Jack Dalton, Monster Hunter, The Complete Serial Series (1-10): The History of the Magical Division

by T S Paul

  From the shadows of the forest, several figures watched the distinctive black, and yellow van drive off.

  “Do you want us to hunt him, my Lord?” The warrior was fierce and wore two swords across his back.

  “No. His time will come. The humans like to say that all good things will come to you, eventually. This Jack Dalton will pay for killing the Cath Palug. These humans grow bold with their ingenuity and explosive weaponry. No true knight would use such a weapon. That is the way of dishonor and guilt. Stay your blade for now.” The brilliantly garbed Elf Lord stepped out of the shadows to stand in the light of the sun.

  “And the other human, the developer? What about him?” The warrior asked again.

  “That is a blood debt owed. He is an oathbreaker and deserves the worst punishment possible. I curse him and all his get until the debt is paid. Only full restitution will please those that command me,” the Elf lord smiled as he entertained thoughts of blood and torture.

  “Allow the curse to play out. Have our scouts spread the word to other enclaves and sithes. There’s a new player in the game. Agent Jack Dalton is to be given a wide berth for now.” The Fae warriors turned from the human highway and faded back into the trees.

  “Mission accomplished boss,” Jack reported directly to Anastasia using a pay phone outside the gas station.

  “So, I hear. The mayor, the sheriff, and about half the town either want to kill you or congratulate you. The Director doesn’t know which to do, either. Did you really have to blow up the courthouse?” She asked.

  “It was still standing when I left. Only the rear doors are gone as well as the stairwell. I have detailed pictures. It may have been damaged getting the carcass out, but I didn’t knock the place down,” Jack explained quickly.

  “Stop at the first local office you can find and submit your report. Include any film and your thoughts about training for something like this. We need to keep a running record of your missions. Training new agents may become a priority one day. I’m glad you survived, Jack, but now it’s time to move on to the next one. Head north toward Maine. There’s a Coven of Witches we need you to investigate for us.” Anastasia instructed Jack.

  “Witches! I thought they didn’t want to have anything to do with our government?” He asked.

  “They don’t officially, but this group is the oldest in the country, and they wield political clout locally in Maine. We want you to introduce yourself and poke around the town. It’s called Briarwood. Check in again when you get there. Good luck Jack.” Anastasia hung up the phone before he could respond to her.

  “No rest for the wicked is there, Jack?” The old man told him.

  Jack turned and smiled at the old guy. Except for the eye patch, he’d be the spitting image of his grandfather. “No, there isn’t. I can’t stay long. They gave me another assignment.”

  “That’s a government job for you. Keep the necklace I gave you. Not much call for Demon fighting hereabouts. Watch your six, and you will get through whatever concerns you. Take it easy out there, Jack.” Without another word the old man stood and went back inside the gas station.

  Jack stood still for a moment after he left. Something about the man reminded him of something, and it wasn’t his grandfather. He shrugged his shoulders. More grist of the mill on the long drive north.

  Witches. Should be interesting.

  Jack Dalton, Monster Hunter

  Book 3

  There are monsters among us. Shapeshifters, Vampires, Witches, and Demons roam the land unchecked by human law and order. My name is Jack Dalton, and I am America’s monster hunter.

  The state of Maine was a long way away from Washington, DC. Especially in winter. My truck was holding up fairly well for being both used and rebuilt. Non-military government vehicles generally broke down after long or hard use. Lowest bidder and all that. My newest assignment was taking me toward the frozen north. I was on my way to see a town full of Witches!

  Witches. Just saying the word gives me the shivers. At the FBI Academy, we were taught just the bare minimum about them. They were humanoid and could pass for one of us at will. Groups of them liked to congregate and call themselves Covens. And finally, they were scary powerful. General orders were to stay away from them. Really freaking far away from them. Now here I was, going to meet a group on their own ground.

