but he always showed up since he inevitably got looped in on any situation we encountered.
On the final side of the table sat Trevor Carlson, with his legs thrown over the other unoccupied seat. Carlson had a face that only a mother could love, which came from it having been through the grinder a few too many times. If you asked, he could tell you where each crack, scar, and break had occurred during his fifteen years of being a bail bondsman. He wasn’t exactly trusted in the office especially since he had been more or less blackmailed into being a deputy.[50] His gift was being strong enough to wrestle a vampire. I wasn’t sure what his MARA recorded strength was or if he could match our perp, but I didn’t think too much about it. He had been in Keane county with me. No way he had been able to rip both Master’s and Hotchkiss’ hearts out from across the country. I looked between the two seats for half a second before I took the seat next to Jacob. Carlson could deal with sitting next to McCoy, who inevitably would be late.
If Carlson was the one that no one trusted, Angela McCoy was the one we all actively despised. For starters, she had been forced upon us by the FBI in what clearly became an effort to offload her. Add in the fact that she was a telepath with a bad case of power incontinence, one of the most horrific combinations in existence, and you could see where the hatred came from.
She could hear every dirty thought people had about her and every errant rage filled impulse loud, clear, and without stop and often responded to them as if they had been spoken aloud. For those not in the know, it made her seem crazy. For those in the know, you had to police your thoughts lest she go off on you. Horrifically irritating and frustrating, which is why no one wanted to work with her if they could avoid it. The feeling seemed mutual, given her preference of working alone.
The final problem was that the only solution she had found to her power incontinence was alcohol. The fog reduced the number of errant thoughts she received, or at least muted them to the point where she could feel silent. That wasn’t too bad on its own. I knew several infantry men who needed to numb themselves to sleep and knew how to work with the type. The real issue was that she had been self-medicating for the better part of 5 years at this point, which meant that her tolerance was astoundingly high. Only place she never drank or was drunk was on the job,[51] which was the only reason Slate hadn’t fired her yet.
Given the impending sense of departure and general irritability, you could see why she wasn’t anybody’s favorite person. Personally, the only time I could tolerate being around her is during conferences and office parties when it was socially acceptable for her to be drunk. When she drank, McCoy loosened up, wasn’t glaring at you for thoughts you never said, and actually became a fun and nice person to be around. Sadly, those events only happened once every few months.[52]
When I had settled in, Slate started the conference call. I idly wondered if McCoy had told him that she was going to be late, before deciding that Slate wouldn’t have let it slide if she hadn’t. The phone rang twice before Gale Delanch picked up the phone.
Delanch was one of the few existing Deputies to be empowered by the Mayan event, which meant he was a shoe in for MCB leadership. While he officially reported to Slate, he was largely given free reign over the Rockford office, which made him the highest placed EEP in the Federal Government. He was always ridiculously energetic, possibly a side effect of being a living tesla coil. “Good morning Chicago!” He crooned in a passable imitation of Robin Williams, “How are we coming through?”
“Good,” Slate responded firmly, “How about us?”
“Fantastic!” Delanch said, “Let’s get this show on the road. I’ll go first.”
Delanch then proceeded to fill us in on his stretch of Northern Illinois. He mentioned the reported shake up in the first gen werewolf hierarchy, I told him that we could corroborate, but left the story until later. There was something going on with the vampires of the quad cities they were keeping an eye on. Lots of ‘wait and see’ which meant busy but easy work. Right around the end of their presentation, McCoy snuck in, sporting a pair of sunglasses that obscured her probably bloodshot eyes and looking very haggard. Carlson reluctantly took his feet off the seat and she flopped into the chair, her dark chestnut ponytail bouncing once before falling over in a deflated lump. The rest of her body shortly followed suit. I slid over her donut and went back to listening. I might not like her, but there was no reason to be petty enough to steal her favorite donut. Besides, she’d remember this niceness the next time we went drinking and might take pity on my liver.
Chalmers went next. Apparently, while the EEP deputies were down in Alabama, there had been a series of disappearances in South Shore, especially near the lake. They were working with the Coast Guard to talk to the Aquatics[53] in the lake to see if someone was to blame. Smart money was on the merfolk, but we couldn’t act without a warrant. Slate assigned Carlson to help out, which largely meant he was on arm wrestling duty if the merfolk wanted to try to establish dominance.[54] I went next.
I filled them in over the last day of activity. Much like Jacob and I, they were all in a large state of shock over how much shit had actually hit the fan. Well, except Slate who never seemed surprised and was at least partially in the loop.
Brooks spoke up first, to the point and surprisingly talkative today, “How many other victims do we suspect are out there?”
