by T S Paul
Swallowing I looked up at him. “Yes, sir. What was that?”
I rubbed my arms searching for what caused the pain but couldn’t find anything.
“Our Gods are mysterious and powerful. You have been given something that only a handful have ever been given. Everything in this world has a price. For you, it was a small amount of pain. You bore it well. Welcome to the Pack, Jack.” Holding out his hand, Ron lifted me up. Standing on the rock, I could see that it wasn’t just the Ghost Pack. It was all the Packs of the reservation.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I was literally given something rare and unusual. The Gods, if they actually exist, had offered me a portion of the powers that help the Were. I could see, smell, and run better and faster than I could before. It came with a price though. My natural endurance was stronger than before, and I had to train extra hard to learn how best to use my new abilities.
More than once at the Academy, they checked me to see if I was a paranormal in hiding. I might be the only human in America that’s been forcibly exposed to sunlight, silver, holy water, and garlic. I’ve eaten more garlic than most Italians. But being able to run faster and shoot with more skill was a benefit, not a chore.
Throughout this entire trip, I made notes for my files. Where to stop, eat, and where the best gas stations were, topped the list of things I wrote about. Each case I conducted needed pictures and extensive information recorded. I realized halfway through this trip that I was laying the foundation for the division to carry on after I was long gone. Gone were my usual cryptic notes, as longhand became my main style.
Highway 95 took me right into Maine. Getting off the newly built highway and onto an old-fashioned two-lane blacktop was almost a relief. Small towns and backwoods were in my future. Briarwood was where I was headed. It was supposed to be along a river on the Canadian border. That was actually something else I looked forward to. Seeing another country was a treat. Even if it was just across a river.
The road climbed quite high in the hills and then dropped down into a valley. The road sign said, “Briarwood Ahead.” It was early winter, but the fields looked as green as summer. I stopped and took several pictures. If this was Witchcraft, it was impressive. There was a roadside vegetable stand as well, but I didn’t stop.
Briarwood was very much like every small town I had passed in New England. The buildings were old and well maintained, carrying a certain charm that set them apart though. It made me wonder how old this town was. One of the older houses had a sign that announced that it was a bed and breakfast, and it looked very appealing after my trip. Perhaps, it was time to stop sleeping in the truck for a while.
“Welcome to the Briarwood Inn. Do you need a room tonight?” The woman at the counter was bright and cheery.
Smiling back, I replied, “Yes, thank you. I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here but for one person, please.”
The woman slid me the registration book and introduced herself. “I’m the owner here, Abigail Mueller.”
I carefully filled out the page and reached for my wallet.
Abigail glanced at the register and lightly touched my arm. “No need for that Agent Dalton. Marcella Blackmore will handle your bill. She told us you might be staying with us.”
“My expense account can cover it since I’m on assignment,” I protested.
“Keep your money. It’s covered. I have a nice ground floor room set aside for you with a parking lot exit. Breakfast is at seven. Would you like to get settled in?” Abigail held out a key to me.
It was late in the day, and I was hungry. “I think so. Anyplace around here open for dinner?”
“Of course. The Badger Hole Diner is open every day, rain or shine.” Abigail pointed toward the door. “If you leave my place and head toward City Hall, you’ll see it. It’s directly across from the big statue in the park. Can’t miss it.”
“The statue or the diner?” I asked.
Abigail chuckled, “The diner. The statue is of Herman Shlock, the supposed founder of the town. Of course, we all know better. The diner just started serving so you might want to hurry. The place fills up pretty quick.”
Turning to look, I followed the line of her finger and spotted both the statue and a sign that read Badger Hole. “Why Badger Hole for a name?”
“You would need to ask Marcella that question. It’s her family’s place. You’d best get a move on. Leave your truck here, it’s perfectly safe. No one will touch it,” Abigail reassured me.
Wondering how she knew I had a truck since her view didn’t include the parking lot, I nodded and started out across the square.
Marcella. I wondered if it was the same Marcella Blackmore I was supposed to meet. There can’t be all that many women named Marcella around here, right?
Whoa! For such a small place, the diner was jumping. It looked more like a full-blown restaurant inside the brick exterior. A steakhouse feel would be how my mom might describe it. We ate out rarely growing up, and that would have been a big compliment from her.
Entering the diner, I gave my name to the hostess. “Agent Dalton? We have a table prepared for you in the corner,” a smiling woman spoke to me.
Did everyone in this town know who I was? I could see people looking at me as I passed and whispering to their tablemates.
The table was what I would call a federal agent special. It was positioned, so someone sitting at it had a full view of the entire room from the safety of the back corner. I could see everyone and not worry about what was behind me.
I had just opened the menu when an older-looking woman slid into the chair across from me. “Hello, Agent Dalton. I’m Marcella Blackmore.”
The woman sitting across from me was in no way old. Maybe there were two Marcellas?
“Hello. Director J Edgar Hoover sent me to see you, I think. Is there an older lady I should be talking to?” I asked it even as the back of my brain started screaming at me. Manners. I could hear my mother. Never ask a woman her age.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I instantly regretted them, but Marcella? She started to giggle, then laugh. She laughed loud enough to catch just about everyone’s attention for about thirty seconds after which everyone in the restaurant ignored her. That told me right there that I had the proper Marcella Blackmore.
