I grimace and promise to tell him later before Hawk and I chase after Cobb to keep up, our captives nearly slipping off our shoulders.
As soon as we step through the doors it’s like entering a whole different world. Colors, sounds, and smells all blend together into something fantastic and instantly familiar. The cement walls stretch up fifty feet high and are covered in bright banners bearing different crests and depictions of all the legendary races that reside within this hidden city beneath the Mississippi River.
I take a deep breath of the aroma coming from the center of Market Square twenty feet in front of us. Buildings designed after different ancient structures—from the red-titled temples of Japan to the arched basilica of Rome to the mud-brick shops of Mesopotamia—stand brilliant and draped in even more color. Down the first row I spot the source of the mouthwatering smell—Old Man Two, a crabby but gifted centaur, is mixing a massive cauldron of stew. Farther down I see a group of young fauns fighting over muffins sold at Giant’s Reach, a pair of water sprites and nymphs bartering over soil at Madame Rush’s Emporium, and a doddery unicorn giving a ride to a young elf. Up high on the roofs are the gargoyles, hulking stone creatures animated by magic to act as Underground’s vigilant protectors. Home sweet home.
I still have vague memories of when I first came here with Hawk. Only four years old, we were terrified by all the strange otherworldly things until a kindly faun became our guardian and eased us into the world of legendary and mythical creatures. Now, having spent most my life here, I can’t imagine living anywhere else. It’s the outside world that seems strange. An unpleasant twinge twists my gut. I hope our recklessness earlier today won’t cost us this place we’ve learned to call home.
As I stand there considering what it would be like to live somewhere mundane like Chicago, a group of IMS agents pulling two hospital gurneys part the crowds through the middle of Merchant Square. They don’t speak a word to me or Hawk but whisper in undertones with Cobb, so we plop the shapeshifters onto the gurneys. I roll my shoulders trying to work out the kink I got from hauling a berserker around and eventually Cobb motions for us to follow the agents pushing the gurneys through Merchant Square.
I try not to make eye contact with any of the shopkeepers or customers. I know all of the creatures that live in Underground. My brother and I have been here for fourteen years. Most of the creatures buying fried snails or trading ancient coins I recognize or know by name.
We pass shop after shop until we reach the colonnade. Long rows of cherry trees covered with pink blossoms lead directly to the heart of Underground. Shallow fountains stand at regular intervals down the lane and flecks of water touch my skin when a couple of water sprites decide now’s a good time to invite me to play with them. Their child-like shapes formed of water sit giggling in the pool of a nearby fountain and beckon me towards them. I wave them off and keep moving. Warm light filters through the branches overhead by the magic of a fire sprite to keep the trees alive all year long and dries some of the dampness out of my clothes. This is one of my favorite places in Underground. I wonder vaguely if this will be my last time seeing it.
The trees end and we stand before the very center of Underground. Another agent comes out to greet us and talks with Cobb. I stare up at the glossy black wall of IMS Headquarters that stretches almost all the way up to the ceiling. The artificial sunlight behind me gleams off its surface and illuminates golden letters etched in bold above the entrance. Protectors of legends. Secrecy is our shield. Knowledge is our weapon.
The shapeshifters are carted away to the right towards the penitent cells but Cobb takes us straight to the head offices. We enter the black door and it’s as if someone flicked a switch and everything magical in Underground never happened. The inside is like any generic human building—off-white walls, tan carpet, ordinary sized chairs, two sofas, and a front desk. The only things exceptional are the pictures of various dragons hanging on the walls. The receptionist greets us with a smile but her expression quickly melts into shock when Cobb whispers to her. She nods after a few words and dials someone, speaking quietly into the receiver before hanging up.
Cobb turns back to us. “You two stay here and don’t do anything stupid. Think you can handle that?”
“Uhh . . .” Hawk says in a dull drone, clearly done being his usual charming self. “Like right here? Freeze where we’re standing? Or can we sit down?”
