“Move aside, mortal,” said Mason Crow the minotaur, “your weapon is useless against me.” He stomped his hooved foot. “Or watch as I run rough-shod over you. Oh, how I like the sound of splintering bones and cracking skulls.”
Sidney twisted enough to get a look at Smoke. He stood tall, pointing the gun at the monster’s skull. “Just shoot it!”
Crow jostled her. “Be silent, woman.” He leered back at Smoke. “Go ahead. Let’s see what your bullets can do. Be careful though. I don’t want this woman damaged. That might make me angry. Crow likes his pretty playthings.”
Ka-blam!
Crow let out an awful howl. “Mah-Rooooo!” He whipped Sidney around the front of his body. “Where did you get those bullets?”
“Where did you get those horns?” Smoke took aim. “Put her down.”
The minotaur eyed the upper road. The forces from the ranch had gathered. He crushed Sidney against his powerful chest. “You have nowhere to go. And your bullets only sting. They cannot kill the likes of me.”
“Is that why you’re bleeding?” Smoke said, maintaining his aim. “Or is that blood a figment of my imagination?”
“It’s only blood. I have plenty of it.” Crow started to squeeze Sidney harder. “Let’s see how much she has.”
Sidney’s eyes bulged. Her body felt like it had been stuffed inside a trash compactor. She let out a painful gasp.
Ka-Blam! Ka-Blam! Ka-Blam!
Crow dropped her in front of his hooved feet, lowered his horns, and charged.
Smoke skipped away and kept shooting.
The minotaur kept running up the hill, crashing over small trees, and bellowing, “Kill them! Kill them!”
The throng of men above opened fire. Smoke caught Sidney up in his arms and dashed behind the van. Bullets riddled the vehicle by the dozens. Smoke returned fire.
Sidney shook her numb arms and searched for a gun, finding nothing. I’m useless. She spied another gun tucked in the back of Smoke’s pants and took it. It was an old single-action army, cowboy style. Are you kidding me? She pulled back the hammer and cracked a shot off up the hill. A man tumbled into the tall grasses. Pretty accurate, but I’ve got a whole five shots left against their hundreds.
“How do you like it?” Smoke said to her, talking about his gun.
“This iron would make a great paperweight.” She took another shot. “But I bet it was quite the conversation piece a hundred years ago.” She squeezed off another, and one more goon rolled down the hill. “Eh, it’s a good shooter. But ‘game over’ once we’re out of bullets.”
“Never imagined it would end like this,” he said, blasting away until he emptied his magazine. “A bad ending to a bad western. Nice knowing you, Agent Shaw.” He snapped in another magazine. “I’ll stay with the children, you run. Your car’s just over that ridge.”
“No.”
“Yes!” he said. “Just go! Get help!”
“I’m not leaving you, and I’m not leaving these kids.” She patted down his pockets. “Got any more bullets?”
“No.”
She cracked off her last shots. “Then maybe we need to give ourselves up. Keep our lives a little longer.”
He eased back behind the van and hunkered down beside her. He looked her in the eye and said, “If that’s what you want to do, then so be it.”
She grabbed his face and kissed him hard. Finishing, she said, “It’s sexy when a man listens to me.” She tossed her gun away and Smoke tossed his. They raised their hands up over their heads and waved them high. She said, “We give up.”
The gunfire stopped.
She took a breath and eased away from the van. This sucks!
Wumpa! Wumpa! Wumpa! Wumpa!
A chopper soared overhead with searchlights burning bright. A voice came over its loudspeaker. “FBI! Drop your weapons!”
The mercenaries on the road tucked away their weapons and turned tail.
“FBI! Halt!”
Engines started up and headed back down the country road, disappearing into the night. A small convoy of cars with sirens gave chase, and the chopper landed.
Sidney let out a ragged sigh. “And you didn’t want me to call them.”
“I just said that because I knew you wouldn’t listen to me.” He touched the lips she had just kissed and added, “It was all worth it.”
“I don’t know about that.” Stiff legged, she opened up the doors to the back of the van. Her jaw dropped. All of the children were gone. “That’s impossible.”