Jacob jumped in, “Dr. Niccols has gone through her archives for the past three months and found only one other possible event besides the two I just reported, but that was inconclusive. Based on what we’ve seen, the killer is new to town, which matches the information from the O’Dells.”
Brooks seemed slightly disturbed but took the information in stride. Chalmers, however, was not letting it go from there, “So, when do we get warrants for the Circus?”
Slate interjected, “We can’t go off the rumors of two vampires. While they have established themselves as a good source of information, by Tennant’s report they are working on supposition as much as we are. Still, it does merit an investigation. Tennant?”[55]
“Already on the docket for today,” I sharply responded. Slate nodded in approv
al and I let myself relax. Man gets scary when he thinks you’re slacking off.
“So, what exactly are we dealing with?” McCoy chimed in, speaking for the first time all morning. Practical woman McCoy. Made me almost like her if she wasn’t so insufferable to work with.
Jacob responded, leaning forward and reading from a yellow legal pad as he went, “Well, there are numerous mythologies that we could be drawing from. Kyle Jennings and I ran through as much of the internet, archives, and library as we could, and we’ve got a few strong contenders. Immediately discounting non-humanoids, such as the Wakwak and Ammit, and the narrow profiles, such as the eating of Albinos in sub-Saharan Africa, we’re left with a few options.
First option is some kind of werewolf or vampire. Both are humanoids and are strong enough to do the damage described. However, both the vampires and the werewolves in Chicago have not done this in our recorded history. Additionally, Walker reports that there are no new Werewolves in the city and Vincent Madoc’s Magistrate reports similarly for the vampires, which reduces the likelihood of either severely.[56]
“Next, we have the Manananggal, which is a female creature from the Philippines which is said to seduce men and eat their hearts. They can shape shift, which would explain the indentations in the two victim’s chests and why only males have been targeted thus far.”
He paused as he traced his finger down the legal pad, “The American Indians have a tradition of doing this. In particular, the Quechua of modern-day Bolivia and the Iroquois of modern-day Great Lakes did such things as part of a victory ritual. It supposedly gave them strength in the face of their ancestors.
If we discount the hearts, and limit it to conventional human eating, we’re left with,” Jacob paused, as he flipped through his notes ”the Rakshasas of Indian, the Wendigo’s of Algonquian myth, the Muma Padurii from Romanian, Baba Yaga from Slavic folklore, Whaitri from Maori mythology, the Khakhua-Kumu from Papua new Guinea, and the Brahmarkashasa one again from India. If we only allow for male supernaturals, that discounts the Manananggal, Whaitri, Baba Yaga, Muma Padurii. I’ve got a limited file on each of them here. Jennings is off doing more research right now, but it’s kinda hard since we don’t know what exactly we’re dealing with. We’ll need more details to start narrowing the search”
Slate pensively waited to give orders as Jacob handed out folders to each person in the room. A quick thumb through revealed that inside was most of the information he had just provided. Just twice as long and in blocks of printed text. I closed it, resolving to read through it in detail later and focused on Slate, who was nodding slowly and giving us marching orders.
“Right. Delanch, report in if you can spare any people, because it sounds like we need back up. Chalmers, Brooks, and Carlson go get back to work on the missing people. See if you can’t wrap it up quickly so you can be back up on the man-eater case. Danvers, you and Jennings get back at those books. If I need to start pushing for silver bullets or some other weapon to make sure this thing can be dealt with, I want to start on that sooner rather than later.”
I looked up from my folder and inwardly cursed. We didn’t normally do partners around here, too much ground to cover and not enough people to do it. But if he was assigning everyone else a partner that meant….
“Tennant, take McCoy and go check out that circus. If we can get a lead on our killer from there, let’s do it. Get to it people.” Fuck me, I had been hoping to avoid this by having Miles deputized. Stupid classes. I sighed and breathed out. No reason to be angry at a man for having a steady job.
As I calmed myself, there was a rush for the door which left McCoy and I sitting alone in the conference room. She pulled her glasses down, revealing that her eyes were surprisingly not bloodshot, but tired and a muddy brown. Her face was flat as she looked me dead in the eye. “Joy,” she deadpanned.
Glad to know I wasn’t the only one who was unhappy with this assignment.
Chapter 9
Moloch Menagerie Circus
It took McCoy and I the better part of an hour and a half to make it out to the Racine County Fairgrounds traveling along I-94. McCoy[57] had spent the trip alternating between catnapping and skimming the files and reading the important identifying bits to me while I drove. By the time we reached the Wisconsin border, Slate had texted us on route to tell us that we had been cleared by the Eastern District of Wisconsin to conduct an investigation on their territory, which was good. Last thing I wanted to deal with was jurisdiction friction.[58] I said as much to McCoy.
