The Tome of Bill Series: Books 5-8 (Goddamned Freaky Monsters, Half A Prayer, The Wicked Dead, The Last Coven)

by Rick Gualtieri

  That was good because there wasn’t time to debate it. The sound of tank engines had grown distant, but the smoke continued to thicken. Off in the distance, back the way we’d come, I could just make out wisps of flame. Alex had meant what he said.

  Vincent joined us right as we were about to break cover and move out. “Sister Bernadette!”

  “Yes, brother?”

  “The Magi. They’re on the move. We believe they’re retreating.”

  Not a second too soon, then. The mages weren’t stupid. They got greedy earlier, fell into a trap, and knew it.

  But maybe opportunity lay in the chaos, something that would allow us to rescue our friends.

  There’d been no sign of Sally or Tom. We could either keep combing the woods and hope we ran into them, or follow the mages who we knew were definitely holding Christy hostage. As much as I hated to play Sophie’s Choice with my friends, it seemed the logical course of action.

  Mind you, if the Magi idea of regrouping was to teleport a thousand miles away, we’d be fucked, but I had to hope that wasn’t the case. The mages who were out here had been using a lot of power. They probably wouldn’t be in much shape to zap anywhere. Hopefully, we had a shot.

  Problem was, we’d also be heading into Sasquatch territory to do so.

  Still, it was either that or turn around and slink back to Alex. Yeah, I’d sooner risk the Sasquatches. At least those fuckers knew how to uphold a truce, assuming they hadn’t figured out it was bullshit yet.

  Fuck that. One issue at a time. At this point, all of our plans had turned to total shit anyway.

  Maybe we’d have better luck winging it.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Earlier, I’d thought it best to split up and let Sheila draw the mages’ fire while I circled around and fucked up their shit. Hadn’t worked out so hot. Now, after discussing it with her, Bernadette, and Vincent, we decided on the opposite course of action – a close grouping.

  For starters, powerful as she was, Sheila was still the slowpoke in the group. Her powers were great for defense, but not so much for cross-country sprinting. I offered to carry her, but she gave me a withering glare in return that would’ve made Sally proud.

  The second line of reasoning was far more practical. Her powers messed with magic. Sure, if she flared up while we were all around her, we’d be toast, but even without her aura, she was essentially a black hole to the mages. They couldn’t scry her and their wards would fizzle in her presence. They’d need to spot her in the woods the old-fashioned way – a difficult prospect in a burning forest, at least so long as she didn’t ignite her powers like a road flare.

  From that perspective, we had the advantage. Yeah, there were potential glamours to deal with, but again, that took power; power that might be in short supply following an extended battle with a column of tanks.

  It was the best we had to work with.

  We had the Templar stow their robes for the time being – no point in them looking like Christmas ornaments among all the greenery. Then we took off in pursuit.

  Thankfully, it was hard to get lost in this forest. The wooded finger that had been shoved up Boston’s asshole was maybe a half mile wide. With a fire on our tail, that made it relatively easy to keep on the straight and narrow.

  Then there was scent. It was hard to sniff out the mages with all the smoke, but the residual reek of Feet was another thing entirely. All the smoke in the world couldn’t perfume their unwashed asses.

  Our course set, there was only one slight issue – what to do once we got there, wherever there was.

  Retreating Magi or not, there were bound to be a lot more of them than us.

  Even if I bit all the Templar and powered up – something I doubted they’d be too keen on letting me do – it was still going to be a cluster fuck of trying to dodge dozens of fireballs at once.

  On that, I had no answer.

  Even my old character Kelvin Lightblade would have been hard pressed with that one. He was good, but not that good.

  I would need to be better.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Be careful,” I hissed as one of the Templar accidentally strayed into a ray of sunlight streaming in through the trees. Doofus had apparently forgotten that his days of sunbathing were over. Fortunately, he only got singed enough to give him a good reminder.

  “God no longer smiles upon us,” Bernadette muttered to herself, because that was exactly what we needed to keep our morale high. Bunch of killjoys.

  At least the air was clearing up. We’d crossed over the Charles River, I think, at some point. The magical forest had torn the manmade bridges all to shit, but it left a swampy, but passable, crossing of interconnected roots, logs, and broken concrete. Whatever fire had been on our asses seemed to have been stopped there.

  Far more pressing, however, was how thin the coverage was starting to get. When Grulg had led us this way, it had been only a few steps removed from jungle. Now the trees appeared shrunken, withered. Soon enough, we were able to see the ruins of civilization through their branches.

  “Alexander’s doing?” Sheila asked.

  “No. Not unless he had a bunch of anti-druids in his employ or a shit-ton of weed block. It’s the Feet.”

  “How so?”

  “I think they’re pulling back, taking their magic with them.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Fuck no,” I replied with a laugh. “But if they’re holding to the peace, then it makes sense. This place, even on the outskirts of the city; they hate shit like this. They’re forest spirits, so they’re going to want to get back to where they belong.”

  “I thought you said they were allied with the witches now,” Bernadette said.

