Cassandra Case Files

by Steven F. Warnock

  No one said anything bad about Samuels in that regard. Where Samuels rubbed people the wrong way was that he was the worst kind of bigot imaginable, a black man who refused to acknowledge his personal prejudices. He was an equal opportunity bigot, though. He pretty much hated everybody who wasn’t one of “his” people, and he seemed to delight in giving derogatory nicknames to everyone he met based on his first, ill-conceived, impressions.

  Samuels had taken an instant, hard dislike to Mack, who was equally tall, more muscular, and a blond white man. Worse, Mack was in no way intimidated by Samuels. Mack knew that even without shapeshifting he could tear Samuels and both of his deputies apart, and on some instinctive level Samuels recognized that, too. He knew in his gut that Mack was the apex predator in the room, and he responded to that instinctual fear with the harshest sarcasm he could muster.

  “Hello, Samuels,” Mack replied. “Would you and your deputies like me to fix you a meal? The rush we just had left us a little low on ready prep, but I’m sure I could make you a patty melt or something.”

  Mack’s even demeanor seemed to infuriate Samuels. “Where’ve you, Bossy Daphne, Mexican Velma, and Chinese Shaggy been?”

  “Quick camping trip back up toward the northwest of town. We actually did go looking for the old Number 2 mine shaft, but couldn’t find it,” Mack said.

  “And I’m not Chinese,” Liam piped up. “Korean. Kor-ee-an.”

  “Shut up, Chinese Shaggy!” Samuels pointed at Mack. “You go anywhere near the cell tower?”

  “No. Why would we?”

  “Folks been complaining about bad cell reception and slow internet. Ain’t good for business or the sanity of the Mayor’s children, ya dig?”

  “I hear ya, but let me repeat: why would we go anywhere near the cell tower?” Mack smiled brightly. “Look, Samuels, I know you have a ‘thing’ for me, and I find you to be a very handsome man, but we both know that it won’t work out between us. We’re too much alike. Ya dig?”

  Iva Planche stifled a giggle. The female deputy was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. She was also nearly six feet tall, so she almost looked like a man bundled up against the cold.

  Samuels cast a glare in her direction, but she quickly and surreptitiously pointed at the other deputy. David Bryce looked like somebody had shaved a gorilla and stuffed it into the uniform. He was well over six and a half feet tall, which reminded Mack more of a shaved Bigfoot than a gorilla. Either way, he was exactly what he looked like: a big, stupid brute. Bryce was a hammer and every problem he encountered looked like a nail.

  KC interposed herself between Mack and Samuels. “Mr. Samuels, you and your team look cold. What do you say I fix you all up with a nice round of lattes for the road?”

  Samuels glared down at KC. “There you go being all bossy, Daphne.”

  “Now, Mr. Samuels, you know that just isn’t so!” KC beamed one of her brightest smiles. “Everybody in Silver Dollar City knows who the boss is.”

  Samuels smirked. “Yeah, it’s Terry Young, but I appreciate the effort to stroke my ego, Bossy. Now, get your narrow white ass out of my face.”

  A nearly sub-audible growl escaped Mack’s throat. KC turned slightly and placed a hand in the middle of his chest. “Calm down,” she commanded softly. Then, she turned back to Samuels. “We’re not the cause of your problems, Mr. Samuels, and you really don’t want to make us your problem. Maybe you should take a moment and consider that. There are three of you. There are four of us. We want to be your friends, not your enemies. Now, once again, would you like a fancy hot coffee for the road?”

  Something about her reasonable tone unnerved Samuels, scared him more than the physical threat that Mack potentially represented. “Yeah, three lattes for the road, Daphne, and make it snappy. And make ‘em strong.”

  “Of course!” KC smiled brightly.

