by M. D. Massey
And besides that, any mage or hunter team worth their salt would have used magic to brick the cameras before they entered the yard. That was why I didn’t expect to see the actual murder on the video footage, any more than I was worried about Ed seeing it. But what I did hope to find was something that might lead me to Elmo’s killers.
I pulled the footage up on my laptop, hoping I might catch more details on the larger screen. As I suspected, the cameras inside the yard showed nothing but static at the time of Elmo’s death. But one camera had remained working the entire time, and that was the camera Ed had pointed outside the front entrance.
Got you, you piece of shit.
Sure enough, the camera caught a van driving by—right about the time I’d been watching Elmo bleed out. The van was unmarked, but all I needed was a license plate number, and thankfully Luther’s people had installed some killer cameras. The plate number was clear as day, so I wrote it down and texted it to Belladonna along with the dark web address Rocko had given me. Bells could put the geek squad down at Circle HQ on it, and if there was a connection to be made they’d find it for sure. Bells had them wrapped around her finger, and they’d do anything to get her attention.
Bells called me back a few hours later. “You’re not going to like this,” she said.
“Just give me the news,” I replied. “Who’s it registered to?”
“Group of hunters who operate out of Bastrop. Carver’s crew.”
“Carver… that fucking piece of shit!”
“Yeah, and it gets better. From the looks of it, Carver advertises his services on that dark web page you sent me. The nerd herd did some digging, and they say he’s been doing hits for years. Low-level stuff, but he’s definitely dirty.”
It made sense that Carver was involved. He was one hunter I refused to work with because he’d take any job, no matter how immoral. He’d kill relatively harmless creatures, even the highly sentient ones, instead of trying to find alternative solutions for getting rid of them. Killing was simply a faster way to a paycheck, which was why he always opted for that route.
We’d brushed into each other a few times and it had been hate at first sight. Knowing that he’d been involved in Elmo’s death, I was looking forward to having a nice long chat with Carver. A painful chat.
“Colin, he has a pretty big crew—maybe six or eight strong. I don’t want you going after him without backup. Wait until I get off work and I’ll head out there with you.”
“No can do. These guys work at night, so the chances of me catching him at their compound after sundown are minimal. Naw, I need to head over there now. Besides, they might have someone monitoring their data in the system. If they get wind that someone searched their plate number, they’ll know I’m coming.”
“You are such a hardhead.”
“That’s why you love me,” I said.
“‘Love’ might be a strong word when I’m this frustrated with you. You sure I can’t talk you out of doing this alone?”
“Sorry, Bells. This is the first solid lead I’ve gotten on the case, and I want to follow it up right away.”
“Fine. But don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
“I promise I won’t,” I lied.
“Speaking of which—”
“Yes?”
“There’s a rumor going around that an ogre killed a snake deity at a house party on the west side last night. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“The only ogre I’ve ever known was Elmo, and he’s dead. So no, I wouldn’t know a thing about it.”
She chuckled. “Listen, stud, you keep going around kicking immortals’ asses, and eventually someone really important is going to take offense. You know how the major players are about mortals who make them look bad.”
“Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I decided to change the subject. “So, dinner at my place?”
“Your place is a dump. How about my place? Eight sound good?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Mm-hmm. By the way, you’re not off the hook. I expect to hear the whole story at dinner tonight. ¿Entendido?”
“When you put it that way, sure. You know it drives me crazy when you speak Spanish to me.”
“Don’t change the subject. I want a full report, no excuses. I can’t watch your back if I don’t know who might be coming after you.”
I sighed in exasperation. “No one’s coming after me, Bells. Relax.”
“Yeah, and that’s why your car and house have been double and triple-warded for the last few months, and why you’re always looking over your shoulder now, and why you jump out of bed at the slightest noise. I think if we just started marking off who isn’t coming after you, it’d be a much shorter list.”
“Some people collect cars, I collect enemies. What do you want me to say?”
