Some Legends Never Die (Monsters and Mayhem Book 2)

by E A Comiskey

  Jiggling the door confirmed that it was locked. She peeked over her shoulder and prepared to jiggle a little more strategically—with a hairpin in hand—when she noticed a tiny camera mounted above the track lights aimed in that direction. Five seconds later, a new goon, this one in tactical gear rather than a tuxedo, appeared around the corner.

  “Help you?” he asked.

  Burke found it easy to smile her flirtiest smile. The guy was as adorable as a puppy on steroids.

  Do you have to be gorgeous to work for Coleum security?

  Burke twisted one of her curls around her finger. “Sorry. I know I’m probably not supposed to be in this part of the hall, but curiosity was killing me. I had to take a peek around and when I saw that desk through the doors... My goodness.” She pressed a hand to her heart, an attempt to draw his gaze to her cleavage. “Is that a genuine Louis the fourteenth? It’s just stunning.”

  His focus never left her eyes for a second, but a little line formed between his brows. “That’s a limited-access area.”

  She pouted. “Couldn’t you just flip the lights on for one quick minute to let a girl take a peek?”

  A muscle twitched along his powerful jawline. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Our instructions are to maintain all secure areas for the duration of the event, no matter what.”

  She took a step in his direction—a move that placed her decidedly within his sphere of personal space. “But...a real Louis the fourteenth,” she crooned. “Please?”

  He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  “Can you at least tell me who gets to sit there? Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to meet them at the party and work it out to come back during business hours.”

  His massive shoulders relaxed as he realized Burke had no intention of pushing the issue. “Of course. Mr. Jones’ receptionist sits there. This is his private office suite.”

  Burke batted her lashes. “I should have guessed. Only the best for the big guy, eh? Who’s going to get this space once he flies away to Mars?”

  One corner of the puppy dog’s wide, luscious mouth twitched upward. “Only thing I know is it won’t be me.”

  “You don’t seem like the type to be content in an office anyway,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Wouldn’t like the work, but wouldn’t mind the pay.” He glanced up at the little camera and his smile faded. “Not that I’m not grateful for this job. Coleum takes fantastic care of their employees. All of us.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Burke said. She sighed. “Well, if you’re sure I can’t talk you into letting me in, I suppose I should head back up before I miss dessert.”

  He stepped aside to let her pass. As she did, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  Adorable.

  “You haven’t seen any antique coins around here, have you?”

  “Antique coins?”

  “I just thought...maybe...” She gestured toward the locked office. “If that’s old, maybe there’d be other stuff, too. But no? No coins? Fat leather books full of dead languages? Hand-carved bowls with strange symbols on them?”

  He stood there, bewildered.

  “I know it’s bizarre. I’m just a sucker for old stuff, but never mind.” She winked at him. “Maybe I’ll get lost again after dessert.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend that, ma’am.”

  Huh. So much for my mighty powers of flirtation.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Richard

  The ugly ranch-style house across the street went dark when the porch light clicked off and the blue glow in their front window flickered and went out. The humans of the world were drifting off to sleep feeling safe and secure, oblivious of the monstrous things that shared their planet, looking for a heart to eat or a soul to suck dry. He’d be lying if he said there wasn’t some satisfaction in being one of the people in the know after a lifetime of living like a mushroom—kept in the dark and fed a bunch of crap. Of course, being in the know meant he spent a good amount of time fighting, running, falling, and sometimes screaming like a little girl, but, hey, a man learns to take the good with the bad.

  “She’s a vibrant woman, not a child, you know. I honestly don’t see what all the fuss was about. She seems just as kind and lovely as a flower on a warm summer day.”

  That sound wasn’t like the bass rhythm of music, exactly. It was more familiar.

  The hairs on his neck stood at attention.

  “Would you shut your danged pie hole for a minute?” Richard snapped. “You hear something?” He fumbled to find the stupid hearing aid in the dark and managed to knock it onto the floor. Aware that he was muttering under his breath and unmotivated to stop, he got down on all fours and started feeling around under the table. His joints popped like sappy pine in a campfire. From his position on the floor, the sound came to him again, as if carried through the wooden frame of the house itself, a low, deep, guttural whomp, whomp, whomp that prompted his lizard brain to send a little burst of adrenaline into his heart.

  Stanley rose with fluid grace, his pistol gripped in both hands, and closed the distance between himself and the window. “Adieu fear bit sit breeding?” he whispered.

  Richard stretched forward, searching with his fingertips. “What?” He strained to focus on the noise and identify its source, but the excitement sent his guts churning and now those noises covered up anything else he might have been able to hear.

  Stanley’s gaze remained fixed on the scene outside. “It’s how slike breeding sue me.”

  “You having a stroke or something?” Richard asked just as a car turned the corner, its ridiculously bright headlamps cutting across the window, highlighting Stanley’s pasty complexion. “Come away from the window, Stanley. Something ain’t right,” he said.

  Breathing. Not rock music. It was the low, grunting breaths of something leaning against the house, just under the edge of the window in front of them.

  “Come away from the window!” he shouted.

