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

by Jaxon Reed

  Angela could wait no longer. She whispered loudly into the darkness, “Airman! Identify yourself!”

  The young man froze, then crept forward, rustling the grass and leaves as he moved. He finally stepped out of the gloom and into their sight. Angela could make out a tall young man, certainly not a month over 18, she thought, with close-cropped hair. His cap must have been lost in the jump from the plane. He stood about six-two and looked for all the world like a typical all-Texan boy fresh out of high school. He was probably playing football a few months ago, she thought.

  Instinctively, Angela looked for the stripes on his shoulder and realized he was an enlisted airman. So, not an officer.

  Makes sense, considering his age, she thought. Probably a tailgunner or something.

  The B-24 had a crew of ten, after all, with more enlisted men than officers. No matter, he would be returned to his base in England if at all possible. Each airman saved and sent back helped the war effort.

  Everyone froze at the sound of a heavy switch clicking on. Klieg lights flooded the area, followed by the snicks of Mauser bolts sliding home.

  A Nazi SS officer made his way forward, the lights behind him drowning out his features until he drew closer.

  “So . . .”

  He smiled at Angela and at last she could make out his face. It was covered in scars, and she realized he must be an alumnus of one of the Teutonic fraternities practicing Mensur, a form of fencing in which two opponents faced off without helmets. Each student hacked away at the other’s head until someone was too was too bloody to continue.

  And they think Texans have crazy traditions, she thought. They even think Texan football is a violent sport.

  The officer spoke flawless English. He said, “We have set up this little reception party in the same place for several nights. So nice of you to finally join us in our little clearing.”

  Angela said, “Tut mir leid, Herr—”

  He cut her off with a raised finger and said, “Yes, yes. I’m sure you have some convincing story or other about being out here to catch frogs for the local restaurants. Of course, there are no ponds within many meters of here, and I have no time to listen to such nonsense anyway.”

  Actually, Angela thought, that indeed was going to be the story she was prepared to tell. It seemed like a good excuse to explain why Pierre and her were out there in the middle of the night.

  The SS officer continued in English. He said, “No, I think you are the famous Texan agent, code-named Angel. To what does it reference? The Angel of Death?”

  He smiled at her, coldly. The smile never touched his eyes.

  Angela looked back at him with an innocent expression fixed on her face and said, “Parlez-vous français?”

  His smile grew broader. He said, “No, no, no, my dear. I distinctly heard you summon the airman in English.”

  She held his eye without fear for a solid minute. The officer nodded, a satisfied look crossing his face.

  “I believe you are the OSS agent code-named ‘Angel.’ And, even if you are not . . . no matter.”

  He stepped back, out of the way of the soldiers behind him. He barked out a command over his shoulder.

  “Erschiessen!”

  Several things happened at once. A dozen Mausers misfired, their chambers blowing open as if the muzzles were clogged.

  A bright flash of blue-green light appeared as a sudden slit in reality opened. Two people ran out of it with guns blazing.

  The soldiers went down and most of the lights were shot out in a hail of bullets.

  The shooters walked into the now reduced light, and Angela smiled at the sight of Rick dressed in a thick black turtleneck, black trousers and combat boots, with double-shoulder holsters strapped on.

  Next to him stood one of the most attractive women Angela had ever seen, with long curly black locks reaching down to the middle of her back. She was dressed the same as Rick and carried similar pistols, with identical holsters.

  The SS officer turned to look at them with a reddening face and rage in his eyes.

  He said, “Was machen—”

  BLAM!

  He crumpled to the ground, a red hole in his forehead gushing blood.

  Everybody turned to look at the woman, whose gun still smoked from the shot. She said, “I hate socialists. National Socialists are the worst.”

  Rick smiled again and said, “It’s good to see you, Angela. This is Nancy Chance. Nancy, meet Angela.”

  Nancy holstered her gun and stuck her hand out. Angela shook it. Then she turned back to Rick and said, “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

  Rick said, “Yeah, Cait told us you were in trouble. We got here as fast as we could.”

  “Well, I’m glad Cait is looking out for me. What have you been doing these past few months? Looks like your gunshot wounds are all healed up.”

