Germaine looked up from the book. “They're real good hunters, these Sterlings, yeah? I wonder, though... they ever tangled with something like this? It ain't exactly a werewolf or somethin'. Its real big game.”
The Chief didn't answer that. Instead, he made his way to the door, digging his phone out of his pocket. “I've got some calls to make. You three had better make yourselves comfortable, because you're staying the night.”
Oh, boy. A sleepover at Veiled Order HQ. I could hardly contain my excitement.
Not.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
14
You'd think an influential secret society could at least afford a barracks for their guys, or to put us up at a freaking Holiday Inn. But, no. Joe and I staked out one of the empty conference rooms on the ground floor and laid out across the tables, twitching uncomfortably until morning saw us rise.
When I awoke, it was with Germaine's furry bulk on my face. “Get the hell off of me!” I spat, rolling over and knocking the spider to the floor.
Germaine ambled drowsily. On the next table over, I saw Joe stirring, clutching at his forehead like he'd awoken with a sharp headache.
I was sitting on the edge of the table trying to rub the crick out of my neck when the door opened and two haggard-looking figures shuffled in with an equally-haggard Kubo. The Chief looked to be on the tail-end of a caffeine bender and was rough around the edges. Then there was an older guy with a Clint Eastwood frown and a younger man with a sword strapped to his back. Both looked jet-lagged.
I recognized the sword on the young man's back in an instant. It had a bone for a hilt. “Percy?” I asked, standing up.
Percival Sterling's groggy face lit up a little at the sight of me. “Lucy, that you?” He extended a hand, his grip as calloused and firm as I remembered it. “How's it going?”
The old man behind him, I guessed, was his dad, Malcolm I'd heard tell of Malcolm Sterling's prowess as a monster hunter, knew his name to be a byword for his trade, but on first glance he looked simply like a grumpy old man who hadn't yet gotten his morning coffee. He was wearing an olive green button down and a pair of raggedy jeans beneath a brown coat. His frame was thin, and the corners of his mouth were downturned in such a way that I wondered if he'd ever laughed in his sixty or seventy years. He jangled with every step; either he had a ton of keys in his pockets, or he was wearing something metallic beneath that green shirt.
“How's it hanging, Percy?” asked Joe with a yawn. “Have a good flight in?”
Percy nodded. He was tall, about as tall as Kubo, and his sandy beard was trimmed close to his face, accentuating his sharp jawline. He was dressed in olive green as well, like he and his dad were off to get a family portrait taken. “Sure did. Oh,” he turned, motioning to the grumpy husk behind him, “this is my dad, Malcolm”
Malcolm appraised Joe and I in turn, eyes narrowing a little and lips scarcely parting in salutation. The guy reeked of dirt and cigarettes. Dropping into a vacant chair, he sighed and kept to himself.
Kubo shut the door and asked the rest of us to take a seat. “There's a lot of ground to cover, so let's get started, shall we?”
I stretched out in my chair. Germaine joined me, drawing a particularly strong grimace from Malcolm in the process. “What's new, Chief? You look like you haven't slept a wink all night.”
Kubo nodded. “Yeah, while you were all catching Z's, I was hard at work coming up with a plan to save your asses.”
Percy chuckled. “Well, what have you brought us in for? With a team like this,” he said, motioning to all of us, “I don't think we'll have much trouble taking it on, whatever it is.”
The Chief took his time in replying, shuffling a number of papers in his grasp and then setting them down. “We've brought the two of you in to help us hunt something down.”
“Yeah, but what?” asked Percy.
Kubo licked his lips. “The Manticore.”
For a moment there, father and son joined in laughter. Then, when everyone else in the room remained solemn, they laughed harder still. Malcolm slammed a fist into the table, the skin knotted with blue veins, and sucked air with every wheezing laugh.
“It ain't a joke,” said Germaine. “We really got a Manticore on our hands.”
Percy looked to me, then to Kubo, incredulous. He didn't believe what we were telling him, but was getting a bit nervous now. “You're pulling our legs, right?”