  An inhuman shriek pierced the night.

  Fangs.

  A hideous, wide mouth stretched wider, less than three feet away.

  Black eyes fixed on Stanley.

  Richard reared up.

  Crack!

  The back of his head slammed solidly into the underside of the table hard enough to lift it from the floor. “Son of a—” He rolled onto his side, clutching his head. The lights in the room blared to life, illuminating his gun and his hearing aid, both lying on the carpet right in front of his watering eyes.

  “Oh, my goodness, Dad!” Maddie’s voice came from the direction of the bedroom door. She must have been the one to flip the light switch.

  Stanley knelt at his side and leaned over him, much too close over him. His left hand flicked the pistol under the bed. “You okay, Dick?”

  Richard shoved at him with the hand not clamped to his head. “Get off me, ya dang fruitcake!”

  Stanley obliged, sitting back on his heels. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes scrunched up in that annoying way that made you know he was laughing at you, even if his lips weren’t moving.

  Maddie scurried into view and stood with her hand pressed to her heart. “What in the world happened?”

  “I’m so sorry we gave you a fright, dear,” Stanley said. “Your father and I found ourselves restless and decided to sit up for a while and watch the world go by. His hearing aid fell on the floor and he got down to retrieve it and…well…I’m afraid we caused a commotion and woke you.”

  Her hand remained on her chest, but her shoulders relaxed. “Goodness,” she said again. “Here, Dad. Let us help you up.” She extended a hand.

  Richard chose to ignore it. “I don’t need no help.” Grunting and panting as much as a greased pig after a chase, he managed to get himself up to his feet again. Gingerly, he explored his scalp with his fingertips. It throbbed in protest, but his hand came away free of blood. When he looked a
t Maddie again, her hands were balled in fists at her sides.

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “I swear, you’re the most stubborn mule of a human being on the face of the Earth.”

  He drew back, more surprised than insulted. He couldn’t remember her ever actually insulting him outright.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Burke

  By the time she hiked back up the steps and circled around to the table, the dinner dishes had been cleared away and replaced with dainty little plates displaying an assortment of tiny cakes and pastries. “This looks lovely,” she remarked as she took her seat.

  Albert mumbled something unintelligible around a mouthful of food.

  “We’re so privileged to be here. Half the world would kill for tickets, but you couldn’t buy your way in, no matter what,” the woman next to her said.

  Burke arranged her napkin over her lap. “I got that. Thanks.”

  The woman’s gaze drifted off to nowhere in particular and she continued to eat.

  Burke nibbled at the treats laid out before her, watched the crowd for clues about the weirdos, and ignored Albert who rambled on at great length about the crucial part the IT team played in the day-to-day operations of Coleum. There was no way they’d be able to figure out the payroll, let alone fly to Mars, if it weren’t for him and his team.

  John Jones caught her eye when he stood up from his place at the table closest to the stage and began mingling through the crowd. A tiny woman with a perfect hourglass figure and glossy brown hair that brushed her waist trailed along behind him looking submissive and saying next to nothing. His smile stretched as wide as the Great Mississippi River and looked every bit as slick and cool. There wasn’t a doubt in Burke’s mind, if there had been any babies around, he’d have been kissing them and taking photos.

  She leaned over and interrupted Albert in the middle of a story about a supposed rocket scientist who couldn’t figure out how to re-boot his own modem. “Can you introduce me to him?” she asked.

  Albert followed her gaze. His face turned a shade pinker than usual. “Mr. Jones?”

  “Yeah. I really want to meet him.”

  Albert snorted. “Well, yeah. You and half the world.”

  Burke held up a hand. “All of whom would give their left arm—”

  “It’s quite a privilege to be here,” the woman on her left reminded her.

  Burke slumped back into her chair. “So I’ve heard. I just thought, since you’re such an important part of the team, you might be able to...you know...do a tiny favor for your special lady. But if you’re not high enough up the ladder, I completely understand.”

  “It’s not like that,” Albert objected.

  The guys next to him exchanged a knowing glance and giggled like middle school girls.

  Sensing progress, Burke pressed on, “No, really. Not everyone can be Mr. Big. Companies need little men, too. In fact, the average Joes are crucial to any operation.”

  Albert’s face glowed brighter than the boiled lobster tails they’d eaten for dinner. “I am not an average Joe. I programmed the whole—”

  Burke gave his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “It’s all right, Albert. Really. I understand.”

  He shook his head. “But you don’t,” he whined. His gaze darted back and forth between Jones and Burke. His scrawny chest rose and fell in quick, sharp rhythm. “Okay. Come on.”

  “What do you mean?” Burke asked.

  “Dude. I wouldn’t—” one of the nerds started to say but Albert cut him off.

  “No, man. My girl—my special lady—wants to meet Jones, she’s going to meet Jones. He owes me.”

  The zombie-woman-who-wasn’t-really-a-zombie gasped out loud at that.

  Albert glanced around as if to see if anyone else had overheard, then bolted out of his chair with such force it teetered on two legs for a moment before thumping back down.