She laughed humorlessly. “Say you’ll be careful when you go after Carver’s crew.”
“Yes, I’ll be careful. Trust me, there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”
“Isn’t that what Custer said, just before Sitting Bull handed him his ass on a platter?”
“Custer was cocky, and that’s what got him killed. Me? I’m cautiously self-assured.”
“Whatever. If you get in trouble, just text me a 911 with your location.” She paused. “And Colin?”
“Yes?”
“If I have to skip picking up dinner to come save your ass, you are not getting laid tonight.”
If I’d been merely looking for evidence, I’d have gone to Carver’s compound while he and his crew were out on a job. That would have been the safe bet—to recon their place, find proof that they were behind the murders, and then take that info to the fae to let them handle it. But I wasn’t just searching for proof. I was out for revenge.
Okay, so maybe revenge wasn’t the right word. Out for justice? Naw, that just made me sound like a Steven Seagal wannabe, and that guy was a dick. Chuck Norris never had to make his movie titles that freaking obvious, except maybe Forced Vengeance or An Eye for an Eye. But Good Guys Wear Black, Code of Silence, The Octagon… now those were classic action film titles that lacked the pretentiousness of Seagal’s craptastic films.
Martial arts movie classics aside, justice was what I was seeking. This wasn’t really a personal vendetta, not by a long shot. I hadn’t known Elmo for more than a few days, and I’d only known Jeretta in passing. Even so, I couldn’t stomach the idea that someone would kill a gentle creature like Elmo just to cover their tracks. Someone had to stop them, and since they’d decided to kill Elmo on my turf, that someone was me.
Bastrop was a good long drive from Austin, so I took the opportunity to run through my options. I could try talking with Carver, but I doubted he’d admit to any wrongdoing. I could take him and his crew head on, but that’d get messy and possibly trigger another Hyde-side appearance. I didn’t want to think about what might happen if I let him loose again, so that approach was a no-go.
So, it looked like I was going to take the sneaky approach instead. The address Bells had given me for Carver’s place was way out in the sticks, near Bastrop State Park. Most of the area had been burned to cinders several years back, turning what was once endless miles of loblolly pines to ash. But the area around Carver’s place appeared to have been spared, so I’d have plenty of cover to work with as I reconned their hideout.
I parked about a mile from the location and headed through a densely forested area toward Carver’s compound. According to Belladonna, he owned thirteen acres that was bordered by the state park on one side and a Christmas tree farm on the other. That meant it was plenty private, which was exactly what any hunter crew would want in a hideout. I hoped I could use that privacy to my advantage.
As I got closer, I checked my Glock to make sure I had a round in the chamber and a few spare magazines ready to go. Chances were good that if I got into a firefight with these chumps, it’d get ugly fast, so I wanted enough firepower on han
d to make a quick escape. I had no illusions about winning that sort of confrontation, though. I’d be outnumbered and they’d have shotguns and rifles. No, I’d avoid a direct confrontation if possible. At least, that was the plan.
I reached into my Bag and pulled out a toy I’d picked up a while back. It was a police-style taser with a thirty-foot range and enough juice to take down a bear. My plan was to sneak up to the compound, taser one of Carver’s crew, and then take the unlucky soul somewhere private to interrogate them. Once I had an idea of what I was dealing with, I’d set a trap for Carver, maybe try to catch him when he was alone and vulnerable. Then I’d get Elmo the justice he deserved.
I crept to within twenty-five yards of the compound, my senses on high alert. The place wasn’t exactly Fort Knox, but it was well-guarded. The main building was a metal barn that had been converted into a two-story dwelling of some sort, and there were two other similar structures that had been set up in a wide-mouthed U shape on either side of the house. One of those structures was an open front pole barn, and the other looked to be a multi-bay garage.