  Anastasia, my immediate supervisor, filled in the blanks for me just a little before I left Washington. When the world changed in 1914, dozens of paranormal species were dragged into the light. Witches were just one, but they had an advantage. They looked human and often married humans.

  I had realized that Witches were around, but I had been totally ignorant of the existence of groups of non-magical humans that either worshiped magical beings or tried to use Magick themselves. They called themselves Wiccans or Neo-Pagans.

  According to my briefing paperwork, there was a worldwide upswing in Earth-based religions at the moment. Analysts at the FBI said it was due to paranormal exposure. I think it’s just that people are scared and lonely. Many of the traditional religions aren’t cutting it for them. It made me wonder how anyone could tell the difference between real Witches and fake ones. Or if there was a difference at all. I was starting to realize this assignment was going to be a pain in the butt.

  One of the best things about my new truck was the cot in the back. While I’ve got nothing against sleeping under the stars, setting up a tent and then having to take it down is too much trouble. Roadside stops and most campgrounds are right on the main roads, anyway. I never worry about thieves or bandits. There’s an arsenal in the back, and the letters FBI on the outside to dissuade most thieves. But there are always a few idiots.

  “…when he pulled in. I got a good look, and the back was full. Gotta be a salesman or something. Those guys always have cash.”

  “I don’t know Jake, it says FBI on the side.”

  “Don’t be a dummy. It also says auto parts if you look closely. It must be some sort of delivery van or something. He’s got plenty of green. I was there when he checked in. Come on Peter, see if you can jimmy the lock.”

  I’m normally a light sleeper, and after the last assignment, I’ve started to carry weapons everywhere. Better safe than sorry. Hearing that one of my new friends was the guy that checked me in made me regret accidentally flashing my cash. There’s always a next time to be more careful.

  There was a faint sound of metal on metal towards the front of my truck. Those locks don’t work the way that others do. The FBI garage did something special to them.

  Thunk!

  “Shhh. Peter! What the hell are you doing?” Jake whispered to his companion.

  “This lock is goofy. No place to access the tumblers. I’m trying to pry it,” Peter answered.

  “He’s in there you idiot! You might wake him up,” Jake replied.

  “I wrapped a handkerchief around the end. It’ll work. Trust me,” Peter said as he pried at the door.

  Ker-thunk! “Ouch!” Peter almost yelled.

  There were a slight sound and a grunt.

  “What did you do that for?” Peter whispered trying not to moan as he shook the pain off his fingers and tried to rub his head at the same time.

  Jake drew back his hand after whacking Peter across the back of his head. “You’re an idiot. You’re making more noise trying to be quiet than doing this regular. Come on, we’ll try the back doors.”

  One of them picked up the crowbar, and both men stepped around to the rear. The moonlight allowed me to see them through the back window. I assumed the taller man was Jake. He wasn’t rubbing his head like the other man still was.

  “Now pry right here next to the window lock,” Peter pointed.

  While they were discussing things, I carefully unlatched the rear. One push was all it would take to open it.

  There was a slight metal on metal noise as the crowbar was inserted then a gasp of surprise. “It’s open!”

  “Shhh. Quiet you idio
t! What do you mean it’s open?” Jake whispered.

  The back window opened up. “See, it’s open already.”

  Both men leaned in to look at the window and found me staring at them, gun in hand. “Freeze!”

  Peter dropped the crowbar and yelped as it hit his foot.

  Shaking his head, Jake held up his hands. “Next time, when your sister says to give you a job, I’m saying no!”

  Trust me when I say the looks I got from the local police force were priceless. My truck isn’t set up for prisoners, so I had the both of them trotting behind the van on wires. It seems the two men had been robbing travelers for several months. The police hadn’t a clue it was an inside job.

  The police chief looked at my credentials and told his cousin, Jake, he was an idiot. That was my cue to leave town and continue my journey.

