The Devil's Gunman

by Philip S Bolger

  She looked at me, sizing me up.

  “You have a survivor’s instinct, Nick Soren,” Amalfi said. “It helped you get through your service with the Patron. It will help you get through your freedom, but it will not be enough on its own.”

  “Thanks, I think,” I replied. “What do you mean?”

  “The task you’ve been given will not be your last,” Amalfi said. “We’ll eliminate the Patron. You’ll have your vengeance. That may last you for a while, but eventually, you will have nothing left to do. You’ll need something more fulfilling.”

  I was skeptical about being able to live in peace. I thought about the way I felt, lying in bed with Collette.

  “Like love?” I asked. “Or a family? Or a vocation?”

  Amalfi shrugged. The motion looked a bit unnatural, like she wasn’t sure if she was doing it right.

  “I don’t have an answer for you,” she said. “I’ve lived a long time. I get a lot of satisfaction from protecting others. I also get satisfaction from the thrill of the chase, the predatory pursuit, the feeling when I lock my jaw around a creature’s neck, the taste of raw meat and blood…”

  She shuddered with glee, unable to keep a smile off her face.

  “I’m hard-wired for that, Nick Soren. You aren’t. Killing is a job to you, not a lifestyle.”

  “The fact that I’m not sleeping in a climate-controlled home suggests it’s a bit of a lifestyle,” I said.

  “One you were forced into,” she countered. “You wouldn’t have visited this park if Lyndale hadn’t burned down your home.”

  She had me there.

  “Find your passion. If you need to talk about your past jobs, you can talk to me. I can regale you with stories, too.”

  “Oh yeah?” I said. “Tell me your wildest story.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Let’s rest for a bit. I brought some jerky. We can have a snack, and I’ll tell you about my time in Okinawa.”

  We had reached a small clearing, and a reasonably sturdy log made a fine bench for the two of us. She dropped her backpack on the ground and rifled through it, before handing me some beef jerky. I expected it to be something she’d made herself, but it was the packaged kind you get at grocery stores and gas stations.

  “Don’t tell Josiah,” she said. “He said you’re not supposed to have this.”

  I took a pack and opened it. I wasn’t starving, but I ate quite a bit.

  “Imagine you’re on the island of Okinawa—you know, the one south of Japan?”

  I nodded.

  She continued. “It’s April 1, 1945. I’m with the American 7th Infantry Division, on a landing craft, heading toward the island. The Japanese are—”

  “Wait,” I said. “Hold up. You were in World War II?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “As what?” I asked. “Some kind of supernatural spec ops kinda thing?”

  Visions ran through my head of vampiric paratroopers gunning down Nazi zombies.

  She shook her head.

  “I’m not doubting your combat prowess,” I said. “But the army wasn’t exactly big on hiring women back then.”

  “Maybe it’s better if I show you,” she said.

  She shimmered, and her form changed. Instead of the lithe, muscular, bronze woman I knew as Amalfi, she became a taller, leaner, bronze man, wearing a US Army uniform from World War II, bearing the nametag “Hernandez.”

  “I have a voice, too, that goes with this persona,” Amalfi said, in a deep, masculine voice.

  I was surprised. “So, you went to war?”

  She nodded once.

  “Yes.”

  She shimmered and turned back into the woman I was used to seeing.

  “This is my preferred form,” she said. “I’m a female Chimera. I like imagining what I’d be like as a female human. The magic I have lets me shapeshift into many things, within reason. That was one of the reasons I was happy to sign on with the army—there are not many civil applications for flame-breathing, magical creatures.”

  “You just walked into a recruiter’s office and signed on?” I asked, still perplexed.

  “Yes,” she said. “Mimi wanted me to. She considered it a broadening experience. I served for two years in the 7th Infantry Division. I took a different Hernandez persona to Vietnam.”

  She paused to snack on some jerky before continuing. “I’ve been, by my count, in 17 wars, not including minor skirmishes or civil wars. When your mistress is sleeping with the Devil of Bureaucracy, it’s easy to get what you want in the military. Anyway, we have limited time this morning. Let me finish telling you about Okinawa.”

