by M. D. Massey
What I was really counting on was for Bells to take them out as I approached the compound. I hadn’t gone far when I heard the report of a suppressed .300 Blackout round, followed by a grunt and a crash up ahead. One down, three to go. Thank you, Belladonna, I thought as I continued toward the barn.
I saw a flash of movement around the corner of the building ahead, so I dropped to the forest floor. A round whizzed past, but the shooter’s muzzle flash gave away their position. I knew that Bells didn’t have a clear shot, so I snapped off three rounds from the silenced pistol. I heard someone drop, followed by Sissy’s voice calling out in the dark.
“I’m hit! Oh, son of a fucking bitch—Carver, I’m hit!”
“Is it bad?” a man’s voice called back. Not Carver, but another member of the team.
I rolled to cover behind a large pine tree. “Does it matter? Your team is already down by five, and Sissy will make six if you don’t get her some medical assistance. I suggest that you two leave now, and I’ll let you live. The only one I want is Carver.”
Carver’s voice called from somewhere within the small compound. “You run and I’ll kill you myself!”
“Fuck you, Carver!” Sissy yelled. “I didn’t sign up for this shit. Druid, you should know that Carver’s the one who went in and killed that ogre. The rest of us didn’t want no part of it, not after what we heard about you.”
“Shut up, Sissy!” Carver yelled.
“I’m fucking bleeding out, you coward! What, are you going to shoot me ag—?“ A shot rang out in the dark, cutting off Sissy’s retort.
“Screw this shit, I’m out of here,” the nameless and last member of Carver’s team shouted.
A car engine turned over inside the compound, then a large four-wheel drive truck crashed through one of the metal garage doors. Gun fire and muzzle flashes came from one of the windows in the house, but a few rounds from Belladonna’s rifle stopped that as soon as it started.
The truck ran the gate over and sped down the drive. It made it just past the pond, then the dirt road underneath it exploded, lifting the truck several feet in the air as it continued moving forward at speed. As it landed, the truck careened over on its side, sliding into a pine tree with a loud crunch of metal. Seconds later, the gas tank caught fire, and soon the night was lit up as the vehicle exploded in a massive fireball.
“Carver, you are one coldhearted son of a bitch,” I yelled as I ducked into the shadows behind me.
“He had it coming, the yellow bastard!” Carver yelled back.
That gave me pause. “Wait a minute… do you mean that as a racial slur, or are you using ‘yellow’ to indicate general cowardice?”
Carver voice dripped with indignation. “Huh? Cowardice, of course. I’m an asshole McCool, not a bigot. Give me a little credit at least.”
“Fair enough—but I’m still going to kill you if you don’t give up!”
I slunk from tree to tree through the forest, edging my way closer to the back of the house. Every so often, I’d hear the telltale crack of Belladonna’s rifle, followed by the sound of a round hitting the metal exterior of the house. Bells would keep Carver pinned down—now I just needed to get to him without getting shot.
I peeked around a tree trunk at waist level, crouching to keep a low profile. The house was just a few yards away, and from what I could tell the coast was clear. There were only a couple of small windows on this side of the house, and both were closed. Foregoing all pretense of style and grace, I sprinted out from behind the tree toward the back wall of the house. I was halfway across the open area between the house and the woods when I spotted movement in an upper window.
Shit, I’m a sitting duck here, I thought, just as Belladonna’s rifle sounded in the distance behind me. Glass shattered and I heard Carver cussing as I silently thanked Bells for changing position to cover my approach.
“I only winged him,” she called from the woods. “He should still be able to talk.”
I chuckled as I crept around the corner of the house, still wary of gunfire. Getting “winged” by a subsonic .300 Blackout round was akin to getting “nicked” by a chainsaw. No matter how casual the contact, it would still ruin your day.
I opened the front door of the house, staying hidden behind the exterior wall. I wasn’t greeted by gunfire, but I did hear Carver calling out to me from the second floor of the house.
“Alright, McCool, I give up. Come upstairs and we’ll talk. I have some shit you’re going to want to hear.”