  ON THE OUTERMOST EDGE of Silver Dollar City, separated from the rest of the community, sat a lone cottage surrounded by a white picket fence. The gate at the center of the fence was decorated with a beautifully painted sign that declared the cottage to be “Porcia’s Hermitage.” In contrast, however, the gate was flanked by less friendly, mass-produced signage that declared “No Trespassing” and “Beware of Dogs.” On the porch of the cottage, facing the gate, in the place of the usual rocking chairs and porch swing, sat a pair of dog kennels. Each kennel was fully heated for the winter and cooled in the summer, comfortable enough even for human habitation.

  The Rottweilers housed in those two kennels were of the large and aggressive variety. They patrolled the property encompassed by the picket fence at all hours of the day and night, rain, shine, or snowfall. Other than their mistress, the guard dogs only suffered two other humans within their domain, Porcia’s husband, Terry Young, and her sister-wife, Vivienne Young. Anyone else who came close to the fence was met with aggressive barking and growling. Anyone foolish enough to enter the property was mauled. That had happened only once, but at the time Terry Young had been required to come call the dogs off and put them away in their kennels so that Samuels could retrieve the poor idiot and take him to the town’s medic, but the young man had succumbed to his wounds. Rumor had it that Samuels had reported the death as an animal attack that had happened somewhere on the public land surrounding Silver Dollar City.

  Porcia Castillo, second wife of Mayor Teddy Young, was a rather well known and currently popular artist, a landscape painter and photographer. The young man who’d come to see her and ignored the warnings posted on her fence had been a fan of hers, obsessed with her and her ongoing work. Normally, Teddy Young and Samuels did their best to screen the people coming into Silver Dollar City to ensure that they weren’t crazy fans, but that young man had slipped past them.

  The reason that Teddy was so protective of his younger wife was that Porcia suffered from a form of social anxiety disorder. At the best of times, she was an extreme introvert, and at the worst of times, she was an active misanthrope who actively hated other human beings. The only people she was close to were Teddy and Vivienne. She’d even borne Teddy three of his eight children, but at her insistence, Vivienne had raised Porcia’s children calling her “Mom” instead. Living with the rest of the family in the Bank was Porcia’s idea of a living hell, which was why she’d been installed in her Hermitage with its surrounding fence and fierce canine guardians, which allowed Porcia to work in peace, her only visitors Teddy or Vivienne.

  Porcia preferred her sister-wife’s visits. Though she loved Teddy dearly and enjoyed a healthy sexual relationship with him, Porcia had always preferred the romantic company of women. Seducing her sister-wife hadn’t been too difficult considering that Vivienne, though a devout Mormon, was bi-sexual. Teddy turned a blind eye to the “affair” his wives were having. He was just happy that his spouses got along so well with one another.

  On this particular snowy evening, Porcia heaved a sigh laden with regret and disappointment. Teddy would be tied up all night with one of his sons either plowing Silver Dollar City’s streets or salting and sanding the various walking paths that tied the community together. He’d be making wellness checks on all of his people, making sure everyone had sufficient heat, water, and food. Even though his position didn’t require re-election, Teddy was a conscientious politician who took care of his constituents. Teddy being out all night meant that Vivienne would be in all night caring for their younger children, not spending one of her regular evenings with Porcia.

  She could understand the situation intellectually and agreed with all of it, but emotionally she was being selfish and indulging herself. Most of the afternoon and early evening had been spent working on a painting for a client. Porcia had no problem interacting with people through an intermediary form of communication like social media or emails. She rather successfully sold her art and took commissions through her private website as well as on Facebook and Instagram.

  Now, though, was a time for relaxation. Porcia pu
t some soft jazz on her stereo, poured a glass of wine and curled up on her couch in front of her fireplace. The cottage was small. “Cozy” was probably the more appropriate word, but either way, it was just the right size for Porcia. She had a great room that took up the entire left-hand side of the house, one wall of which was entirely windows that looked out over the central Colorado mountains. The great room also served as her studio. Her easel and paints were set up in one corner, the one with the best view. The other half of the house was divided between a master bedroom with en suite bath, the kitchen, and an extensive pantry/art supply closet.

  Between the jazz, the wine, and watching the snowfall outside, Porcia dozed off and dreamed of her husband and sister-wife.

