Monster Mash

by Gail Z Martin

  “I suppose it’s different for the folks who shift into prey animals?” I’d never really thought about that before, but it figured there would be divisions in the supernatural community, just like among humans.

  “They don’t really hang out with us,” Tristan replied and had the grace to look uncomfortable at the way that sounded. “Among shifters, people usually stick to their own type of creature. Although mixed marriages do happen. And there are some communities that offer sanctuary, accepting all shifter types, no questions asked as long as everyone stays on best behavior.”

  “Mixed marriages?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Cross-species. There are taboos.”

  “But, um, wouldn’t that make it difficult…”

  “With cross-species couples, mating only happens in human form.” Tristan answered my unfinished question without even blushing. Shifters aren’t nearly as uncomfortable about discussing biology as humans tend to be. Which seemed like an improvement, to my way of thinking.

  “And the children?” I figured I might as well ask since we were on the topic.

  “They favor one side or the other. No mashups. I guess in cases where there’s an extreme difference that the couple might not be able to conceive.”

  “Huh.” I appreciated how matter-of-fact Tristan was, and by extension, the trust he was extending to me as a human—and a hunter. “Well, thanks for having The Talk with me.”

  He chuckled. “Honestly, Mark, I figured you’d have had The Talk long before this.”

  I snorted. “Are you kidding? My dad gave me a box of condoms and a copy of Playboy and told me I’d figure it out.”

  “Yeah, well. When your dad is the pack Alpha, that conversation comes with a lot more terms and conditions.” Tristan had turned to look out the passenger window, and he’d lost the bantering tone in his voice.

  “I didn’t know. Does that make you—”

  “Only if I accept it when the time comes.” He shrugged. “Obviously, I’d prefer you not share that.”

  “I won’t. Thanks.”

  “I’d rather have the humans who know about us have their facts straight,” Tristan replied. “Misinformation is dangerous—to them and to us. Which is another of my unpopular opinions, in some circles.” He blew out a long breath. “Ah, fuck them. If you ever have any other questions, just ask me. I can’t guarantee other shifters will be as open, but I’ll try to tell you whatever it is you need to know.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  We rode the rest of the way in silence. I kept checking my mirror, but the two monsters in the back were still out cold. Tristan had texted the cryptid vet, and she was waiting when we arrived.

  Dr. Patricia Murphy waved as we drove in, and I could see her expression change to uncertainty and curiosity as we got closer. She jogged up to the driver’s side of the truck before I’d even come to a full stop.

  “What are those? Is that a…dragon? Oh my God, Mark, where did you get them?” Dr. Murphy looked like a kid on Christmas. She started out specializing in large animals like horses and cows but got pulled into the crazy side of life when the sheepsquatch in our preserve came down with foot and mouth disease. Now, I swear she considers our cryptids to be her own personal petting zoo.

  Despite everything, I couldn’t help smiling at her enthusiasm. “Technically, there’s a snallygaster and a Mothman. I tranqed them, but since I had to guess the dosage, I don’t know how long they’ll stay down.”

  She came around to the back of the truck, staring with a mixture of childlike wonder and scientific curiosity. “Neither of those is indigenous to this state.”

  “Nope. We think they were illegally transported here for nefarious purposes,” I replied. “Most likely experimentation to either weaponize their abilities or create super soldiers.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I wish. If we get them untangled and out of the truck, can you look them over and see if there are any signs of them having been medically poked and prodded recently?”

  “Of course. Can I assume you’re going after whoever mistreated them?”

  “Oh, you can count on it,” I assured her.

  It didn’t take long to realize that even with the three of us working together, we couldn’t budge the creatures in the back of the truck. Otto probably could have lifted them with his vampire strength, but that would mean waiting a couple of hours until dark, and I didn’t trust the tranquilizer to last that long. We’d have to improvise.

  I backed the Silverado through the gate in the warded fence, and Tristan followed in his truck. Then I came around to open the tailgate, and Tristan got his winch ready.