CHAPTER 18
“We survived,” Smoke said, staring out of Sidney’s car window. “I think that’s a good thing. Soon enough we’ll get another shot at that monster.”
“Huh?” Sidney replied. She had barely heard what he said. Instead, she was in deep thought about those kids. What happened to them? They couldn’t have snuck off so fast. “Oh, I suppose.”
They spent less than an hour at the scene before the FBI let them go. Four men who had been wounded in the battle were taken into custody. Two more died from their wounds. Sidney and Smoke were lucky. The entire battle took place just outside of private property. Cyrus Tweel, her current supervisor, was there. The conversation was unpleasant. She wanted to go back into the compound and get the children. His response was a flat-out no.
“Are you going to take Smoke now?” she said to Cyrus.
His brow crinkled. “No, not this time. You don’t have the mark yet. But it would be for the better. This is a mess.” And with that, Cyrus departed.
“I wouldn’t worry about them,” Smoke said.
“About who?”
“Those kids. There’s something strange about them.”
“They’re kids.”
“Very odd ones.” He shifted in the car seat. “You know what I’m talking about.”
She did. The children’s faces were almost identical to the ones they’d rescued months ago at Ray Cline’s place. Their complexions and hair color were different. Otherwise, they were the same. “I know.”
Cruising down the highway, she continued to gather her thoughts about all of the details. Mason Crow was a minotaur. None of it seemed real. Not to mention the fact that there were dozens of men and women who had seen him. They had lives, family and friends, and they knew about this. How can this madness be hidden?
“Makes you think, doesn’t it?” Smoke said.
She downshifted and let off the gas pedal, then accelerated into the turn. “About what?”
“About how these monsters are hiding in plain sight.” He drummed his hands on the dash. “With all of the security videos and social media, you would think the entire world would know about it. Certainly someone has posted something, somewhere, and lived to tell about it.”
Russ Davenport, the reporter for Nightfall DC, came to mind. She needed to check and see if he had survived or not. He was just the kind of person Smoke was talking about. “I guess the powers that be pick the stories that matter.” She rubbed a knot on her head from the van’s rollover. “Sometimes I feel like I’m in an episode of The X-Files.”
“Yeah, where are the Lone Gunmen when you need them? So, where to now?
She hadn’t given her next move much thought. “I guess I’ll drop you off at your place.”
“Well, the cupboards are kinda bare. I wouldn’t mind a round of pancakes. Fighting a minotaur can really work up your appetite.”
Her tummy rumbled. “Fine. And I imagine you have a place in mind.”
“Take the next exit and hang a left.”
Her phone buzzed. There was a message on it. It read:
Time to meet. Carlson.
She showed it to Smoke.
His brows lifted. “Huh. An address and everything. But I’m getting my pancakes first.”
***
Mal Carlson’s home was a round structure full of glass windows, sitting on a massive stone, partially hidden in the trees that overlooked a place called Henson Creek. The unique circular architecture w
as odd to say the least, but beautiful the same. Sidney knocked on the red door. Smoke stood on the broad granite steps behind her, cleaning his teeth with a toothpick. She glared at him.
“What?” he said.
She plucked the piece of wood from his mouth and flicked it away. The door opened, and a pretty, oriental woman in an ivory silk gown bowed and said, “Please, come in.”
They eased their way into the home. The woman led them down the landing into a room that appeared to be a combination of a living room, a bedroom and a kitchen. Like a massive studio apartment, it was wide open and decorated in tasteful décor from various cultures all over the world. There was only one little closed-off area, which Sid assumed was the privacy of a bathroom. The furniture was anything from colonial American to Italian Renaissance. There were small busts and statues on pedestals of figures she did not recognize. Nothing striking, but odd. She stared at one marble statue that had a bald head, an eye patch, and the grisly look of a pirate.
“That’s Carl the Reaver,” said an unfamiliar voice that spoke with what sounded like an early American accent, “eighteenth century hero, that is.”