  SAMECH-ASSARA EFES-Echad surveyed the target. The dwelling was small, yet not as small as the dwellings on the other side of the village. This particular dwelling had been targeted due to the fact that it was situated a ways apart from the other buildings in the village. Snowflakes landed and melted on his snout. A growl of displeasure rumbled deep in his throat. He did not care for this frozen water that fell from the vast openness. It was... unnatural.

  The guardian beasts did not appear to appreciate being cold and wet any more than he did. They were both hiding inside their lairs upon the external outdoor shelter. Samech-Assara Efes-Echad did not know what the lairs or the external structure were called, but his Rishon had said that the animals were called ‘dahgs’. The dahgs were his task in this excursion. With him was the female called Vav-Tishasar Efes-Shnayim. He hoped to be allowed by the Great Ones, their living gods, to mate with her. Whether she wanted to mate with him or not was a concept that never entered his mind.

  The two of them rose from their place of concealment and padded quietly through the snow. The perimeter barrier seemed to be more symbolic than practical, meant to keep the dahgs confined to their area of operations rather than to repel intruders. The two of them leapt over the barrier effortlessly, not even breaking their stride as they raced to the front of the dwelling. The dahgs must have sensed their presence because the animals stuck their snouts out of their warm lairs and began growling.

  Samech-Assara raised the long dart and throwing stick in his right hand. The weapon, like the dagger sheathed at his waist, was a gift of the Great Ones. The Great Ones had provided The People with many wondrous weapons and tools, rewards for The People’s good service.

  With a quick glance to his side, he noted with approval that Vav-Tishasar had readied her weapon as well. The female acknowledged him with a nod. He was the leader of their element, therefore the attack happened when he chose. Samech-Assara chose that instant, hurling his dart forward with tremendous strength.

  His target was the dahg on the right. His dart pierced the dahg’s neck just between the spinal column and throat, pinning the beast to the wall behind it. Vav-Tishasar’s aim was slightly better as her dart took the other dahg through the spinal column. Samech-Assara was duly impressed. His throw had killed the target quickly, but hers had killed it instantly. He wanted to mate with her more than ever.

  They stopped under the shelter to retrieve their darts. Stretchy cords were tied to each beast’s fore and hind limbs. The meat of these guardian beasts would not be wasted. Samech-Assara glanced into the dwelling through the window mounted in the entry portal. He spotted the Rishon, Kaf-Achadasar Efes-Efes, stalking toward the dwelling’s lone occupant. Behind him was the Sheni, Pay-Shneyimasar Efes-Echad. The female was just as magnificent as her mate.

  The dweller never awoke. Kaf-Achadasar Efes-Efes thrust his dagger under her right ear, driving the blade deep into the sleeping female’s brain. Just to insure the victim’s demise, the Rishon twisted the blade twice before withdrawing his weapon. The killing blow had taken less than a full second to accomplish. Samech-Assara felt a swell of pride filling his chest as he turned to share a feral grin with Vav-Tishasar. The female made gestures in the sign language taught them by the Great Ones to indicate that they should withdraw as the Rishon had instructed during the mission briefing. Before leaving, Samech-Assara cast another look into the dwelling. The Rishon and the Sheni were gathering the woman’s body into the black bag the Great Ones had provided. Samech-Assara wondered if the Great Ones would allow them to eat her, too. He was curious what a “hyoo-man” tasted like. The thought never crossed his mind that the female hyoo-man looked just like a Great One.

  Chapter Three

  Twin Lakes, Colorado

  Thursday, March 14, 2019

  SNOW HAD FALLEN ALL day Wednesday, and as the clocks turned over at midnight to Thursday, the snow didn’t look to be slacking off just yet.

  “This has got to be some kind of record for a Springtime snowstorm,” Mack mused.