  “Did Linda come out and add to the wardings?” I asked. I’d asked a witch friend to strengthen the protections and also to create a magical, invisible dome to keep flying cryptids in and airborne predators out. I looked up at the sky, but nothing seemed different.

  “She was out yesterday,” Tristan replied. “I guess we’ll find out if what she did works when these guys wake up.”

  We untangled the bolo, and then Tristan used the winch to haul the creatures out of the truck one at a time. As Dr. Murphy went to check on our newest residents at the preserve, I eyed my poor damaged truck and tried to figure out how the hell I was ever going to explain this to my insurance company. Maybe I could just make a tree fall on it and blame that.

  When she finished her examination, Dr. Murphy walked over to where Tristan and I were waiting. “I’ve never seen either species before, so keep that in mind. But based on the visible evidence, I’d say it’s very likely that both creatures were subjected to injections, IVs, and tissue sampling.”

  She looked angry, and I didn’t blame her. This mess crossed all kinds of lines, from animal testing to consent, and probably something about endangered species, too. “Anything I can do to help you run down the sons of bitches who did that, just let me know,” she added.

  “Will do,” I promised. “Once we find out where the bad guys are holed up, we might liberate some more patients for you.”

  “I’ll be here. Whatever you need.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, feeling exceptionally grateful for my friends. They were unconventional in the extreme, but I knew they had my back. And who was I to judge? No one lately had accused me of being “normal.”

  “Do you have any idea what either of these things eat?” Tristan asked.

  “Farm animals, according to the lore,” I replied. “So they should fit right in with the other carnivores.” We’d already divided the preserve between the meat-eaters and the plant-eaters, to keep one group from munching on the other. That’s where having Otto and Tristan really came in, because there were very few monsters who didn’t fear either a vampire or a wolf shifter.

  Tristan shrugged. “We’ll deal with it. That’s where Gus the ghost comes in handy. He helps us feed the carnivores in shifts by scaring away groups until it’s their turn.” He grinned. “I honestly think he is having a blast doing it.”

  I glanced over beyond the fence and saw Gus, who waved. He looked like a fifty-something-year-old man in a camo hunting jacket and a trucker hat, dressed for a hunt he never came home from. I had the feeling he’d been lonely until we met, and I was glad that the preserve meant he wasn’t by himself anymore. Of course, it also meant more beer for him, since I knew Otto and Tristan brought him six-packs in addition to what I supplied.

  Hey, the guy was already dead, so it wasn’t like we had to worry about his liver.

  “I need to head back,” I said after I’d rummaged through the supplies in the back seat and found a sheet of clear plastic I could duct tape over the missing back window. I’d still have a cold drive home, but at least that would keep out the wind. “Let me know how things go, and yell if you hear anything.”

  “You’ve got it,” Tristan replied. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I headed home with my head full of thoughts I didn’t want to think about. Din
ner from a drive-through and a Mountain Dew for the road meant I’d get back before Demon decided I had abandoned him.

  My phone rang, surprising me with Sara’s ring tone. “Hey there. I thought you were up to your eyeballs with guests this weekend?”

  “I am, but I thought I’d play hooky for a few minutes and see how you’re doing.” Her voice was warm and flirty, heating me up in all the right places.

  “I’m glad you did. I miss you. But it’s probably for the best you weren’t with me today. It’s kinda been a shitshow.”

  “Miss you, too. And maybe there’s something in the water—my day has been one catastrophe after another.”

  I appreciated Sara’s effort to commiserate, but I seriously hoped her day had been nothing like mine. “Did it all work out?” I asked.

  “Well enough. Nothing that can’t be fixed. Did you get hurt?”

  It had been a long time since more than my friends had cared about that. My heart squeezed, just a little. “Not this time. But the truck is gonna need some major work. A dragon fell on it.”

  “Sounds like a Hogwarts problem to me.”

  God, I loved this woman. She knew all about my insane life and stuck around anyhow.