Hands folded, Kubo leaned forward. “Can the two of you help us hunt down the Manticore?”
At this junction, Percy grew restless in his seat.
Malcolm, though, the smirk still pressed to his weathered lips, reached into his breast pocket for a Camel, which he lit. Kubo looked like he wanted to tell him that there was no smoking in the facility, but the old man wouldn't have given a shit. He blew a smoke ring up towards the ceiling and then tossed his shoulders. “Manticore? Yeah, sure, whatever. You want it caught, I'll tell you how to catch it. Course, you're gonna have to pay.”
“That won't be a problem,” Kubo was quick to reply. “What will you need?”
Percy, though, still didn't believe what was happening. “Hold up, dad. The Manticore? That isn't what we signed up for. The Manticore isn't even... well, it's not real, right?” He looked back to Kubo, gaze drawn to a sharp point. “I thought you said this was just some chimera.”
Germaine pointed up at him. “Not just some chimera. The chimera, kiddo. This is the real deal.”
Taking a pensive drag, Malcolm tongued at his yellowed teeth and wicked a bit of ash onto the carpet. “What do I want? Well, double the agreed-upon pay, for starters. Aside from that, I want complete control over this mission. Got me?”
Kubo sported a nervous grin. “I'm not sure I can grant you that. I mean, I can't just hand over the reins to a pair of contractors--”
Malcolm exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Well, I guess you could just go about trappin' your own Manticore, then.”
“You can have nominal command, however me and my associates here will have to be involved. That's the way we do things here.” Kubo firmed up. “Of course, you'll have the Veiled Order's full support. But we still have to be there. My bosses would never allow us to do otherwise. Not for a mission of this importance.”
“Nominal command?” Malcolm's eyes widened. “Nah. I want to have full control of this mission. Y'all can come along and tell your bosses whatever you want, but I wanna be the one calling the shots.”
“Fine,” replied Kubo. “We'll do whatever you ask, so long as it doesn't violate our protocols. You have our resources at your disposal. You're an expert monster hunter. We need your advice on this mission. We need to know how to capture and neutralize this threat.”
Malcolm seemed to make peace with this, putting out his cigarette against the heel of his boot. “Suits me just fine. Gonna need some muscle anyhow. And a mage, too. Someone who knows spells, magical traps. Maps of the city, too.”
“Maps will be no problem. We have many detailed maps in the building here. I'll bring you the best of them. I can handle your spellcasting needs as well. Joe and Lucy here will take care of anything else.”
“So, what's the Manticore doing in the city?” asked Percy. “How's an ancient, inter-dimensional beast just end up in Detroit? Doesn't make sense. It shouldn't even exist.”
“Still trying to figure that out,” offered Germaine. “Seems like some evil wizard is behind it. Ain't it always one of them evil wizards, stirring up shit?”
Kubo corrected him. “Whiro, a Lord of Darkness, seems to be behind it.” From his paperwork, Kubo unearthed the letter I'd been given the night before. He handed it to Malcolm for his inspection. “Seems he wishes to bring about the end of the world with this little stunt.”
Malcolm glanced at the letter only a moment before passing it back to Kubo and lighting up a second cigarette. “Real nice letter. Might as well send him one back, tellin' him to kennel his little critter before we
get our hands on it.”
Pleased with this, Kubo stood up. “If there are any materials you need, let me know. I can have our people pick them up in the Underground from trusted suppliers.”
Malcolm pawed at his bristly cheek. “You know, I'd rather go down there and source it all myself.”
“We don't have the time for that,” said Kubo. “People in the city are dying. It would be better to delegate stuff like that, wouldn't you agree?”
“Now, who's running this mission?” asked Malcolm, standing up and tugging on his waistband. He exhaled a cloud of smoke impatiently. “That's fine, if you wanna send some gopher into the Underground to get the gear. But if you wanna start tracking this thing, I'm gonna need some maps.”
“Certainly, I'll bring our best maps. You can have a look at them in the car. I thought we'd begin by having a look at the remains of the victims we'd found. Get your expert opinion on the wounds they sustained.”