I peeked inside the house. It was an open floor plan, with a living area dead ahead and a loft over the kitchen and bathroom toward the back of the house. A staircase led to the second floor along the wall to the left, ending at a landing at the farthest corner of the house. I’d be blind heading up the stairs, an easy target if Carver decided to play dirty.
“I’m warning you, Carver—you pull any tricks and my partner out there is going to come in here and finish the job. And you should know, she’s not as nice as I am.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied. I heard a lighter flicking open and took cover behind the wall again, half-expecting a stick of dynamite or Molotov cocktail to come flying down the stairs. Moments later, the smell of cigarette smoke wafted down to me. “You coming, or what? I ain’t got all day here. Your girlfriend shot me through the biceps and I’m bleeding like a stuck pig. Either get up here and talk or kill me already.”
I rubbed my forehead as I considered the wisdom of trusting a guy who had just tortured me and ordered me buried alive. “Fuck it,” I muttered. “Alright, I’m coming up.”
I side-stepped up the stairs, pistol at the ready, as the second floor slowly came into view through a metal railing that bordered the stairway. As I peered over the floor’s edge at the top of the stairs, I saw Carver sitting against the far wall, smoking a cigarette in a pool of shattered glass and his own blood. He’d taken his belt off and used it as a tourniquet, but he hadn’t pulled it tight enough to stop the bleeding completely.
A tricked out HK416 rifle was propped up against the wall beside him. I crossed the floor over to him, kicking the rifle just out of his reach as I neared him. Carver seemed content to sit there bleeding and smoking his cigarette. He took a drag, breathing the smoke deep into his lungs before pointing at me with the cigarette and his index finger.
“I hunted supes for two decades before you came along, you know that? I was killing fae and vamps and ’thropes when you were still in diapers.” He shook his head. “You know what I learned in all that time? They’re killers, every last one of them. Shit, look what they did to you. Why you want to save them is beyond me.”
“I don’t want to save them all, Carver. Damned few are worth the trouble. But that ogre, he didn’t deserve to die. And you killed him in my junkyard to boot. Did you think I’d let that stand?”
“He said you’d take offense if we did it there, warned me against it. I couldn’t even get my crew to come with me that night. But I didn’t put much stock in your inflated reputation, so I did the job anyway. Figured I’d just put you down when you came, just like I did the ogre. Thought I’d have a nice payday to boot after I got inside that Bag.” He paused to take another drag on his cancer stick. “Guess I was wrong.”
I stood facing him, pistol held loosely at my side. “Just tell me who hired you. I won’t let you live, but I’ll make it quick.”
Carver laughed. “You think I’m scared of you? Yeah, well, maybe I am. But there ain’t no way I’m more scared of you than I am of those fuckers. You’ll just kill me, but they’ll stretch it out for decades. You don’t know these people, McCool. They ain’t like you and me.”
“I’m not like you at all,” I spat.
He sneered. “You’re just like me. You kill them for money—the fae, vamps, and ’thropes. Maybe you think you’re all noble for picking and choosing your jobs, but you’re not. Hell, you’ve been doing their dirty work since you landed in Austin. Naw, you and me are two peas in a pod.”
I stared at him silently. What he was saying wasn’t exactly a lie. What did make me different from Carver, when all was said and done? Was it because I protected humans? If that was the case, then what made one sentient life more valuable than another?
Certainly, most of the fae I’d met were outright sociopaths, except for the half-breeds. But did that give me the right to kill them? When all was said and done, they were only following their inner nature. How was hunting fae different from hunting animals like lions and bears for sport?
Because lions and bears don’t kill to be cruel or for amusement. Animals killed for survival, unless there was something wrong with them. But the fae? They raped and killed and tortured humans for pleasure, and had for as long as they’d shared this world with humans. And for that reason alone, I really didn’t think killing the fae made me evil.
And as for all the rest?