  It was nice to be back on the road and on the new interstate system. The only part of this that was annoying was all the toll roads. I understand that the highway is needed, and it has to be paid for somehow. It also isn’t really my money I’m using.However, it was still irritating.

  “Twenty-five cents please,” the toll booth attendant held out her hand.

  The smile on my face as I looked at the pretty blond girl dropped. “A full quarter? Wow, that’s expensive!”

  Glancing at my truck and then back at me she continued to smile. “The state of New Jersey wants to continue to have excellent roads for its residents to use.”

  “Really?” I asked her. That statement was a little too pat.

  The attendant’s smile dropped off. “Not really. To be truthful, it’s to stop all the shunpiking people. But don’t say I told you that.”

  Being from Texas, I smiled at how she pronounced ‘you.’ It came out as ‘youze.’ I thanked her and continued on my way.

  Highway 95 in New Jersey wasn’t any better than the one in Maryland so I couldn’t see the ten cent difference. But each state had its own way of paying for things. Reaching out with my right hand I patted the file cabinet in the passenger area. Having funds to pay the toll helped.

  Seeing the sign for Maine was heartening. It wouldn’t be too much longer now. I still wasn’t sure I was up to meeting a town full of Witches. What if they turned me into a frog or something? Eating flies for the rest of my life didn’t sound fun.

  “Marcella are you sure about this meeting?” Minerva asked as she dug into the backyard planter.

  “It needs to be done. The humans grow in strength and power. Our Coven is the most public and vocal of all. It’s not just my position on the Council that drives the need for this connection.” Marcella pulled back and brushed off her hands.

  “The Garden is a full-time job. We all know that around here. But do they? You’ve seen how the local Maine representatives act when we mention Magick. If we weren’t spelling them the moment they set foot in the county, we’d be taxed out of our own houses. They know we’re here. It hurts nothing to speak to them. Besides, we can always spell this man as well.”

  “True but did it have to be the FBI? They are responsible for so many lies and misunderstandings of late,” Minerva replied.

  “That’s not completely their fault, and you know it, Minerva. Demons are the most manipulative creatures among the worlds, and we were invaded by thousands of them. It’s still a great accomplishment for the humans to have been able to beat them down all on their own. Trust me when I say that the Council debated for a long time on whether to help them openly. If they hadn’t enslaved the Packs, we might have done much more to help,” Marcella pointed out.

  Minerva looked at her long-term boss and friend, “Are they really enslaved?”

  “What else do you call the situation they are in then? They aren’t allowed to vote, each group has to live on one of the reservations, and the only way off is military or government service. To me, that is slavery. This young man that is coming here is supposed to be different though. He was raised among the Packs and is considered a Pack member. He is one of the very few non-shifters to achieve that honor.”

  After a deep breath, Marcella continued, “Only our power prevents that sort of restriction from happening to us.” Marcella added as she looked into her friend’s eyes, “You were still overseas when we were revealed in 1914. But I was here and so was Grandmother Verity.”

  “What did she do?” Minerva asked.

  Marcella shifted position, leaning her back against the planter they were weeding. “The town has always known what we were. We Blackmores founded it after all. Telling others outside of the limits is harder. Nobody outside of Salem wants to have Witches in their town. Not real ones like us. So, after the reveal, the state of Maine officials came calling. They’d heard the rumors and were ready to believe much more than usual. Magick is not a secret around here. The first thing that they tried was to arrest Agnes Huckleberry for casting spells in the park.”

  Minerva smirked. “Is that why she hates the highway department so much?”

  “Pretty much. The idiots just about had Agnes dragged into their car when Chief Middleton arrived. Were you here when he was sheriff?” Minerva shook her head no.

  “Big strapping man with long blond hair and a beard. He must have had Viking stock in his background somewhere. Anyway, he came to a screaming halt, his police car siren blasting. It was a huge mess. They had the State Police with them, and they ignored our chief, claiming he was tainted. When they started brandishing weapons, Verity got involved,” Marcella explained.