Sidney turned. Alongside the oriental woman, who stood just outside of the kitchen, was an elegant man with olive skin, in a simple white cotton outfit. His eyes were ancient and inquisitive, his demeanor purpose-filled, more charming than handsome.
“Finally, Agent Shaw, you can put a face to all of those troublesome texts.” He walked over and offered his hand. “I’m Mal Carlson, and this is my wife, Asia. Welcome to our home. Ah, and this must be Mr. John Smoke.” He looked up into Smoke’s eyes. “I think you and Carl would have gotten along quite well. He was a Navy man.”
“Who lived in the eighteenth century,” Smoke said. “How would you know what he liked?”
“I’m a bit of a historian and very knowledgeable about peculiar things.” He moved toward a dining room table that offered a wonderful view of the outdoors. “Come and sit. We have much to talk about. Asia is preparing some food for us. Something to drink first? Coffee, water, whiskey, wine—or Mountain Dew perhaps?”
“This is it?” Smoke said, taking a seat. “I was expecting something a little different.”
“Like the Bat Cave?” Mal said, chuckling. “Be patient. This is only the first floor. I have a basement. So, drinks or no drinks?”
“Water’s fine,” Sid said, taking a closer look at Mal. He had strong features in his slender face, and high cheekbones. His nearly black hair covered his ears and rested on his neck. There was some gray in it.
“Asia!” he blurted out. “Bring out some water!” He leaned across the table. “Don’t be alarmed. She’s a little hard of hearing. Asia!”
“I’m coming!” She hurried into the room and rolled three bottled waters down the table. “There!” She smiled. “Anything else?”
“I’m sure our guests are hungry. A prepared meal would be nice.”
Asia narrowed her eyes on her husband. “You did not tell me guests were coming. How about I order pizza?”
“I was thinking you could make one of your home dishes?” Mal said, pleading and whining a little.
“A Philly cheesesteak?”
“No! That thing with the rice.”
“Rice-a-roni?”
“No!”
“Jambalaya?”
“Never mind,” Mal said, shaking his head. “What do you two like on your pizza?”
“I’m not hungry,” Sid said.
“I love everything on mine,” added Smoke.
“Asia, one order of supreme will do,” he said in a rich voice.
Asia slid a phone across the table. “You order. My show’s coming on.” She smiled at Sid and Smoke. “Nice meeting you.” Then she planted herself on the sofa, turned on the television, and started laughing.
A little embarrassed, Mal said, “I didn’t marry her because she could cook. I just married her because I love her.” He picked up the phone and called in a pizza.
CHAPTER 19
A polished metal staircase spiraled beneath Mal’s home. A security door waited at the bottom with a red light glowing on the pad. When he pressed his thumb to the scanner, the light turned green, and the door popped open. Inside was a large computer lab. A wall of oversized monitors was the first thing Sidney saw. The rest was cosmetic by comparison.
“Fifty screens and over a thousand camera feeds from all over DC,” Mal said in admiration. “I know it’s overkill, but it’s quite effective.”
There were plenty of places she recognized. Hotel lobbies. Monument buildings. High-rise apartments. Traffic lights. Bank buildings. How does he have access to all of this? “You’re an employee of the government, Mr. Carlson?”
“No. I like to think of myself as a freelancer. ‘Contractor’ is such a rigid word, although I am under contract, so to speak.” Mal glanced at Smoke. “Somewhat similar to your arrangement.”
“I didn’t sign any paperwork.” Smoke took a seat in an ultra-modern scoop chair beside a long oval table. “I’m done signing my life away. This way, I can cash out whenever I want to.” He rubbed the table’s polished surface. “Is this pewter?”
“A hybrid metal.” Mal motioned for Sidney to sit. “Please. I’m sure you have many questions about what exactly is going on.”
She took a chair alongside Smoke and crossed one leg over the other. “So can you tell us why there’s a minotaur on the loose in DC?”
Mal’s jaw dropped as he gasped at the same time. He plopped in the seat beside Sidney with an excited look in his eye. “Mason Crow is the ancient beast?”