“Hold on,” I said gravely, leaning over the edge of the table. “You're forgetting something.”
“And what's that?” asked Kubo.
My stomach growled audibly. “We need to get some fucking breakfast first, Chief.”
Kubo was about to slap me upside the head when Malcolm clapped his hands. “The lad's got a good point, Kubo. Ya can't have a successful hunt on an empty stomach. Eat first, then we can talk shop.”
Palming his car keys, Kubo spared me a frown and then relented. “Sure... let's just make it quick.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
15
You know what I hate most about the McDonald's breakfast menu? The orange juice is too damn expensive.
Not that it mattered today, though.
Our breakfast was gratis, paid for by the company credit card. I'll admit to ordering a little more food than I wanted, if only because I pictured Arson having a heart attack upon getting the statement in the mail.
The McDonald's was pretty crowded, with young kids weaving throughout the Playplace and filling the air with an undercurrent of happy screams. Tired-looking parents milled around, sipping at coffees. We'd crammed ourselves into a corner booth, getting a lot of weird looks from the patrons and staff alike. Not that I could blame them. We were a motley crew.
Germaine was clinging to the underside of the table again, and had one of his thin arms probing the tabletop in search of my hash brown. “Luuucccyyy,” he whined quietly. “Just one bite, man. I need a hit!”
I brushed his arm away, stuffing half of the hash brown into my mouth. “Nah, you already ate yours, you little mooch.”
Joe ate with an enthusiasm I'd never seen from him, plowing his way through two breakfast sandwiches and a coffee. “So, how are things, Percy? What've you been up to since our last job together?”
Percy had left his sword in the SUV, and you could tell he felt nervous without it. In fact, without the cool, bone-hilted sword strapped to his back, he looked strange, naked. “Not much,” he admitted. “Been on the hunt. Georgia, Louisiana. Just hanging around with the old man in search of game.”
“Have you heard from Kanta lately?” I asked. The question left my lips a little too eagerly. Kanta was the exorcist from India we'd worked with during the Agamemnon case, and she was a grade-A bitch. She'd tried to perform an exorcism on me and loved to give me a hard time. Oh, and that Archangel Saber? The holy, demon-killing sword that'd helped us save the world? Yeah, she'd kept it. Because of that, a part of me hoped that she was far, far away. Another part of me was curious how she was doing, though.
Percy shrugged. “It's been a while. I haven't spoken to her in months, not since the necromancer job wrapped.” He sucked down some OJ. “Her plan was to go traveling, I think. She wanted to put that new sword of hers to use, tracking demons. She might've gone back to India, in fact.”
While the rest of us made chit-chat, Malcolm flipped through a number of Atlases and maps, leaving greasy thumbprints on each as he went. He was working slowly over a breakfast sandwich, grimacing. The man's mood was impossible to read on the basis of facial expression alone. When he was happy, he grimaced. Angry? Grimace. Sad? I'm going to take a wild guess and say that that emotion, too, incited him to grimace. Judging by the way he flipped the pages quickly, grunting under his breath, I got the impression that he didn't think too highly of Kubo's maps.
“What's wrong?” asked Kubo. The Chief had ordered a salad and a bottle of water—a choice I'd given him no little shit for. I mean, who orders a salad at McDonald's early in the morning? “Is there a problem?”
Malcolm shut the atlas he was working on and tossed it onto the heap that sat upon the next table over. “I'll say. All that shit's useless. Not detailed enough. See, this is an urban setting. Ain't just wilderness we're dealing with here, but dense clusters of buildings and such. The maps you've got here give me streets and whatnot, all very nice, but it's only half the equation. In order for me to set traps in the most advantageous spots, I need to know where everything is. A bird's eye view, more detailed.”
Kubo pulled out his phone. “Perhaps a satellite printout would help? I can get someone on it immediately.”
Malcolm polished off the rest of his sandwich, crumpling up the wrapper. “No, what I really need is a model of some kind. A model, 3-D. Something like that would really help me visualize the setting. That way you can see where it might choose to feed, where it might make its den, etcetera.”
