Rick or Treat: A Fae Killers Novel (The Fae Killers Book 3)

by Jaxon Reed

  Everyone nodded. Rick glanced around at the small crowd and noted most present were on the younger side of 30, except for the ambassador. Everyone seemed fit and in shape. He suspected they were all OSS agents.

  “We have good reason to believe that the Nazis plan on blowing up their embassy tonight. We received a solid tip from Mr. Strickland here . . .”

  MacGraw nodded at Rick. Everyone turned to look at him and he nodded back.

  “. . . And our own intelligence sources have backed that up. Them Nazis is planning something tonight. And Ah would not put it past them to pull a stunt like that. Unfortunately, we can’t just call the whole thing off. Can’t not show up, either. So, we are going in and y’all are to mingle. But keep an eye out on what them Nazis are doing. If they disappear all of a sudden . . . if they fade away sometime during the night . . . that’s when we need to evacuate. Even if it creates an international incident.

  “In the meantime, be on the lookout for where they hid the bomb. Or bombs. We’re looking for enough TNT to level the place.”

  MacGraw turned and stared at each person square in the eye. They all returned his gaze evenly.

  “Alrighty. Everybody armed?”

  The men held open tuxedo jackets, revealing holstered pistols. The women opened purses, showing their own weapons. Rick noted that nobody had given him a gun. But, he did not feel like he needed one anyway. He knew guns were useless against fae.

  “Good. Everybody got a mask?”

  They all pulled out their costume ball masks and showed him. MacGraw nodded, satisfied.

  “Good. Let’s go foil this Nazi plot and save the world!”

  They filed out the front door of the embassy and into waiting limousines. Rick followed MacGraw and Angela to the first one. Baxter held the door open for them as they crawled in the back.

  Baxter went around to the front, started the car, and turned down the circle driveway around the fountain with the horse statues. The gate opened for them, and Baxter took a left. He drove a short way to the next grand entrance down the road. This gate was festooned with swastikas. A Nazi guard bent down to speak with Baxter for a moment. He gave the passengers a glance, then waved them through.

  Another guard directed traffic, sending them around a circle similar to the one at the Texas Embassy. Baxter pulled the limo to a stop in front of the main entrance and hurried to open the door as the second car pulled up behind them.

  MacGraw walked up the steps to the front door. Angela hooked her arm in Rick’s and they followed right behind him. Others in the party paired up and followed them inside.

  They stopped at the threshold of the door looking out upon the mansion’s great room. A small orchestra played something by Bach on a dais in the far corner. Servants drifted through the crowd with large platters overflowing with champagne flutes. Knots of people, men in tuxedos and women in elegant dresses, huddled in groups everywhere on the floor. Most wore masks of some sort: tigers, wolves, elephants, and a menagerie of other disguises. MacGraw pulled out a horse mask and placed it over his face.

  Rick and Angela exchanged glances. He shrugged and pulled on his own ball mask: a lion. She reached into her purse and pulled out one resembling a raccoon and put it on her face.

  Rick said, “Seems fitting. Raccoons are sneaky.”

  Angela said, “Right? The raccoon wears a mask. I’m wearing a raccoon mask. Hope I can steal some of the Germans’ fun tonight.”

  They wandered out onto the floor following MacGraw. A manservant immediately approached them with champagne. They declined. After the pilots were poisoned, MacGraw decreed no one would eat or drink at Nazi functions until further notice.

  Rick looked around at all the people. He said, “Hard to tell who’s a Nazi with all the masks.”

  “Formalwear for them has always been full uniforms,” MacGraw said. “But you’re right, there’s not many here.”

  He pointed to one official-looking fellow wearing a gorilla mask in a tan uniform with a swastika armband. He seemed to be making the rounds, engaging in polite conversation with different groups of people. Other than that lone representative, there did not appear to be many other Nazis socializing.

  Angela said, “I wonder if the safest thing might be to call in a fire or a bomb threat or something. Maybe they’d be forced to evacuate everybody.”