“Pretty sure,” she said.
“Horns and everything,” Smoke added, making little horns with his fingers.
Mal covered his mouth, uncovered it, and said, “I can’t believe it. But I shouldn’t be surprised. That’s even worse than I suspected.”
“You said ancient. What do you mean by that?” she asked.
“Of course.” He made his way over to an alabaster bookshelf that was filled with many heavily bound tomes. He pulled a couple of books free, brought them over, and dropped them on the table. One was the Bible, and the other was a book filled with pages of Egyptian hieroglyphics. “Do you know the story in the Bible where Aaron confronts Pharaoh with his staff?”
“Exodus seven,” Smoke said. “Aaron casts down the staff. It turns into a snake. Pharaoh’s sorcerers cast down their staffs. They also turn into snakes, but the snake from the staff of Aaron devours them.”
Mal pointed at him and said, “Right. That’s the kind of evil powers we’re dealing with. In theory anyway.” He opened the Egyptian book of hieroglyphics and pointed at various pictures.
Sidney leaned forward. He pointed at people with bird heads and dog heads, the Sphinx, and more. A funny feeling overcame her.
“Seem familiar?” Mal said.
She made a reluctant nod. “I thought these were pagan images of gods?”
“Well, in most circles of history and archeology, they’d have you believe that. The truth of the matter doesn’t fit the agenda of the powers that be.” He flipped through the pages. “What they can’t bury, they destroy. That’s how they,” he made air quotes, “control the information. It’s the same today as it was thousands of years ago. They do their work in the dark. Behind the scenes. Pulling unseen strings.”
“Who are they?” Sidney asked. And do I work for a good they or a bad they?
“That’s much easier to ask than to answer. Even I don’t know for sure, but I’ll share my theories. Fallen angels, demons, evil spirits, nephilim, annunaki—those are a few of the more common names. They carry the supernatural seed that spoils humanity.” He moved over to the computer and pulled up ancient images of Greek, Roman, Hindi, and other gods. “I believe these beings really did exist. Men and women of great renown and stature. Some records report them as being over twelve feet tall. The legends of Medusa, Prometheus, mermaids, sirens, unicorns—I think they are all various accounts of t
he truth.”
Sidney started to say something.
Mal held up his hand to indicate he wasn’t finished. “Over the centuries, or even the millennia, good men and women have been fighting these dark forces that continually try to take the world of men over. Empires rise and fall. Great cities are built up and buried. The truth gets distorted into lies or fables. The both of you have seen it for yourselves, and you’ve lived to tell about it. It’s impressive.”
Sidney’s throat became dry. She glanced at Smoke. His eyes were fixed on Mal Carlson. A single thought ran laps through her mind. This is crazy. “Shouldn’t there be a bigger team fighting against all this? A team of priests or archeologists, maybe?”
“There have been. There have even been knights and many kinds of crusaders,” Mal said. “Not to mention our pirate friend you noted above, Carl the Reaver. They say his sabre dripped wet with giant men’s blood.”
Smoke let out a short gusty laugh. “I like this.”
“So you wish to continue?”
“Without a doubt.”
“And what about you, Agent Shaw?” Mal said, eyeing her with intent. “Are you still comfortable with your assignment?”
“I’m not sure what my assignment is anymore.” Or why they picked me.
“Try not to overthink it. The mission is the same. You’re going after what is believed to be a band of supernatural criminals that are listed on the Black Slate.” He popped up a couple of pictures on the screen. It was Adam Vaughn the werewolf and Angi Harlow the harpy. “Ho ho. When you brought these two in, you opened some eyes. You certified this effort, and they had to acknowledge that sorcery was afoot. Still, they want discretion. And what you two are doing is working. Cutting out these two threw a big wrench into Drake’s network.”
“So Drake is them?” she said.
“So to speak. Yes. They are the ones behind this. AV and Night Bird were a pair of their top commanders. You sent ripples through that network when you took them down. Their cult-like henchmen scattered, and that made them angry. So now, the pressure is on in Washington.”
The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series Page 35