She waved a finger at me as she gasped for breath. “I was warned about you, Agent Dalton. Big Ron said you were both funny and awkward at the same time. I didn’t believe him at the time because FBI agents are notoriously dour, but I do now.”
I was about to say something, but the mention of Big Ron or Alpha Ron as I know him shocked me to the core. Weres, as a people, are even more closed-mouthed than some of the native tribes. I’d never, ever, heard them discuss any of the other paranormal races. Not even in passing. How did this woman on the other side of the country from Texas know an obscure Pack leader?
Marcella smiled, “Witch got your tongue? I’m surprised. Did you think we wouldn’t check you out? I’m sure the FBI has a thick file on me and this town already.”
I just nodded, keeping in mind that one of the things that Anastasia told me was this sort of mission was like playing poker. Don’t show your hand to anyone. To be truthful, the file wasn’t very large. Apparently, none of the early federal officials believed the local Maine legends. Witches were consigned to Salem only in most people’s minds.
“Well, then we did the same thing. Just because we’re different doesn’t mean we can’t communicate with each other. Ron and I are old friends. You can imagine his surprise when I asked about you. He sent warm regards on your promotion and asked me to tell you to stop on by the next time you’re in Texas. He’s very fond of you, you know,” Marcella informed me.
“I know. He and my father served together and were friends.” I explained.
Marcella smiled at me, “I hope we can be friends as well.”
She motioned to the menu, “Eat what you like. The Coven will pay all costs. We really do wish a co
ngenial relationship with the FBI. I know you are hungry and tired of driving. Settle in and get some rest tonight. Tomorrow, ask Abigail for directions to the house. I’ll expect you for lunch. Say twelve or so. Try not to be late. We have ever so much to discuss. Enjoy.”
I was barely able to get a word in as she hopped up and majestically sauntered out of the diner. Along the way, other patrons nodded respectfully or bowed. What sort of town was this?
“Well?” Minerva asked.
Marcella looked at her best friend and confidant and smiled. “Success, I think. He’s interested at least. Name dropping his Alpha’s name was what did it.”
“And Kassandra wasn’t clear at all about this boy? We’ve managed to stay off their radar for this long. I worry what a closer relationship will bring. Your grandmother would have just zapped him. You’re not going to break the covenant are you?” Minerva asked.
Marcella gave her friend a sharp-eyed look. “I may be the head of the World Species Council, but I won’t break our covenant. Even though there is some public opinion to the contrary, we were correct to agree to it. Humanity is dangerous enough without our help. At least our trained help. Even I cannot do anything about Russia and some of the far Eastern holdings.”
The Covenant was an agreement that Magick folk put in place following the mistakes made during the human’s so-called First World War in 1914. The Vampire Purge and what followed was a tragic accident, but it drove home the point that helping humanity destroy themselves wasn’t a good idea.
It was the ultimate law for those that signed. No paranormal Magick user, whether they be Witch, Wizard, Mage, or Mystic, would actively help the humans. For some, it cut them off from very lucrative work, but the risk to everyone was just too great for disaster.
Minerva frowned, “Is anything being done about them?”
“Not really. What can we do? All the officials with any sort of power over the general users are dead. I understand their reasoning for breaking the Covenant but the toll upon them…” Marcella trailed off.
The Demon War was devastating to many groups. The Volkhvy of Russia took the hardest hit. With the Demon Horde turning toward them, they helped the humans of their country and performed the second Great Spell of the century. It took everything they had, but they managed to kill and banish the Demon Prince raised by the dictator of the country once known as Germany.
In the aftermath, it was discovered that Germany, Austria, Prussian, and parts of France were wiped clean. After years of demonic occupation, the population had been stripped to feed the never-satisfied demand for food. Humans, animals, paranormals. The Demons were insatiable, and they had destroyed the very structure of the cities in their efforts to harvest the last, surviving living beings. Buildings had been left in ruins, creating a scene of desolation and despair.
Those paranormals that could escape had done so earlier in the war. Fleeing by foot along hidden pathways, slipping through the occasional portal, they abandoned a suicidal stand to attempt to live to fight again. The land was left unprotected and suffered terribly until the Volkhvy’s Great Spell.
The Demons enacted their revenge as they were magickally dragged back to the Hell they came from. The Volkhvy were wiped out, eliminating in one blow the entire senior and most skilled practitioners. Magick users still existed in Russia, but they were few and scattered.
Those with Magick tried to teach and pass on what they knew, but without guidance or advanced training, they failed. As a result, they were pushed into tactics of survival that left no room for Covenants or anything that did not allow them to feed their families. The Russian witches became mercenaries, renting out the only skill that they had in a desperate struggle for survival.
“We could have helped, if they’d asked,” Minerva stated.