Cobb doesn’t even respond but sweeps away down the only hallway and disappears from sight. Once he’s gone we collapse onto separate sofas. Now that my adrenaline has worn off, the coffee burn on my shoulder is really starting to ache. I gently rub it and stare down the long hallway. The only sound is the receptionist clicking away at her keyboard.
An old memory surfaces of the first time I was brought here. After all the strange things in Merchant Square, the normal rooms of headquarters had been a welcome relief. Nowadays they feel grossly out of place. We had come here during a storm. I remember dripping a puddle of water onto the floor in the exact same place I’m sitting now. I quickly push the thought out of my mind, of being that scared little girl. Such thoughts will only lead to painful memories.
We sit in the reception area longer than I can control my patience. Hawk and I stand at the same time and begin to pace. Every time we cross paths we reach out and give each other a low five. It has always been our way of saying we’re there for each other.
The phone rings at the receptionist’s desk. She picks up and doesn’t speak a word before hanging up again.
“Director Knox will see you now,” she says.
I take a deep breath and walk step in step with Hawk down the hallway. We turn left, go up a flight of stairs, and then go right. A glass wall opens up on our left along the next hallway. While the interior of the building may seem generic, what stands through the glass is anything but. I look out on a stone courtyard nestled in the center of IMS headquarters with nothing in it except a peculiar archway. It’s of the same glossy black finish as the exterior of headquarters and bears golden letters but they are in a language I don’t understand. The script is jagged and sharp, then fluid in other places—the language of dragons. I don’t know why but it’s always sent my heart thundering whenever I see it. If I stare at it long enough, the air around the arch seems to waver and spark with hidden power. I quickly look away and turn down another hallway on our right.
A single door stands at the end with a nameplate boasting DIRECTOR DAVID KNOX across its lacquer finish. We both pause in front of it. I’ve only been in this office three times before—twice for “unruly incidents” and once to be granted junior agent status. Hawk stands frozen so I reach up, wrinkle my nose, and knock.
“Come in,” a deep voice says muffled through the door. I obey and enter followed by my brother. “Close the door.”
I swallow involuntarily and do as I’m told. I turn back around, stand straight, and clasp my hands together behind my back to mimic my brother’s stance.
This room is like the rest of headquarters except there are black and white photos of dead presidents hanging on the walls alongside medals and military commendations in neat frames. A single tinted window overlooks the colonnade. Before it stands a heavy desk bare of anything except a single open file and a cup of coffee. The smell of it makes me realize I’m still wearing my silk blouse with a huge coffee stain along the top.
Cobb stands with his back to us and his hands are twitching like he wants to strangle something. Standing across from him behind the desk is Director David Knox. He’s a good foot taller than any of us—I used to think he had giant blood in him—and his skin is a shade darker than his mahogany desk. The fluorescents reflect off his bald dome but are unable to touch his dark eyes. He’s in a crisp suit that puts the rest of our attires to shame and makes him seem even taller. His even stare makes my palms start to sweat. He’s always been intimidating.
“Cobb just finished explaining what happened,” he says, his deep baritone loud in
the office. “Do you have any idea what you two have done?”
I’m not sure if I’m supposed to respond or if it’s a rhetorical question. I wait it out but when Director Knox continues to stare, I sputter, “We were just—”
“Doing everything the IMS is not supposed to do,” he booms. I have a feeling he was waiting for an answer just so he could cut me off. This isn’t looking good. “Tell me what our motto is.”
Hawk and I say in unison, “Protectors of legends. Secrecy is our shield. Knowledge is our weapon.”
“Exactly!” He begins to pace and gestures out the tinted window to the colonnade beyond. “The whole point of Underground is secrecy, to keep this world hidden from those who would fear it. You’ve nearly exposed us all! I had to send in a team to clean up your mess and try to make excuses to the local authorities.”
“With all due respect,” Hawk says, “we stopped two dangerous shapeshifters.”
“By nearly destroying an entire floor of a building!” The director slams a fist on his desk and we all jump. “Do you even know what Werevine Pharmaceutical does? You two of all people should know what they produce.”