  MacGraw said, “Not a bad idea, except it might convince them to detonate things early. More of the diplomatic community should be arriving over the next hour or so. If they’re gonna blow this place, we’ve got at least that much time. Now spread out, and look for anything that goes ‘boom.’”

  Angela and Rick parted and wandered in different directions. Rick found himself following the manservant through a doorway leading to the kitchen. He poked his head in and found chefs preparing food and wait staff pouring champagne from Methuselah bottles. He nodded politely behind his mask at those who looked at him and followed his nose into other parts of the embassy, but he could not discern any hiding spots for large amounts of TNT.

  He opened the door to a room and found a woman in a raccoon mask staring back at him.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said.

  Angela pulled her mask up. She said, “Find anything?”

  “No, not really. Of course it could be hidden anywhere, I guess. We’d have to pull the place apart for a more thorough search.”

  “We don’t have that much time.”

  He nodded and followed her back out to the great room. More diplomatic guests appeared at the door, pulled on masks, and joined the crowd. Rick thought it must have doubled in the time they had spent in other parts of the mansion.

  The door opened again and this time a telegram boy walked in. He wandered through the crowd singing out, “Telegram for Mr. Strickland! Telegram, Rick Strickland!”

  Rick raised his hand, signaling the boy, who made a beeline for him across the floor.

  The boy handed him a sealed envelope and said, “That’ll be five pence, sir!”

  Rick flushed in embarrassment.

  Angela said, “Oh, good grief. No clothes, no money. You are utterly helpless.” She opened her purse and gave the boy a coin.

  “Thankee kindly, ma’am!”

  The boy gave a jaunty salute and headed back to the door.

  “Who would send you a telegram?” Angela said, forgetting about the money as her curiosity piqued.

  Rick said, “About to find out.”

  He ripped opened the envelope and pulled out the sheet of paper, then read it out loud to her.

  “‘Bomb in basement, stop. Nazis using boat on Thames to escape, stop. Get Ribbentrop, stop.”

  Angela frowned and said, “Cait is able to send you telegrams now?”

  Rick chuckled. “Normally she communicates directly, you know through neural implants. But, whatever works.”

  Angela gave him an odd look. She said, “Okay. Well, let’s find a way down to the basement.”

  -+-

  They discovered a stairwell off the hallway on the opposite side of the great room from the kitchen. A lone Nazi guard stood at the doorway. No one else was in the hallway. Rick approached him smiling.

  The guard said, “Was ist los?”

  Rick said, “Der hund! Der hund ist los!”

  He punched the guard in the stomach. When he doubled over, Rick slammed a fist down hard on the side of his head, knocking him out.

  Rick reached down and retrieved the guard’s sidearm.

  He said, “A Walther. Nice.”

  He tucked it into his cummerbund.

  Angela gave him a funny look. She said, “You told him, ‘The dog is happening.’ What’s that about?”

  He smiled and said, “On my world it was an old joke we shared with the German POWs. You know, it sort of sounds like ‘the dog is loose.’” He shrugged and said, “I guess you had to be there, but we all thought it was hilarious.”

  He held the door open for her. “Come on, let’s go stop your world’s N
azis. That’s what’s really ‘los.’”

  6

  Jason adjusted his cowboy hat and pulled the reins to his horse slightly to the right. He took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air and smiled.

  The Rockies are wonderful on every alternate, he thought.

  As near as he could tell, he was either in what would become northern New Mexico or southern Colorado, somewhere in the middle of either one. He did not want to ask the family directly where they were, since they already had too many questions about him and where he came from. To confess not knowing their current location would be pushing it. But he suspected they were probably in New Mexico Territory. They must be somewhere in the north of it, he reasoned, because the mountains were beautiful.

  The horse whickered softly as they crossed a ridgeline. Below, a line of people came into sight, heading in their general direction.

  He patted his horse softly on the neck and spoke in comforting and reassuring tones.

  “Don’t worry about it, Earl. They’re among the living, and it’s still daylight.”