Kubo's eyes glazed over with despair. “I'm sure that would be helpful, however we don't really have the time to make something that detailed right now. It would take days... weeks, maybe...”
I sat up in my seat, popping the lid off of my orange juice and gulping down the remainder. “Say, you need a detailed model of the city? Like, a diorama?”
Malcolm nodded. “Something that'll let me see all the nooks and crannies where this thing might go hunting or seek shelter.”
I looked to Joe and Kubo. “You know, I think I might know a guy.”
* * * * *
My dad, Gary Colt, is a miniature train enthusiast of the highest order. The bulk of his basement is taken up by a painstakingly-detailed model of the city of Detroit, which he's worked on over the years, and which he probably loves more than his own son.
When we pulled up to his place and the first words out of my mouth were, “We're here to see the trains,” my dad was immediately put on-guard.
“Kiddo, I haven't seen you in months. You know I've tried to call you now and then, but you've never responded to my messages.” His bald head reflected the sun. “Where have you been?”
“Yeah, I'm sorry about that. See, I misplaced my phone while I was on this trip doing, uh... charity work. I meant to call, dad. But it was just so hectic.”
“Well, sport,” began my father, glancing over my shoulder at the scummy-looking guys standing around the black SUV, “I don't just trust anyone to handle my trains. You know that. I don't want to seem rude to your friends here, and I'm glad that they're interested, but it's not a good time.” He was wearing a tacky Hawaiian shirt beneath his coat, and was loading coolers into the trunk of his dated hatchback. “I'm actually on my way over to Tammy's. Going to pick her up so that we can make it to the Youth Chili Cook-Off early. Pastor Dan wants us there before everyone else so that we can help him set things up. Like I said, not a great time, champ.” His carefully-shaped mustache tickled the bottom of his nose as he gave me an awkward smile.
“Dad, please,” I uttered in a voice I hadn't used since I was a teenager begging for a Sega Dreamcast, “this is really important to me. After my friends saw your trains the last time, they've talked about nothing else. I mean, you're kind of a legend among my circle of friends now. You know that? I've got people begging me to bring them by to see the trains. And I've been thinking, too, that someday maybe I'd like my own trains. Just like yours, dad. I'd love to see what new stuff you've been cooking up down there.”
Laying it on a little thick seemed to w
ork. My dad's biggest weakness was train-flattery. “Oh, all right.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Don't go touching anything, you hear? That goes for all of your friends, too. And lock up when you're finished.” A smile crept across his lips. “Next month, do you want to come with me to the train conference going on in Minneapolis?”
I forced an agreeable nod. “Oh, boy. Would I.”
My dad wasn't even all the way out of the driveway when I started leading everyone into the house. We pushed through the living room, into the kitchen, and then down into the basement, where the model train set awaited.
Malcolm hadn't been too keen on entering the house, asking Kubo more than a few times, “What the hell are we doing here?” Upon glimpsing the diorama my dad had made however, I spied in him the first signs of excitement and approval I'd ever seen. “Hot damn, now that's a model. Get a look at that!” He stalked around the thing, nodding his head. “This'll do perfectly.” He ordered Kubo to bring in the maps from the car and walked a few circuits around the display to take it all in.
It was huge, and all of the details were true to life. My dad had constructed the thing from photographs taken all over the city, and whenever he noticed something new in town, he made sure to update his diorama to match. A new strip mall? It ended up in the diorama. A tree had been cut down across the street? Time to update the diorama. Several sets of trains lined the numerous tracks in the miniature landscape, all of them lovingly assembled and arranged.
“Lucy, what in the hell is this thing just doing in your old man's basement?” Germaine hopped up onto the track and climbed into a trolley. “Switch 'er on, let's see how much juice she's got!”
“Don't fuck it up,” I told him. “My dad's obsessed with his trains, so be gentle with 'em, OK?” I led Joe and Percy back up to the kitchen, where we raided the cupboards for some of my dad's delicious home-made peanut brittle. Sadly, there was none to be found.
Happy End of the World (Demon-Hearted Book 3) Page 6