I glance uneasily at my brother. We’re broaching a very touchy topic. “They produce the werewolf serum,” I say quietly.
“Yes!” Director Knox rolls back his shoulders and takes a deep breath, making a clear show of reigning in his temper. “They’re one of the largest manufacturers of the medicine that keeps your kind in their human minds.” He points at Hawk for emphasis. “Now who knows how long before the company will be back up and running?”
“That was the whole point, sir,” I interject, suddenly angry for him badgering my brother for something that isn’t even his fault. It’s not like Hawk chose to be bitten and become a werewolf. “What were the shapeshifters doing at the company and why were they going through the records of werewolves? We were just trying to—”
“I don’t care what you were trying to do. If you figured out there were shapeshifters, you should have gotten out of there and notified your superior so we could send proper agents in to do the job.” The director massages his bald head and stares out the window. “I should have seen this coming. You’ve always been troublemakers. I still remember when you convinced a water sprite to haunt a high school water fountain. You’ve never fit easily into the human world.”
I clench my jaw and fight back raw emotion in my throat. I’m furious but the director’s also right. Once Underground became our home, the rest of the world became odd. We don’t belong there anymore, not since my brother became a werewolf and I became something of an oddity myself.
“I knew your stint of field training as junior agents was going to end in disaster,” the director continues, pacing again behind his desk. “If you two didn’t have a certain dragon pushing to get you into the action, I never would have agreed to send you out.”
My head snaps up. A dragon has been campaigning for us to become agents? I thought we got into the IMS because they finally got sick of saying no to our staggering number of requests to join.
“Which dragon?” I ask.
Director Knox gives me his signature hard stare and plants both hands on his desk to level with me. “You know which one.”
“Sir,” Cobb interrupts. “What are we going to do with them?”
“All three of you will be suspended.”
Cobb leans forward, his mop of hair shaking yet again and his face turning red. “Excuse me, all three of us?”
“That’s right. You were supposed to be in Werevine with them. Instead, you let them run free and destroy part of a company while you were on a smoke break. Get out of my office, Cobb. Go turn in your badge and weapon at the armory.”
I flinch as Cobb hurtles past me and slams the door on his way out. A hollow feeling fills my chest. We are being suspended. What are we supposed to do now? I suddenly imagine myself chopping up pig feet in the back of Old Man Two’s shop for the rest of my life. I can’t let that happen.
“Your suspension will be more permanent than Cobb’s,” the director says once it’s just us. “You’ve done enough damage. I’d like to kick both of you out of here for good but you’d probably cause even more destruction on your own.” He drags a hand down his face and heaves a sigh. My heart beats a jagged, painful rhythm in my chest. “However, you’re still both special cases and have clearance to stay in Underground. For now, I want you both to report to Junior Agent Wallowitz to return whatever weapons you borrowed from the armory without authorization.”
He points to the door and it’s clear our time is over. Hawk opens the door for me and we both exit, our feet dragging on the tan carpet. As we trudge along the hallway and go down the stairwell, Hawk whispers, “What do we do now?”
Chapter 3
I always find something new whenever I visit the armory. The room itself looks like an enormous cave with blue LED lights embedded throughout the ceiling that give a diffused glow similar to moonlight. A few brighter spotlights shine down on three computers in the very center that catalog the various weapons strapped to the walls. There are several metal racks holding bio-mech guns. Next to those are rows of swords, staves, axes, hammers, crossbows, and longbows that hang along the walls, held up by near invisible holders so the weapons appear to float in the air.
At the back are glass cases where famous weapons are on display. There are golden swords etched with dragon script, a flamethrower branded with a skull, and even a chainsaw with a plaque that reads “Used by Rae Lightfeather to decapitate the infamous Siren of Mississippi River at the water entrance to Underground.”
I peer into the newest glass case while Hawk swings a monk staff at invisible monsters on my left. He’s changed into a plain t-shirt and jeans—I did the same after that terrible meeting, ready to get out of that coffee-stained blouse as soon as possible. We didn’t put on our junior agent uniforms just in case Director Knox decides to take those away too. I sigh and try to focus on what’s inside the glass case illuminated by blue light. It’s something that looks like a bio-mech gun but is longer with silver gills down the length of the barrel.