  I nodded and motioned for her to continue.

  “Do you know what the least popular job was among American infantry? Flamethrower detail. You had to carry around a big tank of gas on your back, then use it to draw the Japanese out of bunkers, trenches, and other fortifications. But you were vulnerable. My first day in combat, I saw a man ignited by a lucky shot. There wasn’t enough left of him after the fire to send home to his family.”

  She grinned. “But I had a way around that. My shapeshifting allows me to manifest as objects, but without their power, unless it’s something I can replicate from my natural form. A claw becomes a nightstick, for example…”

  “And you can breathe fire.”

  “I can,” she said. “They were surprised when I volunteered. It didn’t take long for me to fall into my role. My tank never punctured, and I seemed fearless. They called me ‘firebug.’ It was only partially a compliment.”

  She looked off into the distance, smiling wistfully.

  “I loved that job. It was on Okinawa, though, that I first had reservations. We had been fighting for a few days when we came across a building. It was me, my squad leader, Sergeant Upton, and a young kid from Georgia named Brooks. The rest of our squad was dead. We had finally made it through. We were stacked up against the side of the building, and Upton motioned for me. He told me we had a building to clear.”

  The grin faded from her face.

  “I leapt forward and burned the inside of the building, raking the flames back and forth like I’d been trained, searing the flesh within. But when I heard the screams, I realized something was wrong. They didn’t sound like soldiers. They sounded like schoolgirls. I let up on the flames and saw five figures writhing in the hallway. They were human children, no more than 11 or 12 years old, and they were burning badly, with no hope of recovery.”

  She paused.

  “Sergeant Upton told me it didn’t matter. Said they were Jap scum who got in the way. Brooks seemed shocked. We cleared the rest of the building and found two more Japanese girls upstairs. One was holding a spear, awkwardly pointing it at us, but she was no threat. Upton grinned. He told me to toast her. I refused, so he shot her. Her friend screamed, so he shot her too.”

  Amalfi’s voice was catching a bit. I thought I saw the hint of tears in her eyes.

  “I wish I could tell you I stopped him,” she said. “Or that I demanded vengeance. I didn’t, though. Not because I approved of Upton. Brooks killed himself a year after the war. Named me and Upton in the suicide note. Said he couldn’t get the smell of burning human flesh out of his mind.”

  “What happened to Upton?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Amalfi. “I tried to look him up a few times. I found out he died in 1979, but have no idea how or from what. Never even found his grave.”

  She paused again, sighing a bit.

  “That’s the thing about war stories. Not all of them have happy endings. Some of them don’t have endings at all. That’s why I understand what you’re going through. You don’t blame yourself much, which is good. That’ll keep you from hanging yourself from your belt in a barn like Brooks.”

  “How many people have you killed?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t really keep track, Nick Soren. Don’t see the point. War and violence aren’t about racking up a score. It’s about duty. It’s
about commitment. For me, it’s a little about glee, the thrill of the hunt. But it’s not something I quantify. It’s what I’m built to do.”

  She looked over at me as I finished my last piece of jerky. It tasted better than anything I’d had since my house burned.

  “We should get moving,” she said. “We still have hunting to do.”

  We left the clearing and headed to the hunting ground. For several long, miserable hours, we sat still. I shot at a few deer and finally hit one—a small doe. But she had enough meat on her bones to feed our little party. Amalfi hefted it onto her shoulder her with no problem, and we headed back to camp.

  “How much do you know about combat?” I asked.

  “Enough,” she said. “Mostly how to keep myself alive. I don’t know guns as well as Josiah or tactics as well as Lotus.”

  “You seem like a pretty good shot,” I said.

  “I understand the machines and weapons of war, like I understand cars,” she said. “I’m not trained, though. At least, not well. I can shoot a handgun. I shoot on the range at the ranch. I can drive, and I can fly.”

  “Presumably you trained for war, though,” I said.

