by C W Hawes
Jones, Mostyn thought. Hallelujah!
Arcing through the air were two flares. They hit the wall and fell to the floor. The bright light illuminated the situation in the small chamber. Mostyn’s eyes swept the room. He spotted two men struggling to drag Dotty from the chamber.
He fired a double-tap from his pistol, sending two forty-five caliber bullets into one of the men. The man pitched forward as if he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. The other man let go of Dotty, turned around, and fell backwards under the impact from another pair of bullets sent by Mostyn’s pistol.
With pistol in one hand and knife in the other, Mostyn low crawled across the floor to where Dotty lay. When he reached her, he positioned himself in front of her and took in the scene. Several of the black suits lay dead and there was no sign of the masked man or the Chinese woman. Jones, Baker, Hammerschmidt, and Stoppen entered the chamber. NicAskill stood up, her knife blade colored red.
Dotty groaned, and muttered, “Chinese woman. Stop her.”
Mostyn touched her cheek, stood, and said, “That tunnel,” he pointed to the one he meant, “the masked man and the Chinese woman were there. Let’s go.”
“Wait a minute,” Jones said, “where are the lizard people?”
“You saw them too?” NicAskill said.
“They led us here,” Jones replied.
“Well, I’ll be…,” NicAskill muttered.
“Let’s go!” Mostyn shouted. “Jones, NicAskill, you first. And when you see the masked man or the Chinese-looking woman that was with him, shoot first, ask questions later.”
“Right, Boss,” Jones said, and plunged into the tunnel, with NicAskill following.
“Baker, Hammerschmidt, you two help Dotty.”
“My God, Mostyn, she’s in her birthday suit,” Baker said, dropping his pack and stripping off his shirt.
“Thanks, Willie Lee,” Mostyn replied, and to Dr Stoppen he said, “Follow me!”
Mostyn and Stoppen plunged into the tunnel. Almost immediately Mostyn noticed the tunnel descended deeper into the earth.
Maybe this connects to the auditorium, he thought.
Jones and NicAskill were about fifty feet ahead of Mostyn. They ran around a curve in the tunnel, and a moment later Mostyn, significantly ahead of Stoppen, rounded the curve and almost ran into Jones, who’d stopped.
Before them stood the Chinese-looking woman. Her hand was raised in a signal to halt. “The master says, goodbye. It is time for you to die.”
Her eyes turned red and she began to change shape.
“She’s the Gorgon!” Mostyn yelled, Dotty’s words suddenly making sense. The three OUP agents opened fire with their pistols. The Gorgon’s body shook and twisted under the impact of the bullets, but was still standing when the three agents ran out of ammunition.
Her beautiful face was still visible, but her body was halfway between a woman’s and something amorphous, slimy, and tentacled. Out of her head, where her hair had been, tentacles were emerging. Rivulets of green ooze were streaming from the many wounds. Mostyn could already feel a certain paralysis setting in. He turned around, ejected the magazine from his pistol, slammed a new one home, and racked the slide. He grabbed his mirror, held it up, and opened fire, watching the monster in the mirror. The first half dozen bullets missed. The next two, however, smashed their way through the thing’s neck, nearly severing the head.
The Gorgon collapsed to the floor. Jones shook himself, muttering, “What the hell?”
NicAskill shook her head and took a deep breath. “My God, I couldn’t breathe.”
“You two alright?” Mostyn asked.
“Yep,” Jones said. “Although for a moment there, it was like I couldn’t make a decision.”
“Me, too. But I’m ready to go, sir,” NicAskill added.
“Where’s Dr Stoppen?” Mostyn asked.
“Here.” Stoppen crept around the curve.
“What the hell, Doc?” Jones said. “You holding out on us?”
“No, I wasn’t, Jones,” Stoppen replied. “When I got here, Mostyn had his mirror out and was shooting at the Gorgon. I thought it best to stay out of the way. After all, I am a librarian first. Not a trained killer.”
“Yeah, right,” Jones said.
“Okay you two, that’s enough,” Mostyn said, “let’s go. One monster down, one to go.”
Down the tunnel they continued, coming out in the auditorium, which smelled of scorched stone from the thermobaric grenade.
Jones swept the place with his flashlight and helmet lamp. “No one alive seems to be here.” He pointed at several charred bodies. “Those guys aren’t in any position to stop us.”
“You do have a knack for the obvious, Jonesy,” NicAskill said.
“Just sayin’,” Jones replied.