  Burke jumped up next to him before he lost his nerve and let him lead her through the crowd to Jones and the gorgeous girl, who were schmoozing with a group of men she recognized from the evening news—state politicians, one of whom was rumored to have his eye on the next presidential election. Albert set a pace akin to that of an Olympic runner in the one-hundred-meter event, scattering wait staff like so many bowling pins. At the last second, he drew to a dead stop five feet behind Jones and stood there as if paralyzed.

  Jones’ voice flowed from his lips like jazz from a master’s saxophone. “Well, Senator, as you know, space is international territory. We’ve been over this repeatedly. Claiming it for any one nation is against international law. I will swear to you, though, we will not forget who our friends are, and when it comes time to mine for titanium or magnesium, or whatever else we may be able to find up there, I will have your name at the top of my list.” He stopped talking and his shoulders stiffened. Though his smile never wavered, when he turned and peered down his flawless nose at Albert, for just one moment, a shiver of terror as intense as any she’d experienced while facing down The Devil Herself raced through her body. A split second later, warmth and joy flowed out of him as naturally as if he were the midday sunshine in June. “May I help you?”

  Albert made a sound like a slowly deflating balloon.

  The woman behind Jones snickered.

  Burke reached out a hand, which Jones accepted without hesitation. His skin was soft and dry, his grip sure and confident. “Please forgive our intrusion. Albert was kind enough to invite me to join him tonight and I just couldn’t help but push my luck by begging him to introduce me to you.”

  He didn’t release her hand, but somehow the pressure of his grasp filled her with a sense of calm reassurance—a sense that if she trusted him to take care of her, everything would be okay. He directed his smile at Albert. “What department do you work in, son?”

  Son? No way they had more than five years age difference between them.

  “Information technology, sir,” Albert whispered, staring at the floor.

  “And are you a technical specialist, as well?” he asked Burke.

  “I was. I was a programmer before I retired. I’m taking care of my grandfather now.”

  “How noble of you. Our older generation is too often neglected. We fail to give them the honor they deserve. What’s your name, dear?”

  “I’m Burke. Burke Martin.”

  He dropped her hand as if she’d burned him. “Not the Burke Martin who turned Compufest into the most profitable app corporation of all time?”

  “I didn’t do it alone,” she told him, trying to hide her surprise that he’d heard of her.

  “Albert, however did you come to know this charming creature?” he asked.

  Albert managed to peek up at his boss. “Her mother ran over me with her car, sir.”

  John Jones roared with laughter. The senator and his tablemates smiled in their direction. No way had they been able to overhear what had been said, but obviously, if Jones was laughing, they should be amused, as well. When he finally pulled himself together, he slapped Albert on the back hard enough to cause him to stumble forward. “Well done, son. Well done. Listen... It is Albert, right?”

  Albert nodded, apparently stunned mute. “There’s something I want to talk to you about. Stop by my office in the morning, will you?”

  Burke had often heard of people “turning green,” but before that moment, she’d never thought of it as a literal phenomenon. Albert’s skin took on a weirdly chartreuse tint and she wondered if he was going to throw up on his boss’s beautiful Farragamo derby shoes.

  “Ms. Martin, it’s been truly a pleasure and an honor. I’m glad you came here tonight.” Jones shook her hand again, and again she found herself leaning into the comforting warmth of his aura. “I’m confident fate will cause our paths to cross again very soon.”

  He put an arm around the waist of the little slip of a woman that Burke had all but forgotten was standing there and the two of them wandered off into the crowd, no doubt to schmooze with those who
lived life far higher up the ladder than the IT guy and his unemployed date.

  The band switched to dance music from the era when girls pretended to be happy and proud that every boy in town was running off to fight the forces of evil on the other side of the world.

  Albert mumbled something and took off, and she suspected he was headed to the bathroom to pull himself together. She wandered toward the open bar, trying to make friends with overly helpful servers. Consummate professionals, each and every one, to the point where they skirted her questions about Umbra with the slick skill of veteran politicians. Everyone agreed that it was very exciting sharing space with the Great One. No doubt, it was a great privilege to be at the party, even as a lowly servant. Half the world would give their last dollar to be there. Not one of them would actually point him out to her.

  She made note of the not-really-zombie people and watched them carefully. A pattern emerged. When spoken to by certain people, they animated, even beyond what you’d expect from someone in that context. They doted and adored and positively fawned over their companions, but when their companions looked away, they took on the personality of storefront mannequins.

  By the time Albert found her, her feet were screaming inside her shoes like two dogs howling in their crates. The frustration of knowing something was going on with the stranger people but having no way to figure out what it was reached a boiling point. Being told Umbra was right there under her nose but being unable to figure out which of the partygoers might secretly be ruling the world served as hot-burning fuel for the fire.

  She teetered back to her own chair on her aching feet and slumped back. “Why am I even here?”

  The woman next to her raised her eyebrows. “Oh, it’s a great privilege.”

  “I’m pretty rich, you know,” Burke told her. “I could afford to go buy a pretty house and putter in the garden every day for the rest of my life.”