  Minerva winced, “She was a force to be reckoned with. What happened?”

  “She charged out of the restaurant, which in those days was across from city hall, and hit everyone with a freeze spell. And I do mean everyone. Since she was mad, half the town was stuck for almost an hour,” Marcella explained.

  “That’s it?” Minerva asked.

  “No. When all of the humans came out of the spell, they found themselves standing on the edge of town next to their cars. Both the Governor and the Superintendent of Police found a pissed-off Witch in their offices that day. Grandmother paid each of them a personal visit. She never told me what was said, but from then on we’ve been left alone here. No interference.”

  Marcella looked past her friend to the very large cat standing on the porch. “I can tell you that we got chocolate and flowers every holiday while those two were still in office.”

  “And the Feds?” Minerva stressed.

  “Nothing. Although, J Edgar Hoover didn’t have control of the FBI until 1935. It was the Bureau of Investigation before then. He did control that in the 1920s but they had their hands full with prohibition and smuggling. They pretty much left us alone. We get Feds in here from time to time poking around, but Agnes usually turns them around before they get past the first hill. So far they either haven’t noticed the weather around here or are ignoring it. I’m hoping this one is better. That’s what the Were say at least,” Minerva replied.

  The New England area of the US is delightful to drive through. It’s much better than the parts of Texas and Illinois that I grew up in. I spent most of the formative years of my life living in the middle of a Were reservation in a very rural part of Texas. Weres are just like everyone else in America. They go to work, they take care of their families, and they bitch about taxes. The only difference is they turn furry several times a month. The whole full moon thing is just Hollywood fiction. Most Weres can change at will, but only the Alphas can change more than once a day. Alphas can also change infinitely faster than others. You never, ever, want to be on the wrong side of an Alpha with an attitude.

  When mom remarried, and we prepared to move to Illinois, the local Pack performed a ceremony inducting me. It totally surprised me that they thought I was that worthy enough to induct. The memory was one that would never leave me.

  “Jackson Dalton, present yourself to the Pack.” Alpha Dingo announced to the Pack.

  I winced when I heard my full name being announced. Only my grandparents called me J
ackson. It didn’t sound right to my ears, so I didn’t use it. The entire pack was here for this ceremony. I could see friends both young and old in the crowd surrounding me. Standing up in the center of everyone, I gave a little wave.

  Ron glared at me from the top of the rock formation in the center of the natural amphitheater we were in. Ron Dingo was one of the Weres in my late father’s tank unit. My entire life I’d heard about the unit’s bravery in the face of evil. Fighting Demons took a particular amount of courage.

  Members of the Pack touched me as I stepped forward. “Sir?”

  “Now is not the time for mirth. You are called to the Pack Moot. Do you wish to join the Ghost Pack now and forever?” Alpha Ron asked.

  I bowed my head. Even though I was leaving the state, to be a member of a Pack would open doors for me. I also didn’t want to disappoint my friends. “Yes, sir. I would be honored to join the Pack.”

  “Kneel.” Ron pointed to a level spot at the base of the large rock.

  My friends had mentioned parts of this ritual, but not anything about kneeling. Once I was down, I could see carvings in the rock that looked to be very old. I was confused. The Pack had only been here for less than thirty years.

  Spreading his arms wide the Alpha raised his head to the sky. “We present this man-child to the Gods of Earth, Air, Water, and Fire. He is of age and has proven his worth to the Packs of the Western Forest. We ask that he be accepted into our midst and granted everything owed.”

  I was supposed to keep my head bowed, but I opened one eye and looked skyward in time to see a lightning storm in a clear sky! For less than a minute, lightning flashed, the wind blew, and the earth trembled. My veins began to burn. Clutching my arms to my body, I gritted my teeth and tried to not scream. And then it was gone.

  “Do you still breathe Jack?” Alpha Ron looked down at me, concerned.