  Earl had previously belonged to Jeremiah Oldman, recently deceased. Death by zombie, which made little sense to Jason, especially since they were in the Wild West.

  Over the last several days Jason personally “killed” every zombie within miles of the Oldham Ranch. He used Jeremiah’s gun, wore Jeremiah’s hat and boots, and now he rode Jeremiah’s horse alongside his oldest son, Elijah.

  The family certainly had a thing for Old Testament names, Jason decided. Elijah’s little brother was Ezekiel. Jason started calling them Eli and Zeke. The nicknames seemed more western, in Jason’s opinion.

  The boys liked their new sobriquets. Their mother, Clarabeth Oldman, did not. She did not share her disapproval in words, but she made it obvious by the look on her face whenever the boys or Jason used the shortened versions. She would then emphasize their full names while addressing them.

  “Ezekiel, wash your hands. Elijah, take your boots off at the door.”

  But, the new ones stuck despite her disfavor. Jason would smile at her and use their full names in her presence, but outside the house everyone reverted to the nicknames.

  Eli pulled his horse up beside Jason and Earl. The Indians saw them on the ridge. Someone pointed, and the line came to a stop.

  “Reckon they’re friendly?” Eli said.

  Jason said, “They’re probably thinking so long as we’re not dead, we’re alright.”

  He squeezed his heels into Earl’s sides, and the horse moved forward, down the other side of the ridge. Eli followed.

  Within minutes they were in shouting distance. The Indians were of all ages, and everyone looked haggard. Mothers carried babies who cried. Young men stood exhausted, loosely holding bows by their sides. Jason’s heart went out to them.

  “Looks like they’ve been walking for days,” Eli said.

  Jason nodded. Then he shouted out, “Anybody speak English?”

  He missed not having access to Cait, who could have translated for him. She could have fed him lines to speak in the appropriate dialect, as well.

  Two men stepped toward them. The first seemed older, and based on his clothing and headdress Jason guessed he was the chief. The other was younger, and had a sharp, intelligent face. They walked together toward the horses.

  Eli said, “Should we meet them halfway?”

  Jason said, “No, we don’t want to alarm the guys with bows who are watching out for them. But, we should probably dismount and meet them as equals instead of on horseback.”

  They climbed down and tied the reins for both animals to a scraggly tree growing nearby. By then the two Indians reached them. Jason turned and smiled.

  “I’m Jason Walker. This is Eli Oldham.”

  The younger man said, “This is Chief Mountain Bear. I am Little Fox.”

  Jason nodded in greeting to the older man and said, “Your dead have walked among us. We stopped them by shooting them in the head.”

  He waited until Little Fox finished translating to the chief, then he continued. “We seek to find the source of this evil magic that makes the dead walk. Do you know where it comes from?”

  Mountain Bear began speaking. Little Fox translated and said, “One full moon ago, a star landed near our camp. A brave warrior found where it landed. It left a trench in the ground and smoke came up from the earth. The warrior dug down with his hands and he found a rock. He used his tomahawk to pull the rock from the earth. Something gold was deep inside the strange stone. He chipped away at the rock until the gold came out. It was in the form of a bracelet.”

  Eli looked at Jason and said, “How did a bracelet get into a falling star?”

  “You can bet it wasn’t by accident,” Jason said. “And falling near their camp was by design too.” Turning back to Little Fox he said, “Please ask the chief to continue.”

  Little Fox translated their remarks. When the chief started speaking again, Little Fox continued.

  “He brought the bracelet back to our camp. He showed it to everybody. He wanted to marry a young girl and he thought she might like it as a gift. But then our . . . how do you say . . . medicine man? Our medicine man, Broken Hand, demanded it. He claimed it was a gift from the gods and that only he should wear such a gift. So, he took the bracelet and put it on his arm.”

  Mountain Bear sighed deeply, and Jason thought the old man had aged ten years simply retelling the story.