Among the other supernatural races, vampires were the closest to the fae, because they lived lives that were long enough to allow the loss of their humanity. But many of them chose to remember, vamps like Luther and Mateo. And as for the ’thropes, it was rare to find one who killed for pleasure—in fact, most ’thropes were indistinguishable from humans, morally speaking.
The bottom line was, I’d only ever killed creatures who preyed on humans. But hunters like Carver didn’t care about those distinctions. And in that regard, hunters like him were just like the fae.
Carver snickered. “Got nothing to say, McCool? Guess I must’ve hit a nerve.”
“Nope. I was just reflecting on all the reasons why I want to kill you. But as it turns out, I promised to let Belladonna here do the honors. As I said, she’s not as nice as I am.”
I’d heard Bells enter the house moments before, and as she topped the steps she took a small bow. “I can take it from here,” she stated simply.
“Be my guest.”
Belladonna walked up to Carver, who eyed her warily. “You’re with the Circle. What the fuck are you doing here?”
Bells tilted her head to one side. “I happen to like Mr. Tall, Pale, and Ginger over there.” She squatted next to Carver, her high heels snapping broken glass as she lowered herself to his level. “Which is why you and I are going to have words.”
Carver blew cigarette smoke in her face. “Uh-uh. I’ll talk to pretty boy there, but not you.”
Belladonna moved with a speed I’d never seen her exhibit before. I saw a flash of silver as she hit Carver in the shoulder, then she pulled her hand back quick enough so I couldn’t tell what she’d done.
“Bitch!” Carver yelled. “What the hell was that?”
Belladonna shrugged. “I don’t know, exactly. The lab geeks over at HQ said it was like formula SP-17, the stuff the KGB used to interrogate captives during the Cold War. Except this stuff is supposed to work way better.”
“Peachy,” I said.
Carver tried to get up, but whatever Bells had injected him with seemed to be a very fast-acting drug. He made a few half-hearted attempts to stand, then he plopped down again and hung his head.
“Fucking bitch,” he mumbled.
I walked over and stooped to tighten his makeshift tourniquet properly, which earned me a sour look from Bells. “Hey, if he dies before we get the info we need—”
She held up a hand. “Say no more.” Bells slapped Carver on the cheek a few times, then snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Hey, shithead, wake up.”
“Not… talk… you,” Carver muttered. His head lolled from side to side, and he was starting to drool.
“Damn, Bells, what’s in that stuff, elephant tranquilizer? Carver doesn’t look like he’s going to tell us anything any time soon.”
She tapped her lip with her thumb. “Hmm, must be the blood loss.” She slapped him again, much harder this time. “Hey, you! Who hired you to kill the ogre?”
Carver began to laugh as spittle ran down his chin. “That’s funny—like you don’t know.” He cracked an eye to look at Belladonna. “Then again, mebbe you don’t know. Mebbe you’re not part of it.”
Bells lifted his chin. “Part of what, Carver? What are you talking about?”
Carver tried to place his index finger on Belladonna’s mouth, but she batted it away. “Sshh, it’s a secret.”
I tsked. “Come on, Bells, he’s just babbling. I say we leave him—he’s not worth the trouble.”
The hunter cackled. “Oh, they’ll come for me, and that’s a fact. Now that you’ve tracked me down they’ll think I talked, but they won’t know for sure. Which means they’ll make me suffer until they’re sure I didn’t expose them.”
Carver started to drift off, so Belladonna slapped him again to wake him up. “Who’s coming for you Carver? Who would want you dead?”
“Same people who wanted the ogre dead.” He pointed at me. “They’d have done it themselves, but they’re afraid of him. Guess I should’ve been too, huh?” Carver mumbled a few more unintelligible words, then drifted off into heavy snoring.
I stuck my pistol in my waistband, for lack of a better place to put it. “I think he’s done, Bells. Let’s just leave him for his employers to sort out.”
“Meh, I wasn’t going to kill him.” She wiped her hands off on Carver’s shirt and stood. “Shit. I thought we’d get more out of him, though. That’s why I asked you to let me kill him, so you’d leave him alive for me to question him.”