There were tall sections of chain-link fence topped in barbed wire connecting the buildings in the back. I also spotted at least three security cameras trained on key approach points. And to top it all off, a large manmade pond sat in front of the building, acting as a sort of moat to protect that side of their compound. The only way in and out of the place was by a narrow one-lane drive that wound through the woods from the main road. It was protected by more chain link fence and a tall gate capped in more barbed wire.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
I didn’t see much activity around the place, which wasn’t surprising considering that most hunters worked at night. I waited patiently, knowing that eventually someone would show their face. Sure enough, my patience was rewarded when a large, slightly overweight man walked out of the house. He looked around for a moment, then stretched and lit up a cigarette, just before he unzipped his trousers and took a piss off the front porch of the house.
There’s my target of opportunity. Now, to snatch this guy and get out of here.
I waited until he headed into the garage before making my move. Slipping toward the house as silently as possible, I relied on the thick layer of pine needles underfoot to mask the sounds of my passing. Once I hit the pond, there were only two ways to go. I chose left and stuck to the trees as I skirted the water.
I was nearly to the garage when I stepped on something that felt off. Rather than the spongy feel of the forest floor, my foot hit something hard that yielded under pressure.
Shit.
I shifted my weight to jump clear, but it was too late. Pine needles exploded from the ground around me as the trap triggered and lifted me fifteen feet in the air, catching me fast in a steel mesh net. Before I could find a way to free myself, I heard a switch trip. The net became electrified, sending me into convulsions while the smell of burned hair and clothing filled my nose.
I must have blacked out, because the next thing I knew I was trussed up hand to foot and spitting pine needles out of my mouth.
“And just what the hell do we have here?” a man’s voice said nearby. It was a deep voice, gruff, with a strong central Texas accent. “Well now, it looks like we caught ourselves a druid.”
I spat out more pine needles as I cracked an eye open. “Carver, what a pleasant surprise.” Or, at least, that’s what I meant to say. What came out was more like, “Carrrgghh, whuffa prez an shurpish.”
This elicited a round of laughter from my captors, who were gathered in a semi-circle around me. They’d bound me up good, first tying my hands and ankles together, and then wrapping a noose around my neck that was cinched behind me to my limbs. They’d even bound my hands into fists, the crafty bastards, which prevented me from casting spells. I was completely immobilized, not that I could move if I wanted to—the residual effects of being zapped by their net made sure of that.
Carver walked into view, kneeling in front of me. He was six feet and 240, all of it muscle, and he wore khaki tactical pants, desert tan combat boots, and a dark-green button-down over a black t-shirt. The hunter’s arms were thickly muscled and decorated with military-style tattoos, including a globe and anchor, an eagle gripping a flag in its talons, and a battlefield cross. His flaming red hair was cut Marine Corps-style high and tight, but he sported a thick man beard and mustache that he obviously spent a great deal of time grooming and oiling.
His icy blue eyes stared into mine as he replied with amusement in his voice. “Now now, don’t exert yourself on our count. You got hit with enough amps to down a large horse, so you’re going to be a bit woozy for a time. We set those traps up in case anything supernatural came looking for us, and Bubba here made sure that if something landed in one they’d never escape.”
“I hooked it up to 220,” said a fat man wearing hunter’s coveralls and a Houston Texans ball cap. “Shoulda stopped your heart. Must be one tough sum’ bitch. Or spelled.” The man spat tobacco juice off to one side as he regarded me with equal measures of respect and distrust.
Considering the results of my previous attempt at witty banter, I figured I may as well size up the situation. There were seven hunters standing around me, plus Carver. Two were female and the rest were male, six were Anglo, one of the men was Asian, and none of them looked happy to see me. The crew was dressed in a patchwork wardrobe made up of random pieces of tactical gear, camouflage hunting clothes, military BDUs, and casual wear. They looked like extras from an episode of The Walking Dead, but with better hygiene.
A painfully thin female wearing desert camo fatigues and a Garth Brooks concert t-shirt spoke up. She had an AR-15 casually pointed in my direction, and she looked like she knew how to use it. “Carver, now that we got him, what the hell are we going to do with him? I mean, ganking monsters and shit is one thing, but killing humans is another.”