  “I did, Nick Soren,” she said. “But the last time I was at war was 1972, and those skills atrophy quickly if you don’t maintain them. War requires a great many skills, and practice is essential. Being able to use equipment isn’t very meaningful if you don’t understand how that equipment is best employed, and my instincts and my magic don’t cover that.”

  She shrugged, the deer carcass moving with her shoulders.

  “I’ll practice and learn what I can while I’m away from Vinter. I must admit; it’s nice having more time to myself.”

  “I’ve been wondering about something else,” I said. “What does Vinter think about this? About us being on the run from Lyndale?”

  “He’s understanding,” she said. “Lyndale’s aligned with the Patron. Maybe they’re his tools against you. They’ve driven you off. I know Vinter would rather have us go after the Patron now, but I think you’d best finish your training before that happens. Vinter has a measure of patience, and Mimi thinks in decades, not days.”

  We didn’t talk during the rest of the hike back. I was lost in thought, and Amalfi seemed to be content to take in the scenery.

  By the time we returned to camp, it was late afternoon. Lotus, Collette, and Josiah helped us prepare the deer. After spending time in Itasca, I was far more comfortable with deer entrails than I ever thought I’d be, but I suppose it was good. The first meals were great, but we found out quickly, with five of us eating (even if Lotus just picked at her food), the spices in Josiah’s RV dwindled quickly, and we gradually were just eating plain, cooked venison. The meal that night didn’t taste any better than usual, but I felt a bit of pride knowing I’d contributed to it.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirteen: Final Approach

  After my hunting expedition, training slowed down a bit. Josiah seemed to trust me a bit more, and my skills had advanced to the point where even my skeptical eye noticed the difference. From the moment I’d joined the Patron’s services, I was lethal, but my time in the woods showed me how much I could grow and how much more I had to learn. Still, I was grateful when the tempo slowed down, and I had some time to breathe.

  As time passed, signs of cabin fever began to show. Collette fussed about being missed at her job. Lotus assured her the right people had been spoken to. Josiah mentioned wanting to get back and make sure his family was buried. Lotus told him it had been arranged without the crassness she used on the ride up. No one wanted to push the issue further.

  Amalfi finally said what we were all thinking about five weeks into our state park retreat. We were all gathered around the camp fire, having just finished another meal of venison and canned veggies, when Amalfi voiced her concerns.

  “As much as I am content to spend time in the wild,” she said, “I cannot help but think this is unsustainable. And I dislike behaving like a frightened herbivore. Where do we go from here?”

  Josiah shrugged. “Based on what they hit us with, I think they’ve probably exhausted themselves. I’ve taught Nick about as much as I can about the art of runic marksmanship. I think we’re safe to go back.”

  “I’d like to get back to my clinic,” said Collette, her eyes lighting up. “If it’s safe now, that is.”

  “I think it’s—” I started.

  “You don’t think much, pup,” said Lotus, pulling her wheelchair a little farther forward. “Let a master strategist handle this.”

  I stewed a bit, irritated. I didn’t like being interrupted, but considering I was going to say that I had no idea, and I just wanted to lay low, I decided to hear what Lotus had to say.

  “We should go back to the Twin Cities,” Lotus said. “But it is out of the question that we attempt to live our normal lives. We must take decisive and immediate action. Their guard is likely down—they believe their previous efforts were successful, or if they don’t, they’ve been running for five weeks, trying to follow up.”

  “What do you suggest?” asked Amalfi. “We must eliminate the Patron, and taking down a vampire coven will detract from that.”

  “Deal with Lyndale first. We will strike at the heart,” Lotus continued. “I know their leader, Lucas Skov.”

  Amalfi didn’t seem to accept that plan, but she didn’t seem ready to interrupt Lotus, who was on a roll, either.