“Smart. I’d have killed him by now.” I gestured outside. “Should we bury the bodies?”
“Leave them. I can have a clean-up crew take care of it in the morning, after Carver’s long gone. I have a feeling he’s going to go on the run, just as soon as he wakes up.”
“Thanks for coming to rescue me.” I put an arm around her, kissing the top of her head as I pointed us toward the stairs. As we hit the top step, a thought occurred to me. “Um, won’t the clean-up crew ask questions?”
Bells leaned into me, nuzzling my chest. “Not if I tell them Carver’s team was killed in the course of a Circle investigation.”
A gunshot rang out, causing us both to pivot and draw our weapons. Carver was slumped on the floor, his rifle barrel in his mouth and his brains splattered all over the wall.
“Damn,” I hissed. “I guess he really was afraid of whoever hired him.”
“Ugh, talk about spoiling the mood.” Belladonna knuckled her forehead. “I have a really bad feeling about this case of yours, and it’s giving me a headache. Rain check on our date?”
I gestured at my bruised, cut, burned body. “What, you don’t want some of this?”
“You might be feeling frisky now, but when those painkillers wear off all you’re going to want to do is curl up and die. Go home, heal up, and call me in the morning.”
“You got it, boss.”
“That’s ‘mistress’ to you, loverboy.”
I laughed and kissed her again as we headed for the stairs. Did it bother me that I’d just seen Carver kill himself? Not really—the fact that it didn’t bother me was what really worried me.
Fifteen
I called Finnegas on my way back to the junkyard, explaining what had happened. “And you say you couldn’t shift?”
“Nope. I think the Eye did something to my brain, to prevent me from hulking out and going on a killing spree.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing, considering how your change has been affecting you lately. Colin, did you remember what you did at Mateo’s party?”
I paused to consider the question. “Not at first, but later it all came back to me.”
“Hmm. Okay, head back to the junkyard and wait for me. I’ll bring what I need to patch you up.”
The painkillers Bells had given me were already wearing off when Finnegas arrived. “Oh, holy lizard shit, this hurts.”
“It’s going to hurt worse before it gets better. Strip down and let me get a look at you.” I did as requested, and Finn whistled. “Well, this hunter was nothing if not thorough. You should
be glad that everything is still all in one piece.”
“I was more worried about losing teeth, but now that you mention it…” I covered my junk with my hands out of reflex rather than modesty. “I suppose it’s a good thing Carver wasn’t a complete psycho.”
Finnegas examined my wounds, shaking his head. “None of these wounds are life-threatening, but there are so many of them that I can’t treat them individually.” He dug around in a knapsack he’d brought with him, pulling out a stoppered glass bottle. “Here, drink this.”
Again, I complied. “Tastes like ass, Finnegas.”
“You’d know,” he mumbled as he rooted around inside his bag. “It’ll dull the pain, and help you go deep into a trance so the magic can fully facilitate your healing.”
Finnegas pulled out a stone mortar and pestle, and soon he was grinding various herbs, leaves, and other ingredients into a thick paste.
“That smells like how the potion you gave me tasted.”
“All magic has its costs. In this case, you’ll smell like you’ve been mating with a she-troll for a few days.”
“Great. Alright, let’s get this over with.” I raised my arms out to the side with a groan, and Finnegas started rubbing the paste into my injuries. “Ah, damn it, that burns!”
Finnegas snorted. “Stop being a baby. If you’re going to rush into impossible situations, then you can’t complain about suffering the consequences of your poor judgement.” He rubbed more of the goop into my cuts and burns, taking his time in getting the concoction deep into every wound. Minutes later, he set the mortar down and took a seat. “There, all done. Now, tell me about what happened at Luther’s duel. Leave no detail out.”
I recounted the story as best as I could, and in as much detail as possible. When I finished, Finnegas sat stroking his beard. “And once your memory came back to you, you say you recalled the entire evening, with no blackouts whatsoever?”