  The time was around four am, and he’d been up since three. Living in Silver Dollar City for the last four months had left him well-rested. The thermometer mounted on the driver’s side mirror reported that the ambient air temperature was at fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. The Weather Channel was playing on the TV mounted to the bus’s forward bulkhead, and the ticker running below the talking head was reporting that today’s high wouldn’t go above thirty in neighboring Aspen, but the folks in the mountains could expect to find themselves in the mid to low twenties, not counting wind chill factors.

  “I wouldn’t know,” KC mused from her work station. She’d spent the night tidying up accounts for Julio Greene, the manager of the General Store. Once word had gotten out that KC was a CPA, work had come beating down their door.

  “Where’s Pilar?”

  KC smiled as Mack brought her a fresh, steaming mug of coffee. “She’s at Liam’s.”

  “Have you been matchmaking?”

  “Yes, and the two of them got together despite my efforts. See, I was gonna introduce Pilar to Agent Sauvage because, well, she kinda has a ‘thing’ for Asian guys...”

  “And despite his name, Liam is an Asian guy.”

  “And very good looking, too, despite Samuels’ pseudo-accurate nickname being quite appropriate.”

  “Hm, should I go over there now and embarrass, er, I mean, ‘rescue’ my buddy?”

  “Don’t you dare...” KC’s voice tapered off, which caused Mack some concern.

  “Babe?”

  “That’s weird,” KC mumbled. “This doesn’t usually happen ‘til after sunrise.”

  “Premature dream time?”

  “Feels like it, but this is different. Oh. Oh, that’s bad. This is all bad. NO!”

  KC shot to her feet, swooned, and would have fallen if Mack hadn’t been there to catch her.

  “Kayleigh, what’s wrong?” Mack’s voice was choked with concern.

  “It’s time,” KC said, becoming calm. “The reason why we’re here. It’s happening. Something is going on, and I think the whole town is in danger.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. I saw the town burning; people being killed by a dark fog that had teeth and claws, and beyond the fog I saw faceless men in suits. I could sense... pride, like when a hunting dog flushes prey or when a child takes its first step, like that.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Mack sighed. “Okay, I’m gonna get myself prepped, and I’m gonna go have a little recon of the town. You get to wake Liam and Pilar up, bring them up to speed. I’m taking a walkie and a sat phone with me, just in case.”

  A few minutes later Mack returned dressed in black 5.11 TDU pants, a blue flannel shirt, and combat boots. Over his shirt, he’d buckled on his tactical vest, which he’d outfitted with a number of useful tools and extra ammo. His Super GP100 was holstered under his left arm, and his FNX-45 was mounted in a drop-down tactical holster on his right thigh. The field jacket he was shrugging into barely concealed the semi-auto pistol. A wool beanie, matching scarf, and tactical gloves rounded out his ensemble.

  “No long gun?” KC noted.

  Mack shook his head. “Not for a quick recon. Wouldn’t want to scare the mundanes seeing me rolling hea
vy. However, that being said and all, I’ve got the Hammer and my ammo bag laid out on my workbench, so if I need them you can bring them to me.” He patted the ammo pouches on his vest. “See? I’ve even got rifle mags already on my vest.”

  “Okay, but what if you run into something paranormal?”

  “If a fifteen-round mag of .45 full metal jacket or eight shots of .357 silver can’t stop it, I’ll bite the bullet and wolf out.”

  “Only as a last resort, Hieronymus, and even then try not to do it in front of too many witnesses,” KC warned.

  “Yes, dear,” Mack winked as he stepped over to the bus’s main door. He paused. “I know the cold doesn’t affect me the way it does a mundane, but this is still gonna be unpleasant,” he sighed before opening the door and stepping out into the snow. He quickly shut the door.

  KC locked it behind him before going to get herself ready.

  MACK STUCK HIS HANDS down deep into his jacket’s hand warmer pockets and hunched forward. As he had said, the cold didn’t affect him like it did a normal person. Any damage being done was quickly regenerating, but it was still unpleasant. He trudged across the parking lot, went behind the General Store, and made his way over to the top of the drive that connected Silver Dollar City to the Twin Lakes below. He stopped and blew out a deep sigh.