“I don’t know. Spending the day at a circus just seems like some kind of personal hell to me. Hard to see any silver linings.”
See what I meant about hard to work with? Still, the monotony of the car ride was starting to wear on my nerves, and I prided myself on at least attempting to be civil. “I’m not sure about hell, but I could see where you’re coming from. I don’t know what it was, but it always seemed like it was raining when the carnival came within fifty miles of whatever base we were at. Which was a shame, because military bases and projects aren’t exactly kid friendly.”
McCoy snorted a small laugh, “I suppose my childhood didn’t suck that much.” I paused, waiting for her to continue, but she didn’t. Annoyed, but too bored to be quiet, I tried another approach. “I take it the hatred of circuses is a more recent thing then?”
She just shook her head wistfully and turned to stare out the window, “Yeah, it kinda is.” And left it at that. So much for civility. I took the hint and we spent the rest of the drive in a pained silence.
✽✽✽
The sign at the edge of the fairgrounds proudly welcomed us to “The World Famous Moloch Menagerie Circus, home of the Real World Wonders!” It was adorned with images of people doing things once seen as impossible, such as contorting into knots while flying, and previously impossible people, such as bearded ladies and strong men. The grounds were surprisingly packed with people, mostly attendees from the look of it. I thought it was a bit cold for August, let alone a carnival, but apparently that didn’t stop the cheeseheads from showing up in force.
From my right McCoy snarked, “I wonder where they’re hiding the Colossus of Rhodes.”
I blinked for a second in shock, staring at her incredulously. “What?” She replied defensively, “It’s one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.”
I shook my head, “I got the reference, I’m just surprised you made a joke and willingly talked to me.”
She shrugged and put her sunglasses back on, “You got me a donut this morning. Don’t get used to it.” And with that, we walked into the park.
The circus was your standard fare. Cotton candy, popcorn, clowns, and animals. McCoy and I made plans to search the grounds and meet up at the big top tent. She went towards the animals, I went towards the funhouse. It might’ve been wiser to stick together, but after the awkward car ride, I was grateful for the break.
About halfway there, I spotted a crowd moving towards a tent, proudly proclaiming “Freaks and Mutations! Shock your senses and expand your horizons.” I grimaced and went that way.[59] If our killer had come from this Circus, this might be the best place to start.
The tent was dark and cramped as people walked pushed through the hall, going from one exhibit to the next. The first two displays, more like cages really, featured your standard Circus fare. A bearded lady sat across from a two headed snake. Once sights of wonder, most people moved past them quickly to see the new and exotic mutations the world had made. I smiled politely at the bearded lady and she smiled back, nonplussed by the people passing her by. It made me consider stopping to talk, but realized I was just stalling. I didn’t want to see what my life might have been like had I not been so fortunate with my gifts. With a nod to no one in particular and against my better judgement, I followed the crowd deeper in.
The third exhibit was much more tightly packed and attended. I poked my head around and saw a man slithering along the walls and fake trees of the cage, much li
ke a snake. Apparently, his Mayan “gift” was to turn him into half an anaconda. HIs arms and legs had shrunk to the point of being laughable, but his torso and newfound tail belied a sinuous strength. He smiled and coiled around a log two feet thick. A ripple of muscle ran down his twelve-foot frame as he started constricting. The first contraction didn’t seem to have a notable effect, but the second was followed by the distinct sound of wood breaking and the top of the log being split into a web of cracks.
There was a dramatic pause before the third pulse. When he sent the cascading pulse down his frame this time, the entire log exploded into a shower of splinters. Most of them flew upward, sailed over the wall of the cage, and rained down upon us. After a second of stunned silence the crowd turned to furious applause. I joined while idly wondering how many practice logs, they had gone through to get the cascade just right.
The snake man propped himself up on his tail and took a bow, serpentine tongue slipping between his lips as he soaked in the applause. As the applause died down, he began to move again. This time moving to coil himself around a metal barrel that had been discreetly placed into the cage while we were all distracted.
As impressive as the man’s strength was, he couldn’t possibly be our killer. No way those shriveled hands could punch through a rib cage and scoop out a heart. Quietly, I pushed past the gawkers to find the next exhibit.
The next room was poorly lit and empty. Framed against a painted backdrop of withered trees there was a woman who looked like something out of a horror movie. Bleached white skin, long stringy black hair, sitting easily upon a simple swing, her eyes scanning the room. Watching, assessing. Measuring. Almost immediately, I could tell why her room wasn’t crowded. The room oozed a sense of discomfort that only grew more intense the closer you got to her and her mannerisms were clearly designed to make that feeling more pronounced.
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