“Enough!” Mostyn’s voice was not loud, but it was firm. “The masked man disappeared when I tossed the stun grenade on the dais,” Mostyn said. “There must be another tunnel somewhere around there with a concealed entrance.”
The team walked to the dais and Jones swept the area with the twin beams of his lights.
“Give me your flashlight,” Mostyn said.
Jones handed the light to him, and Mostyn walked to the back wall, sweeping the beam of light across the stones that made up the wall. Not finding what he was looking for, he panned the beam of light across the floor.
“Ah, here it is,” he said, pointing to a crack along a portion of the line where the floor and wall met. “That shouldn’t be there. It should be mortared like the rest of the wall.”
Mostyn then played the beam of light along the wall, spying out the faint lines of a door. “I don’t see a trigger, unless…” He pushed and the door swung inwards, revealing another tunnel.
Stepping into the opening, he turned to Jones. “Wedge this open so Baker and Hammerschmidt can follow.” He motioned for NicAskill and Stoppen to follow him.
Jones called out on entering the tunnel, “I saw Baker and Hammerschmidt enter the auditorium with Kemper when I jammed open the door.”
Mostyn waved his hand to signal he’d heard.
The tunnel was well lit and they crept along, ready for action. It made a couple right angle turns and finally emptied into a large chamber. A chamber that was brightly illuminated and filled with books, thousands of books sitting on the shelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling along all four walls. In the middle was a large desk and chair. In one corner was a large and ornate Oriental folding screen. The screen was black and on it was a swirling chaos of red and orange, with two yellow cat eyes peering out of the chaos.
From around the screen, stepped the masked man. “You have found me. Most unfortunate for you.”
Mostyn raised his pistol.
“You cannot kill me, Mr Mostyn,” the masked man said, raising his hand.
“Want to see me try?” Mostyn replied.
“Many men have, you see, and I am still here. However, while I remain you and your team will simply disappear. And when the moon is once again right for the ceremony, I’ll sacrifice Dr Kemper and Agent NicAskill to open the gate and usher in this universe’s night.”
Mostyn pulled the trigger. The bullet stopped inches away from the masked man’s raised hand and fell to the floor.
“Holy shit!” Jones muttered.
Behind Mostyn, Jones, and NicAskill, Dr Stoppen took out of his pocket a small black object and tossed it over Jones’s head. The little thing hit the floor, bounced once, and transformed into a hulking black monstrosity.
The masked man cried out, reached into his sleeve, withdrew his hand, and threw a handful of red dust into the air. While turning to flee, however, the monstrosity reached out, grabbed and pulled the screaming man to itself, and vanished.
“What the hell was that?” Jones asked.
“A class three demidaimonus,” Stoppen said. “A gift from Dr Bardon. For emergency use only.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” NicAskill said. “And you
had this thing all the time?”
“Well, not all the time,” Stoppen replied. “Dr Bardon gave it to me before he left. He thought we might have use for it. But only in the most dire emergency. I thought this qualified.”
Mostyn had a frown on his face. “Why you and not me?”
“Dr Bardon said the demidaimonus was only to be used to secure the book and nothing else.”
“I see,” Mostyn replied.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jones asked.
“Because Bardon said not to. If you have an issue with him swearing me to secrecy, take it up with him.”
“That’s alright, Otto,” Baker said, having entered the room with Hammerschmidt and Kemper at the tail end of the conversation. “We all know Bardon moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.”
Mostyn clapped Jones on the shoulder. “You ought to know by now, the Director has lots of goodies up his sleeves. Just wish he would have let me know about this one.”
“What I don’t get,” Jones said, “is why he just doesn’t do all this himself instead of sending us in harm’s way.”
Mostyn let out a laugh. “Well, Jones, he’s not God.”
“He’s almost like God,” NicAskill said. “Are you sure he isn’t some kind of supernatural being?”
Mostyn shrugged. “I only know what he told me.”
“Which was?” NicAskill prompted.
“That he’s human. All too human.”
Jones shook his head. “Yeah, right.”
Epilogue
__________
◼︎
Dr Rafe Bardon lit his old bent bulldog briar pipe. The scent of sweet Virginia pipe tobacco filled his office. Sitting on the other side of his desk were Mostyn and his team. There was an empty chair in remembrance of Dr Winifred Petrie.
“I want to begin by saying thank you for an outstanding job. You destroyed a star vampire and the Gorgon, Wing Lee is no longer with us, and his incredible library is being cataloged by Dr Stoppen. In addition, we have made contact with the lizard people. All in all, a superb job. Thank you all.”
“What about the family of Fiorella Flores-Hernandez?” NicAskill asked.