Carver continued to stare into my eyes, as if he was trying to plumb the depths of my soul. “Oh, McCool here isn’t human—not by a stretch, Sissy. No, he’s a shifter. Not any kind y’all have seen, but a shifter just the same. Don’t you feel bad at all about treating him just like we would any other crypto or supe.” He stood and his eyes swept his team. “That goes for all of you.”
His team responded with a series of grunts and nods. Bubba cleared his throat, hocking a loogie and spitting it off into the trees nearby. “Still haven’t told us what you intend to do with him, Carver.”
Carver crossed his muscular arms, scanning his team with a slight scowl before looking at the fat man. “And just what do you think we should do with him, Bubba? I have some ideas, but I’m willing to hear what you think about it.”
Bubba wiped the side of his nose with a grubby thumb. “Kill him and bury him out in the woods, deep. No sense in stretching it out. He ain’t got nothing we want, and we already know who he works for. So, let’s just put a couple of holes in him and be done with it.”
Carver considered his subordinate’s words, tapping his chin. “I agree with you about how to dispose of him. But you’re wrong about McCool not having anything we want. That Bag of his is supposed to be full of all kinds of magical artifacts. I’m sure you all remember how we made out when we killed that striga last year.”
A slight man with stringy blonde hair and a wispy beard nodded. “Damned straight. I ate good for six months after we sold all her shit—paid off my truck and the double-wide both. Hell, I say we kill him and crack that thing open to see what the fuck he’s got.” The man belched loudly when he finished—whether for emphasis or on general principle, I wasn’t certain.
Carver stroked his beard. “Eloquently said as always, Dicky. Thing is, we can’t kill him until he tells us how to get inside that Bag. Ain’t that right, McCool?”
He pulled his leg back and soccer kicked me in the gut. My body involuntarily doubled over, choking me when the spasms in my gut stretched the rope taut around my neck. After I stopped convulsing an
d strangling myself, I stared up at him with all the hatred I could muster.
I am so going to fuck this guy up, I thought. Just as soon as I figure out how to free myself and overpower eight trained hunters. No pressure, McCool. No fucking pressure.
Thirteen
A few hours later, I was hanging from a rafter in Carver’s garage, wrists bound tight and tossed over a hook and hoist chain overhead. I was shirtless, bleeding from a dozen cuts, and missing several fingernails. I’d been burned multiple times, had battery acid poured in my wounds, and I’d had red hot needles stuck deep into my muscles. Without a doubt, Carver sure knew his business when it came to torture.
On the bright side, he hadn’t started in on my teeth yet, so that was something.
He pulled a round metal tub across the floor, lifting my feet to place them inside. I tried dropkicking him in the chest, but I was too exhausted from holding myself up to even lift my legs. Most people don’t know that when you hang someone by their arms, hanging there is just as much torture as the torture itself. Your own weight pulls your shoulders up, making it difficult to breathe once your muscles fatigue, and pretty soon it’s all you can do to take a breath. I was way past that point, which was why I was finding it so hard to fight back.
Carver brought a hose in from outside, leaving one end in the tub. He walked back outside, and soon the tub filled with water. A few minutes later, the water shut off and Carver returned.
“I can’t understand why you’re fighting me so hard on this, McCool. You’re going to die, one way or another. Why not just make it easy on yourself, and tell me how to get in that fucking Bag?”
I laughed softly, which turned into a coughing fit, causing my head to bounce off my chest. “What makes you think you can get in it? Hell, what makes you think you want to? I swear, Carver, you’re mean as a sunburned rattlesnake, but you’re not near as smart as you think.”
My Craneskin Bag sat on a chair nearby, where Carver had flung it after turning it inside out and searching it for hidden pockets and who knew what else. Of course, to him it just appeared to be an old, worn, empty leather satchel. The Bag only worked for the descendants of Fionn MacCumhaill, so no matter how much Carver searched it, there was no way it would reveal its secrets to him.