  Mountain Bear continued and Little Fox translated. “That’s when the trouble started. Broken Hand no longer cared about our people. He stayed inside his wigwam and no one could see him. He did not care if we were sick or needed help. He was not interested in being our medicine man anymore.

  “Then one day, a young boy was bitten by a snake while hunting. We carried him to Broken Hand’s wigwam, but Broken Hand would not see him. We left the boy by his door and everyone urged Broken Hand to attend to him. The boy’s mother wailed and wailed at the door, but still Broken Hand stayed inside. He finally died. Only then did Broken Hand come out and drag the body inside.

  “Late that night Broken Hand must have discovered something. We saw golden light flash from his wigwam and we heard him laughing. Then, the boy stepped out!

  “At first, we were so happy. We thought Broken Hand brought him back from the dead! But, he was different. He did not recognize us. He did not look at us. He did not look at his own mother. He only did the bidding of Broken Hand and did not speak.

  “Then, others died. Someone would leave camp alone and never return. Others simply disappeared at night. We discovered Broken Hand was killing the young men. We tried to stop him but by then he had a small army. He was too strong. So, we left the camp several days ago.

  “We are no longer many. We go to the white man’s town now. We seek the priest at the church there. He has always been good to us. Perhaps he will help us, and maybe protect us from Broken Hand’s dead army.”

  The old man stopped, and looked Jason in the eye. He appeared utterly hopeless. Jason gave him a reassuring smile.

  “Tell the chief I will find this Broken Hand and kill him, and I will put down all the dead who serve him. Then I will remove his bracelet and it will no longer plague this world.”

  When Little Fox finished translating, Chief Mountain Bear spoke again. “You will need help. I have 20 strong warriors left. They will go with you. Little Fox, too, so he can tell them what you want them to do.”

  Jason considered the remarks for a moment. Looking over the crowd, women and children far outnumbered the adult males. To take the last of their young men seemed harsh.

  Then he looked back into the old man’s eyes, now glowing with ferocity. A renewed spirit gleamed back at him from behind those eyes.

  He said to Little Fox, “He’s not going to let me refuse this offer, is he?”

  Little Fox smiled and shook his head. Then he translated the remark to Mountain Bear.

  The chief responded with a final message. “Go, Jas
on Walker. Take our best warriors. And may the Great Spirit watch over you.”

  -+-

  Rick peeked around the corner and quickly pulled back, but not fast enough to escape the notice of two Nazi guards. He flattened against the wall next to Angela as they approached.

  One of the guards said, “Was? Wer ist das?”

  The guards headed closer. Rick shared a glance with Angela who gave him an annoyed look. He smiled at her and shrugged, then pulled the gun out of his cummerbund.

  Angela nodded, with a look of resignation, and reached into her purse. She retrieved a small revolver.

  The first guard rounded the corner. Rick shoved the gun into the guard’s stomach and fired twice. He crumpled. The second guard raised his rifle but Angela shot him in the face before he could aim.

  Rick and Angela rounded the corner, guns out front. They heard voices further down the corridor, shouting commands in German.

  “I was afraid of that,” Angela said. “Now they know we’re coming.”

  Another guard jumped out of an alcove, aiming a submachine gun at them. Rick and Angela shot at the same time and he went down. Rick tucked his pistol back in the cummerbund, walked over and took the submachine gun from the corpse. He threw the gun’s leather strap over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

  “This reminds me of Castle Wolfenstein,” he said.

  Angela quirked a questioning eyebrow at him.

  He said, “Uh, it’s a videogame my grandkids played, back in the day. I guess I played it with them a couple of times, too.”

  “Your grandkids? And what the heck is a videogame?”

  They heard voices again, this time closer.

  Rick said, “Never mind, I’ll explain later. Come on.”

  They jogged down the hall to the next alcove, ducking into it before a group of guards rounded the corner.

  They heard the voice of an older man directing them.

  “Gehen sie. Aber du mitkomen.”

  Most of the footsteps moved in their direction while two people apparently headed in the opposite direction.