  “For us it’s only been three days. Time works differently back home.”

  Rick looked at Pierre who stared back at him with a stunned expression on his face.

  Angela smiled and said, “Don’t worry about him. He doesn’t understand much English.”

  They all turned to look at the young airman, who gulped. He too seemed rather astonished at the turn of events.

  “Don’t worry about us,” Nancy said. “Just go where they tell you and get back to England.”

  She turned to Angela and said, “In the meantime we’d like to help you kill some more Nazis. I hate ’em. Hate the language, too. What’s up with that word order in German? Their verbs suck.”

  Angela said, “Well, actually, I haven’t been killing many Nazis. We’ve been getting these guys back and trying to avoid them as much as possible.”

  Nancy nodded and said, “Yeah, I’m thinking Rick and I are going to engage in some good old-fashioned sabotage. Blow up some bridges. Maybe ambush some troops.”

  Rick said, “Nancy was killed by a fae posing as a German agent on her world back in the day. She still holds a grudge.”

  Angela said, “Oh, I see. Well, that makes sense. I’d love to talk more about it. Why don’t you two help us grab the IDs and anything else on the soldiers’ bodies, and we’ll make our way back to the cottage. If the other men beat us home they’ll have some tea on, I hope.”

  Rick and Nancy smiled, and moved to help loot the corpses.

  Epilogue

  Tiff groaned, but no sound escaped her lips. She tried to speak. She shouted at the top of her lungs, but no noise came out.

  Worse than that, she could not feel vibrations, the sensation of air flowing past her vocal cords.

  She should have felt something. As far as she knew, as far as she could tell, she was still in corporeal form. Yet, all around her was . . . nothing. A great expanse of emptiness, everywhere.

  She mentally commanded her right hand to pinch her left arm.

  Nothing.

  The command seemed to go out from her brain, as if the brain knew her hands and arms were still attached. But, nothing happened.

  She floated aimlessly. Or at least, she thought she floated. There was no up or down. Nothing to get a bearing on.

  The lack of sensation, the endless nothingness, would surely drive her insane.

  She closed her eyes again. Or at least, she made the mental command to do so. It made no difference. Nothingness stretched before her, whether her eyes were commanded shut or open.

  Desperately, she reached out in her mind for something, anything, to replace the void around her.

  She remembered Darius Booker, and his reddening face when she first met him and said he must not date much.

  Darius, the way he looked at her at that party at Al Capone’s mansion.

  Darius throwing himself in front of her when Sleaghan sent a bolt her way, and how he was willing to die for her even though he just met her.

  Darius, and the look he gave her when she let Capone’s goons drown him in cement boots, knowing that in a short while she would see him resurrected. But he wasn’t thinkin
g that; the look on his face was one of terror and betrayal as they threw him into the water.

  She hugged herself, or at least commanded her unfelt arms to hug her unseen self, and focused on Darius, his sweet face filling her thoughts. She remembered his scent, the way he kissed . . .

  -+-

  “It’s an excellent spell.”

  The two fae hovered in spirit form near a large glowing obelisk. The black stone monument stood alone in a field of green grass stretching to the horizon in all directions.

  The taller fae nodded, not in thanks for the compliment but in agreement.

  He said, “Indeed. I have been working on this for countless years. It’s based on sensory deprivation chambers, which always seem to gain popularity in the United States during the 1960s and 70s.”

  The shorter fae nodded, his slight essence in the physical realm reflecting a few shards of sunlight with the motion.

  He spoke cautiously out of respect for the taller fae. He said, “And what will you do when they inevitably find her, my lord?”

  The tall fae smiled, and even the bright sunlight seemed to dim a bit in that cold, cold grin.

  Behind him, slits in reality opened. First half a dozen, then three dozen, then dozens more.

  From each slit, a spectral fae in his natural form entered the world around the obelisk. Their short, translucent gray bodies filtered out the sun, casting horrible shadows on the grass.

  “When they find her,” the tall fae said, “we’ll be ready.”

  The End

  Don’t miss the next exciting book in the Fae Killers series: Booked for Death, coming soon!

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