  “Fortunately, I wasn’t trying to ride it.”

  “That’s probably for the best.” Sara paused. “A real dragon?” I heard the same awe in her voice as in Dr. Murphy’s tone. I guess little girls loved horses, and grown-up women loved dragons. Go figure.

  “It’s not exactly Smaug, but close enough. I didn’t have time to admire it—the thing was dive-bombing my truck.”

  In the background I heard the crash of something breakable and raised voices.

  “Oops—sounds like I need to go,” Sara said. “Whatever you’re up to, take care, Mark. We have a date next week, and I’ve got plans that would be ruined if you’re in traction.” More noises made me wonder what was going on. “Love you, gotta run.” She had clicked off before I had the chance to return the sentiment, and I vowed to text her when I got home.

  Despite everything, her call made me smile and gave me incentive to dispatch the mad doctor with all haste. I just hoped I could avoid the traction part.

  5

  When my dad used to call my friends and me a bunch of ‘yahoos,’ I don’t think this is what he had in mind.”

  I looked down at the big, black-furred creature who had been making off with a farmer’s pig after he’d gorged himself on cabbages. The affronted oinker had bolted as soon as our tranq darts sent the big guy to la-la land. I was afraid those cabbages would come back to haunt us, and a gassy cryptid was not my idea of fun.

  “It’s a ‘yayho,’” Father Leo corrected, as we bent to manacle the creature’s wrists and ankles for the trip to the preserve. “Not pronounced like the search engine.”

  “Good to know for the next time.” Which I hoped there wouldn’t be.

  “He’s another cryptid who shouldn’t be here.”

  “And he’s got shaved patches like the Albatwitch,” I pointed out. “So either our mad doctor intended to release him back into the wild, or he has really shitty security on his lab.”

  I’d made sure to check the yayho over as soon as it was safe, and I felt pretty sure that Dr. Murphy wasn’t going to be happy.

  “Maybe he got what he needed and didn’t want to keep feeding the creatures. Pigs are expensive.”

  “Kinda ballsy to just shove them out the back door or drop them off by the side of the road, don’t you think? I mean, it’s friggin’ Bigfoot, for crying out loud!”

  “Actually, cryptozoologists beg to differ, despite the similarities,” Father Leo replied. “The yayho’s faces are more squashed-looking, the limbs are more proportional, and they’re overall stockier than their cousins in the Pacific Northwest.”

  I wondered whether the yayho would bond with the sheepsquatch at the preserve, or get into an epic battle. And after hearing the creature blare out a noise that explained his name, I was glad I wouldn’t be in hearing distance when he and Sheepy duked it out.

  “Help me get him in my truck, and Louie and I will drive him out to the preserve,” Father Leo said. “Since Elvira is still in the shop.”

  I couldn’t help wincing, especially when I remembered the estimate to fix the damage. Fortunately, Father Leo said the Occulatum would pay for the repairs, for which I was grateful. This gig doesn’t pay well—hell, most of the time, the small stipend barely covers expenses—but now and then the perks are worth it.

  Louie Marino, an old friend who is also a Linesville cop, came over from where he’d been keeping a lookout to help us hoist the drugged creature into the back of Father Leo’s truck. It took all three of us, and we barely got him up to the height of the truck bed. Louie and I strapped him down with load ties and threw a tarp over him. At night, no one would notice that the black lump under the canvas was breathing.

  “So what are you going to name him?” Louie challenged.

  I’d been so busy trying not to get crushed or killed; I hadn’t given it any thought. “Hugh,” I said finally. “It sort of sounds like yayho. Yeah. Hugh.”

  Louie just shook his head, but I knew he got a kick out of my habit of naming our new residents.

  “Go on home, Mark,” Father Leo said. “You’ve done more than your share. We’ve got this. Tomorrow, stop over for breakfast, and we can come up with a plan.”