  Lotus’ bones creaked and cracked as she extended her arm to show us her smartphone. It showed a picture of a guy who would’ve looked right at home serving coffee in the kind of place that proudly advertised “Organic and Fair Trade” but called the police suspiciously quickly when anyone questionable walked in. The combination of pallid skin, greasy dark hair in an artificial bedhead ‘do, and eyes that radiated smugness, made me instantly hate the guy. I guess I was mad about his attempts to kill me and Collette, his success at killing Josiah’s family, and the nonstop vampire harassment I’d received since I came back from Texas, but I couldn’t have imagined that the guy would look so perfectly hateable. He had the kind of face you instinctively knew would look better with your fist in it.

  “The Roseville Coven has worked with Skov for years,” she said. “Recently, he’s become aggressive and erratic. He’s also become expansive. His goons took over an unaffiliated occult bookstore, and our Coven lost three supplicants in the last month, each taken by Skov’s men.”

  She paused. “What the Lyndale Coven does to women, especially to those in service to another vampire coven, is not something for polite company. Suffice it to say that Roseville leadership is rethinking their stance in the current political power game. The attacks Lyndale mounted on the night we declared neutrality were enough to rouse the suspicions of several of my superiors. They won’t give us support…but they will ignore my helping you.”

  “Thank God for that,” I interjected. “At least we don’t have to go on a murderous rampage against two covens.”

  Lotus shot some serious side-eye my way before she continued speaking.

  “Skov will be at a coven-owned nightclub in Old Town, meeting with Lyndale senior leadership, in about four days. I say we show up and decapitate Skov and his council of elders. It’s risky—there will be many heavily armed vampires there, who live without fear of the law. We could be looking at a huge shootout.”

  “If we even get there. Won’t he have patrols?” I asked. “Seems like his guys are intent on controlling the city, and I’d imagine they’ve got my mug shot up with an ‘Eliminate Immediately’ caption.”

  “You give them too much credit,” Lotus said. “There are no more than 50 members in the Lyndale Coven. They would not be able to control all of Lyndale, let alone the city.”

  “They’re not cops or soldiers,” added Josiah. “Didn’t you say they had some 15-year-old Hot Topic clerk watching you?”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  “Besides, they used a lot of power
dealing with you,” Lotus said. “Between the murders of Josiah’s family, the arson, and the highway fight on I-35, they’ll be keeping low, restocking, and resting up. This is a chance to get close and deal a decisive blow!”

  Amalfi nodded. “Aggression is always an acceptable answer.”

  Lotus turned to face her. “Not from you.”

  Amalfi seemed hurt. “I’m easily the best fighter here. Why not me?”

  “First, you’re also the best driver, and I need the best. If things go wrong, I do not trust the pup, my granddaughter, or the hitman who can’t hit to get a hot vehicle out of a contested area. “

  Amalfi seemed partially mollified by this answer.

  “Second, because you’re different,” Lotus said. “They’ll be prepared for you. They’ll have wards and sigils against beasts they don’t have collared. The Lyndale Coven likes control, especially control of beasts and women. You’re both.”

  Amalfi shifted into Hernandez in contemporary club garb.

  “Cute,” said Lotus. “But you’re still a Chimera, and if they have basic creature wards, you’ll find it very difficult to cross the threshold.”

  “If Amalfi can’t get in,” said Collette, “what chance do the rest of us have?”

  “We’ll prey on their arrogance,” Lotus continued. I noticed she didn’t use her condescending tone when speaking to her granddaughter. “They desire wealth. Their clubs and drugs bring them that. The coven will accept someone who looks like a clubgoer.”

  Lotus looked at me. “That’s where you come in.”

  “Even though they’re probably circulating my mugshot?” I asked. “I get that they’re basic and arrogant, but they know what I look like.”

  “Ugh,” groaned Lotus. “You foolish man-child. Don’t you ever use disguises?”

  “What if they have magic tracking?” I asked, hoping that was a thing.

  “Or what if they have an aircraft carrier in Lake Minnetonka or a secret hit squad composed entirely of man-eating succubae?” Lotus mocked, leering at me. “I have dealt with the Lyndale Coven before. If they were tracking you, we would’ve been attacked by vampires when we drove up here.”