  “Yeah, I did. But, and don’t quote me on this, the Humbaba Accord, the treaty that kept the peace for thousands of years, is a pretty big deal to both sides. This alliance with the Magi strikes me as more a back alley deal than anything. If they’d joined the war under the Accord, they’d have to pull back, too.” Or so I assumed. Nevertheless, my nose seemed to support this. The reek of Bigfoot in the area was residual at best.

  “You thinking this Calibra person isn’t too big on the paperwork?” Sheila asked.

  “That’s the funny thing. All this time, her disguise was a by-the-book office drone. Hell, the first time I met her, she came across as so tight-assed, I figured she could crack walnuts between her cheeks. Now, though, I have a feeling she couldn’t care less about due process. The Feet do, however, and the Accord holds weight with them. Mind you, it’s a fair bet they’ll be cheering the Magi on from the sidelines.”

  “At least until they figure out it was all a sham.”

  “There is that,” I replied. “There is definitely that.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Looks like we’re in Bunker Hill,” one of the Templar said, pointing out an overgrown sign.

  “Awesome,” I replied. “If we’re gonna party, might as well level a historical landmark while we’re at it. What’s a few extra thousand lost karma points?”

  Sadly, I wasn’t joking. If shit was going to happen, it was going to be soon. With the air clearing and the stench of Squatch dissipating, I could pick out other scents up ahead – human or, more likely, close to human. I couldn’t really differentiate between mages and people like Gan could yet, but it seemed a safe guess. After all, who else would be hanging around? Far as I knew, every last living person in the immediate vicinity had been turned into a shrubbery by those ugly-ass apes.

  I glanced around and saw several noses twitching. The Templar were beginning to come to grips with their newfound abilities.

  “What on God’s green Earth could smell so foul?” one of them asked.

  “That would be Bigfoot,” I replied. “Be thankful. If you’re ever unlucky enough to take a good long whiff when they’re around, you’ll regret it. Trust me. For now, concentrate on moving beyond that. Filter out their scent, t
he trees, everything else, and focus on what lies beneath it all.”

  I could see many of the Templar closing their eyes and trying what I’d just said. It was almost enough to make me laugh. Me, perhaps one of the worst excuses for a vampire on the planet – at least according to Sally – mentoring the next generation. Oh yeah, these guys were doomed.

  “I smell ... something,” Vincent said. “People, maybe?”

  “Mages,” I replied. “Has to be.”

  “Do you think our friends, Kelly and the rest, are unharmed?”

  Friends? That was new. Go figure, a Templar with an open mind. “No idea.” We were still too far away, and there were enough scents on the wind to make it impossible for me to pick and choose. “But we’re going to find out. Unpack your cloaks. It’s time to raise some hell.”

  Perhaps a poor choice of words as, again, most of the Templar glared at me. I really needed to sit them down and discuss how vamp hierarchy worked. For now, though, I swallowed what little pride I had and turned to Bernadette. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  She gave me a single sour nod, seemingly the only expression she was capable of. “Unpack the garments of your faith, my brothers. Hold them dear. God’s love may yet shine on us again through our deeds.”

  I was sorely tempted to point out her hypocrisy. I mean, I wasn’t a bad fella, but they’d never said inspirational shit like that to me. It was all spawn of Satan this and damned to Hell that. Well, fuck that shit. Sad to say, but you couldn’t buy your way into Heaven, at least not according to John Constantine.

  Now was not the time to kick these guys when they were down, though. There’d be plenty of time for that later.

  “Is it a good idea to do that?” Sheila asked, hooking a thumb at the Templar, all busy pulling their capes out of backpacks and bags.

  “Yep. You’ll notice I said out, not on,” I replied, smiling.

  “Not following.”

  “I may not be a military genius like Alex, but I watch a lot of movies.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  So far as I could tell, the mages had turned the Bunker Hill Monument itself into their personal base of operations. We didn’t even need to get close to figure it out. They’d put up one of those purplish energy domes around the entirety of Monument Square. The energy itself seemed to be flowing from the top down, so it was a good bet there was at least one mage, maybe more, up top. That was one mystery solved.

  Normally, the monument would give a pretty good view of the surrounding area. However, despite the forest beginning to thin out, it hadn’t fully given way yet. Another couple of hours and we’d probably be fucked, but for now, we had a chance, however small.

  I found myself actually longing for the Feet or the Jahabich. Dangerous as they were, they mostly needed to get up close and personal to tear your head off. The Magi were distance fighters, the artillery of the paranormal world. If we could close the gap, they were vulnerable in hand-to-hand combat, but getting close enough was the trick.

  Thankfully, I had years of gaming experience to fall back upon. Hell, wasn’t this just another wizard’s tower waiting to be stormed? Sure, we’d lost a lot of those battles thanks to Dave’s fondness for TPKs, but those losses had taught me a lot, and not just that my DM was an ass.

  Most importantly, it had given me the realization that all spell casters had at least one weakness, whether they were newbs or twentieth-level badasses: their egos.

  Sure, real life wasn’t a one-to-one correlation, but arrogance seemed almost a prerequisite for supernatural entities.

  The mages might’ve been full of themselves, but that didn’t mean they were necessarily idiots. Case in point, there were scouts in the woods beyond the perimeter of their defenses, as well as wards on every tree for dozens of yards.