  I gave them a snappy salute and walked to the loaner I’d borrowed from one of the guys at the garage. I was fine with letting Louie and the padre take the drive to Kane and back tonight. I’d spent most of today working on a backlog of cars at my shop, which was, after all, supposed to be my day job. They had called me in at the last minute when the yayho absconded with the pig, and the rest was history.

  When I got home, I intended to pour myself a couple of fingers of whiskey, make some popcorn, and share the couch with Demon. Maybe binge watch the newest superhero show everyone was talking about. I needed a night off, and if I couldn’t spend it with my girlfriend, then at least I’d hang out with man’s best friend.

  So fuck my luck, Mario and Luigi were waiting for me when I pulled into the drive.

  Inside the house, Demon was living up to his watchdog credentials. He sounded ready to tear them limb from limb, and I was tempted to let him.

  “What the ever-loving fuck are you two doing here?” I’m a firm believer in start-as-you-mean-to-go-on.

  “We need to talk to you,” Jones said.

  “Let’s go inside,” Smith added.

  “Oh, hell no. I’m not happy about you being on my property, let alone inside my house. Say what you came to say, and leave me alone.”

  “Brunrichter and Tumblety are back,” Smith said. “But they’re not working together. They’re actually working for rival factions, neither of which can be permitted to succeed.”

  I glanced at Jones, who looked like he was grinding his teeth just being in my general vicinity. “Which factions?”

  “That’s not—” Jones started to say, but Smith silenced him with a glance.

  “Tumblety has been working with a black ops government project on weaponizing supernatural creatures,” Smith said. “Recruited by one of the questionable government entities with an interest in the occult and paranormal.”

  That didn’t narrow things down much since I could think of three such “entities” right off the bat—and those were the ones that weren’t still super-secret. Although if I had to guess, it would be C.H.A.R.O.N. This sounded like their kind of fuckedupedness.

  “So who’s Brunrichter working for? One of the other government douche-groups?” It would make sense for this to come down to a Langley inter-agency pissing match.

  “The Sinistram,” Smith replied. “And I assure you, between the government and the Vatican, only one has nearly limitless funds, over a thousand years of experience in meddling with the course of history, and a firm belief that they have a mandate from God.”

  That was the f
irst thing he’d ever said that I actually agreed with.

  “Is this where you tell me that we’re going to kick this upstairs and let the bishops joust with their shepherd’s crooks for a winner?”

  Smith paled but kept his temper. That alone told me that we were on the brink of the apocalypse. “No. They will disavow any knowledge of our actions.”

  “Classy. Does that make us the Impossible Missions Force?”

  “No. It means that Smith and I run interference, while your team eliminates the target,” Jones said.

  “Seriously? There’s an immortal mad doctor running around playing Dr. Moreau, and you’re going to push that off onto a bunch of civilian hunters?”

  Jones looked like he wanted to throttle me. Smith laid a hand on his partner’s arm, and Jones restrained himself.

  “The alternative is having the area swarmed by black helicopters and SUVs, with a military force that takes a scorched earth approach to their work. In that scenario, there will be no survivors, and no rescue of the cryptids who may have been taken prisoner—or the shifters. They may also rendition anyone with knowledge of the situation,” Smith said.

  Even though I couldn’t see Smith’s eyes behind his dark glasses, I knew he thought he had me. And, dammit, he did. Because I cared about getting the prisoners to safety as much as—maybe even more than—I did seeing Brunrichter run out of his nine lives. And I sure didn’t want us all Gitmo’d.

  Worse—this was about as close to decency as I’d ever seen from Wayne and Garth. The thought that we might be on the same side made me queasy.

  “Do you know which of the docs we’re dealing with?”

  “We’ve confirmed Tumblety’s location, so this is Brunrichter.”

  “Do you know where Brunrichter has his lab?”

  “No. But we’ve narrowed down the options,” Smith replied.

  “He can’t be doing this alone. Who’s working with him?” If they really needed our help—and Smith had as much as admitted it—then I intended to get answers. I was not about to walk in blind.