“What’s a phase-repeater?” I ask offhand, reading the plaque inscription.
A wheelchair rolls up beside me carrying one of my oldest friends, Aaron Wallowitz. We just call him Witty. He came to Underground around the same time as us and under similar circumstances. A blanket covers his scarred legs that are defunct after he suffered a hydra attack when he was five. His parents—a pair of IMS agents—were killed in the attack. His godfather, who still works for the IMS, brought him here for healing. They couldn’t do anything for Witty’s legs but they let him stay in the protection of the magical city.
Witty peers into the glass case beside me and brushes his dark hair out of his bright blue eyes. “It’s new dragon tech,” he says. “The latest model of the bio-mech gun—fully automatic and with extra kick. They’re for use against level five monsters.”
“Ah, I see.” I straighten and dodge Hawk’s attempt to smack me in the back with the monk staff. Witty returns to the computer he had been working on so I follow him. “What are you up to?”
“Just entering data on the two bio-mech guns you guys said you were using for target practice.” He quirks an eyebrow at me then strums on the lighted keyboard, plugging notes into some database. Witty’s lucky he has top-notch computer skills—he’s so good that he was asked to work the IMS systems before officially becoming a junior agent. At least he has a job.
Hawk comes around the computers popping into various kung fu stances with the staff and flashes a wide smile at us. He’s playful despite everything that’s happened but there’s something lingering in his eyes. I’d say it’s fear because I feel it too—fear of not knowing what’s going to happen to us now. “We did use them for target practice . . . just on moving targets. Right, Nix?”
“Right” I say. “One pudgy, the other bright red, big, and freakin’ scary.” I hold my arms out at my sides like a
gorilla and make a high-pitched shriek, attempting to be as playful as my brother so I don’t have to think about anything else. Hawk fake attacks me with the staff complete with sound effects.
Witty holds up a hand and shakes his head. “No way. You two fought a berserker?”
“Yeah,” Hawk says and throws a fake blow at my head. I grab the staff and start to shake him. He’s trying not to laugh as he says, “We kind of weren’t supposed to, though.”
“Hence, the permanent ‘suspension’,” Witty says with a sigh. “Well done.”
I push Hawk away to glare at Witty. “Hey, we’ve already gotten enough crap from the director. We don’t need it from you too.”
“I’m just saying, you won’t have much of an excuse to come visit me now that you aren’t on active duty. I’m always stuck in this cave, remember?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, how will you survive without us?”
Hawk jumps behind Witty to grab the back of his wheelchair. “We’ll still come around for races!” He starts to push Witty forward at a fast clip out of the armory, Witty yelling the whole way.
We run a few laps around headquarters, Witty holding onto his wheelchair for dear life, but eventually an agent comes out and barks at us to knock it off after we nearly crash into the doddery unicorn near the colonnade. Witty wheels himself back to the armory after Hawk and I are banished from headquarters. Without the company of our friend and without any training or missions to look forward to tomorrow, our shoulders slump.
I suggest getting cheesy noodles at Old Man Two’s. Hawk shrugs noncommittally but follows me to the centaur’s restaurant anyway. The noise and mixed aroma of the market surrounds us from the various eateries, apothecaries, and emporiums. I glance at each of the shops morosely.
“I suppose we’ll have to get a job somewhere,” I mutter.
Hawk clenches his jaw and keeps his eyes straight ahead. “Yeah.”
I don’t mention jobs again. There’s always been prejudice against werewolves in general throughout the magical community and Hawk is no exception. Werewolves are diseased, infected with an evil magic. They aren’t legally considered monsters anymore since the invention of the serum that lets werewolves keep their minds, but still, it’s not easy being a werewolf. It certainly won’t help Hawk’s job prospects.
The Curse of Moose Lake (International Monster Slayers Book 1) Page 3