  Thankfully, we had a moveable anti-magic field.

  With the Icon’s powers, aided by vampire senses, we were able to get the drop on the half dozen or so sorcerers who’d gotten unlucky enough to pull scout duty. As expected, strong in the Force they might be, but glass in the jaw they also were.

  Those taken care of, I had the Templar hang back so as to prepare. Sheila and I made a wide circuit around the square, well out of sight of the monument. The goal was simple – fizzle out enough wards to give our people safe paths to follow, but leave enough active that the Magi didn’t sense anything awry.

  We walked in silence, her fizzling while I used my claws to mark our passage for the others. I think we both realized that if we started talking, we might get caught up in it. This was neither the time nor place.

  Once that was all done, we met up with our allies again a few blocks away. The Templar said a prayer while we readied ourselves. Then it was time to move.

  The second Battle of Bunker Hill was about to begin – except this time, with the exception of one of our number, there were no whites in our eyes to be seen.

  Rabbit Up My Sleeve

  “Don’t think like a human anymore. Imagine you’re in the Matrix. Some of those old rules can be bent, and some can be broken.”

  I got the impression my instructional session was lost on nearly everyone present. Fuck it.

  “You’re vampires now. You’re faster and a lot stronger. You need to remember that and use it, because if you don’t, you’re fucked.”

  That wasn’t much better, but it was the best I could do on short notice.

  Besides, the Templar were trained warriors, whereas I was a former game programmer from Brooklyn. The irony of trying to tell them what to do wasn’t lost upon me.

  My pep talk finished, Bernadette dispatched her men into the forest. “God’s grace be with thee, Blessed One,” she said just before disappearing into the woods herself.

  “Good luck, Bernadette.” Sheila said, but the Templar was gone by the time she finished.

  “Once more unto the breach?” I asked.

  “Seems to be the story of our lives lately.”

  “Better than those boring exposition chapters.”

  She smiled at that. “Good luck.”

  “You too. I’d give you a hug but...” I looked down at myself.

  “Trust me, I get it.” She turned toward where the monument lay. “Bill, what if they’re not there? What if they’re...?”

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this to you, but have a little faith.”

  Now if I could only find a bit of that myself.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  As the most experienced vamp in the group – and someone not nearly bright enough to avoid sticking his nose where it shouldn’t be – it had been decided in advance that I’d be the guy to light the proverbial fuse.

  It was probably an unnecessary step. Away from Sheila, the mages could easily pick us up if they were actively scrying. Chances were they already knew we were there.

  But if they didn’t, they were about to.

  Moving before I could think better of the idea, I raced off the safe path we’d marked, straight ahead toward the purple barrier. I put every ounce of speed I could into my gait, despite the foliage.

  It was necessary.

  When I first learned of what Christy was, I’d paid an uninvited visit to her apartment. There, Sally and I had gotten a firsthand lesson that magical wards weren’t just an invention by dungeon masters looking to blow their players into tiny chunks.

  Christy’s had been fairly benign – defensive, but meant more to dissuade than outright kill. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t be juiced up if the mage in question was in a mood.

  One moment, I was just a fool running through the woods. The next, I was a fool running through a magical minefield. Explosions rang out around me as I set off the magic that had been inlaid into the trees. I didn’t know what each symbol meant, but I had a feeling they were all some variety of “Fuck you!”

  In some cases, the ground blew out from beneath where I’d been a second before. In others, trees
simply exploded, sending wooden shrapnel everywhere before toppling over. In all instances, I somehow managed to stay one step ahead of whatever nastiness happened.

  As I neared the barrier, I heard more explosions ring out; some close, others distant. The Templar were on the move.

  Just before I reached the force field, I veered hard left and doubled back, setting off more of the magical traps. A flash of heat from off to my right caught my attention and I turned my head just in time to see a red beam of energy dissipate.

  More joined it, searing into the forest from the direction of the monument – some from above, others at ground level. A few came close enough to make me want to shit myself, but none hit the mark.

  Hopefully, the Templar were having similar luck.

  I’d hate to think we’d all taken a filthy mud bath for nothing.

  I knew the mages could scry us coming, but I’d been willing to bet that once the shooting started, they’d rely more on their senses than some spell that probably required them to sit in a circle chanting.

  I’d started us off, but now the Templar were drawing fire, too, or hopefully their bright red cloaks were, easily spotted propped up on trees or bushes while their owners ran amuck.

  The mud had been my idea, the thought popping into my head as we crossed the swamp that had been the Charles River. It was one half camouflage, helping us to blend in with the surrounding forest, but it also served as a makeshift sunblock in spots where daylight couldn’t be avoided.

  I kept dodging and weaving, the dust and debris from the explosions making up for any cover lost as trees were felled. Though I wouldn’t pretend to even remotely like them, I still found myself hoping things were going as well for the Templar. This was not a situation where I wanted to find myself the sole survivor once the smoke cleared.

  The goal was simple: trip their traps and draw their fire from all sides, hopefully both confusing and panicking the shit out of them. All of this, while hopefully drawing attention from the grand finale, which, if timed correctly, should be happening any moment now.