Marcella nodded. “True. The debate in council chambers was hot and heavy over possible actions. It wasn’t the first time Demons visited, and it won’t be the last time. Most of the paranormals and Magick users made it out of the exclusion zone before the spell activated. The fact that we allow the mercenaries to exist at all is a form of reparation on the Council’s part. Other than human government, there is no one to talk to there.”
“I thought the Vampires ruled Russia? Surely they have some influence on the people,” Minerva stated.
“Not like what you would imagine. Russia is difficult. The current Tsarina is a Vampire herself. The council of advisors is dominated by them as well. My Vampire advisors suggest we leave them be for now. The mercenary force revenues are the main way that the Russian government earns hard currency,” Marcella replied.
“That’s already too much in the way of politics for me to track. Russia’s just one country. How do you handle all the rest?” Minerva asked.
“Carefully. The Council doesn’t have much pull in Asia, but for the rest, I have excellent advisors and assistants. So tomorrow, do you have the luncheon planned out?” Marcella asked, obviously changing the subject.
That night I had a lot to think about. The files I was given were woefully incomplete. I could see that now. They were missing some things, but I wasn’t sure what. Making a snap decision in the middle of the night, I jumped in the truck and left town. The roads outside of Briarwood were treacherous at night. It may have been like summer in their little valley, but everywhere else, it was winter. There’d been a snowstorm and ice was everywhere. Checking my maps, I found what I wanted only a single county over.
“This is very much out of order, son. Let me see those credentials again.” One of the many things the Director had put in place was a way for Federal Agents to reach Washington in case of emergency. It was supposed to be used to report suspected espionage or catastrophic events, but my clearance level allowed me to use it. Every State Patrol office was supposed to have a top-secret phone line.
The officer on duty at three in the morning had to wake up his Captain, who didn’t find it all that amusing to go out into the cold to help me, but he did it.
“I sure hope this is important for as many folks as you just woke up, son. Everything matches what’s here on the paper. Corporal Howard will show you the phone. Now I get to wake up even more people to tell them you used the phone. I hope Governor Reed isn’t sleeping too hard. Can you tell me what’s this all about?” Captain Chamberlain asked.
I rubbed my chin. “It’s not a total secret, but I’m in negotiations with the leaders of the Coven in Briarwood.”
The state patrol captain blanched, “Them! Make your calls. I pity you, son, I really do.”
It was almost chuckle-worthy, but I didn’t laugh. Whatever Marcella’s people did to the State Police, it seemed to have worked.
The phone was inside a tiny closet. There was room inside for a chair and a child-sized desk, but that was all I really needed. I asked for a pad of paper and a pen. There was a special dispatcher who was as surprised as the Captain had been when her phone rang. Getting her to direct my call to the Special Assistant to the Director was the easy part.
“The world better be on fire!”
I couldn’t help myself, “I thought Vampires were awake at night?”
“They are, but I’m incredibly busy right now. Jack? How did you get this number?” Anastasia asked.
I took a deep breath. “I used the state patrol emergency line. I wanted to be both secure and get through to you.”
The Vampire started laughing. “It’s secure, but you kicked over an ant’s nest by using it. You do realize that the paperwork associated with this line is like a mile high? We’re both going to be signing our names for hours. What was so damn important?”
“I met with Marcella Blackmore tonight and realized the briefing paperwork is missing something,” I pointed out.
“Good. It proves to me that you aren’t an idiot. What do you think is missing?” she asked me.
“Background history. The founding of the town, demographics of humans versus paranormals, and the relationships that they all have. The sta
te officials are hiding something as well. My file doesn’t have any of that covered at all,” I informed her.
“Believe it or not, I told Director Hoover that we needed to give you more, but he’s still in a snit about you actually being able to do that job. I have no way of giving you anything quickly. I assume you’re meeting tomorrow or you would have used a normal phone like everyone else?” Anastasia asked.
“Yes, I have been requested to come in the late morning and have lunch with Marcella.”
The Vampire took a deep breath and explained, “The basics are this. Witches live longer than regular humans. Marcella was born sometime in the 1800s. She’s run that town since the thirties. Forget Jamestown or St Augustine, Briarwood is the oldest town in America. There was at least one Witch on the failed Roanoke expedition in 1585. When settlers arrived in Maine, the beginnings of the town were already there. More than ninety percent of the people in that town are Witchfolk. They are either Magick users or followers of one form of Wicca or other Neopagan religions. There is a lot of politics involved, but there has been more than one occasion when a Witch from Briarwood has appeared in a Governor’s office and scared the bejesus out of them. We like to say that this country hasn’t been invaded since 1812, but Briarwood has never been occupied. No British, French or even Native invaders have occupied it. Even we don’t know the entire story.”
“Marcella is a Power in this world. I won’t get into details, but her Coven is THE most powerful one in the entire United States. Step lightly around her. She may look like someone’s grandmother, but she’s a shark. Just so you know, they were the ones that requested the meeting. And they insisted that you lead the team,” Anastasia explained to me.
“Team?” I asked.
“Call it a reward for doing a good job. Be careful Jack. If anyone can turn someone into a frog in this day and age, it’s Marcella Blackmore. Regardless of the paperwork. If you need me use this phone again.