“Yes, very unfortunate,” Bardon said, nodding his head slowly and gravely. “They will be adequately taken care of.”
“But what did you tell them?” NicAskill pressed.
“Something they could believe,” Bardon replied. “After all, who would believe that an extra-dimensional entity killed their daughter by turning her to stone? Why such things are the stuff of myth!” Bardon’s face was serious, but there was definitely a twinkle in his eye.”
NicAskill continued. “And what happened to Cortado and Salzman?”
“Ah, yes,” Bardon said, rubbing his hands together. “It seems they’ve disappeared.”
“You mean they got away?” Jones said.
“Oh, no,” Bardon replied. “I mean they disappeared as in they’ve vanished from public view. While the world at large has two more missing persons, we know they are, for now, safe and sound. They are guests of the US government, and reside in one of our secret facilities.”
“Glad I never went into art,” Dotty said.
“Indeed, Dr Kemper, who knew it could be such a dangerous profession. Well, again, I want to thank you for your service. You all did fine work. Thank you.”
Bardon stood and everyone knew the meeting was over. As people began filing out, he said, “Mr Mostyn and Dr Kemper, if you’d be so kind as to wait a few moments?”
When everyone was gone, Mostyn and Kemper resumed their seats. Dr Bardon sat and relit his pipe. When he had it going, he spoke.
“I’m glad you got there in time, Pierce, otherwise our Dr Kemper would not be here and, well, we’d have a bigger problem on our hands.”
“What problem, sir?” Dotty asked.
“Don’t have time to go into it now, my dear. No, no time.”
Mostyn looked at Dotty. “Yes, we were very lucky getting there when we did, sir,” Mostyn said.
Bardon smiled. “Oh, I don’t think luck had anything to do with it.”
“What do you mean, sir?” Mostyn asked.
“Just what I said, my boy, just what I said. Now, unfortunately, I can’t give you two any time off. A very big discovery has been made by one of our satellites. The photographs are phenomenal, and I have to send you two out right away.”
Bardon slid a folder to the edge of his desk. Mostyn picked up the folder and took a look inside.
“Is this for real?” Mostyn asked.
“It is, Pierce, my boy, it is.” Bardon rubbed his hands together in obvious glee. “The opportunity of a lifetime.”
“For crying out loud,” Dotty said, “will you two let me in on what’s going on?”
“Sorry, Dot,” Mostyn said, “we’re going to Saudi Arabia.” A wicked smile appeared on Mostyn’s face. “And just think…”
“What?” Dotty said.
“There won’t be any trees.”
A look of disgust appeared on her face. “Maybe not, but there will be plenty of goddamn sand. For once, just once, I’d like to get an assignment in a city.”
Dr Bardon leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his ample stomach. Around his pipe, his mouth was stretched in a big smile. “Oh, you will, Dr Kemper, you will.”
***
Thank you for reading The Medusa Ritual. I appreciate you taking the time to do so.
In Demons in the Dunes, the next Pierce Mostyn adventure, Mostyn and his team are off to the Arabian desert and the lost city of Iram, supposedly a gateway for the Great Old Ones.
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About the Author
CW Hawes is an award winning poet turned novelist. He’s a multi-genre author, because he’s a multi-genre reader. You can find him online at his website, on Twitter, and on Facebook. Should you wish to email him, you can do so at [email protected].
Also by CW Hawes
Besides horror and the paranormal, CW Hawes writes mysteries and post-apocalyptic cozy catastrophes. You can check out all of his books on his website’s My Books Page.
Dedication
This one is for my daughter, with much love and thanks.
Acknowledgements
Many people contribute to a work of fiction, both directly and indirectly. Some I no longer remember because their contributions, the seeds they planted, didn’t bear fruit until many years after the planting. And to all those folk I know I am very deeply indebted and thank them, even though I can no longer name who they are.
There are, though, those people who I can name who were of vital importance in the writing of this book.
Thanks goes to my sister, Jodi, and daughter, Susannah. They are fabulous editors and proofreaders. They make everything I write better.
Thanks also goes to Ben Willoughby for the fabulous covers he’s produced for the entire Pierce Mostyn series.
Special thanks goes to Martina Hohenberger for her help in getting the title right for that evil book of forbidden knowledge.
And many thanks to Crispian Thurlborn and Richard Schwindt for their ongoing support of this project and of my writing in general. You two help keep the magic flowing.
Finally, special thanks goes to my late friend, Jack Koblas, who believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.
Copyright © 2019 CW Hawes. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission of t
he author. All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.