The Curse of Moose Lake (International Monster Slayers Book 1)

by Bethany Helwig

  Chapter 5

  By the time I wake up, a good hour before sunrise, Jefferson is already in the kitchen cooking scrambled eggs. Slipping past him to the bathroom, I put on my spare junior agent uniform and wrap my hair up into a ponytail. Once done, I stand in the open and wait but Jefferson ignores me.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  He finally glances at me with a grunt by way of a greeting and starts to scoop eggs onto a chipped plate. I turn my back on him to survey my and Hawk’s progress from last night. The stacks of boxes we had put in Jefferson’s room have mysteriously reappeared behind the computer and the garbage bag full of credit card offers and junk is gone. I can’t help but smile darkly and shake my head.

  I take the seat in front of the computer and rap my fingers on the keyboard. “So . . . you knew who was howling last night? How could you tell who it was?”

  Jefferson speaks around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “It wasn’t hard to guess. He and his delinquent buddies have been trespassing on my property for a couple of weeks trying to harass me, but I finally found his weakness.”

  “His mother is his weakness?” I quirk an eyebrow.

  He lets out a low, rumbling laugh and jabs his fork at me. “That woman is scarier than a berserker on steroids.”

  I quickly look away, my face warming as I’m reminded of the berserker I fought at Werevine. Jefferson crams the rest of the eggs on his plate into his mouth. To my surprise he comes over by me. He presses the power button on the computer then gives it two hard whacks on the side and a loud slap on top. The computer beeps and the monitor flickers to life.

  “Uh, thanks,” I say.

  He grumbles something and tramps to the front door, grabbing his coat off a hook on the wall.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, rising from my seat to follow.

  “I’m going to pay Ben’s mother a visit. I’m sick of those kids howling at night.”

  “Can I come?” I ask hopefully, even though I already know what he’ll say.

  His smile is dubious. “It looks like you’re already busy. Help yourself to some eggs.” And he’s out the door.

  Left alone to paper once again, I decide to wait for the computer to boot. Ten minutes pass but it’s still trying to make it to the home screen so I decide to eat what’s left of the scrambled eggs. I stand with a plate staring at the monitor when Hawk sluggishly walks out of the bedroom, his hair sticking straight out in every direction. He’s in the middle of rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he notices I have food.

  “Eggs?” he asks past a yawn.

  “I’ll make you some.”

  He twitches his leg and pulls at the jeans he’s wearing. “These pants feel weird.”

  “Maybe that’s because those are mine,” I say and finish my plate.

  “Oh.” He turns about and stumbles zombie-like back into the bedroom.

  While he’s back changing and I start up another batch of eggs, the cell phone in my pocket starts to buzz. I pull it out and the ID reads “IMS Headquarters.” Pixies, they’re calling early. Do they think we couldn’t manage a single night here without an incident? I groan like a deranged bear and answer.

  “This is Junior Agent Phoenix Mason.”

  “ID number?” a polite woman’s voice asks on the other end.

  “0919-32.”

  “Please wait while I transfer you.”

  I glower at the eggs frying in the pan and prod at them with malice. I sure hope it’s not going to be Director Knox coming on next or that’s really going to ruin my morning. He’ll probably want to gloat over successfully getting Hawk and me as far away as possible from Underground.

  “Phoenix?”

  I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Witty? Giant’s feet! It’s good to hear a friendly voice. I had no idea you’d be calling.”

  “Didn’t they tell you?” He sounds confused and speaks a little too loudly—probably trying to drown out what sounds like a walrus bellowing in the background.

  “Tell me what?” I ask and put him on speakerphone so I can whip up the eggs with both hands.

  “I’ll be the agent you report in to every other day.”

  “Really? That’s surprising,” I say. “I thought for sure I’d have to describe every detail of my day to someone like Knox.” I purse my lips as I try to think of a logical explanation for the director allowing one of our friends to handle something like this. There’s a particularly loud bellow from the phone and I flinch, flinging a spoonful of eggs over my shoulder.

  “Ouch!” Hawk shouts from behind. I spin around as he peels steaming bits of egg off his face. There are already red marks.

  “Hawk! I’m sorry!” I shriek. “Don’t sneak up behind me like that!”

  He scowls at me and moves to the sink, turning the faucet on high. “I didn’t realize you chuck eggs over your shoulder at random intervals when you’re cooking.” He cups cold water in his hands and splashes his face. “If I would have known I would have ducked—or held my mouth open.”

  “Phoenix?” Witty says in small voice from the phone on the counter. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say and pass Hawk a dishtowel. “Hawk just got breakfast face first. But what on earth is going on there?”

  “Oh, that?” There’s another bellow that makes my phone vibrate. “Just an irate berserker, that’s all.”

  Hawk shuffles around me to the phone, dabbing at his face. “A berserker? You mean the one we caught?”

  The bellows slowly fade like Witty is moving away. I can hear his breathing pick up, probably from pushing his wheelchair along. “I’m sorry, guys,” Witty finally says, “but I can’t talk about that. Director Knox told me not to tell you anything.”

  “Why?” Hawk and I say in unison.

  “He says it’s none of your business,” he says matter-of-factly. “That’s not why I called though. I’m supposed to get a report from you two. Make sure you’re toeing the line, you know.”

  I roll my eyes and finish cooking the scrambled eggs. Almost as soon as I take them off the stove, Hawk starts to attack them. I pick up the phone and shuffle through paper to the center of the room with it still on speaker.

  “Oh, it’s been great,” I growl and go on a tirade. “We’re just stuck in a moldy old cabin, swimming in paper, working for the undertaker himself. He has us trying to organize his crap that I think he’s been stockpiling for twenty years. I’m still waiting for the computer to finish booting but I swear this thing is older than the dragons. Everything here is a huge waste of time.”

  Witty’s silent for a moment before he says, “Oh, I’m sure it’ll get better. Just . . . just hang in there, Phoenix. Everything will work out. You’ll see.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “Hey, at least you’ve still got friends. I’ll always be here if you need me.”

  I rub the back of my hand across my forehead. That would be more comforting if I was back in Underground where all my friends are. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “I’ll check back in with you guys in another two days, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Witty.”

  The line clicks dead and I stow my phone in my pocket. Hawk is strangely silent and stares at me with a superior smile like he knows something I don’t.

  “What?” I snap.

  He holds his hands under his chin and gives me droopy eyes. “I’ll always be here if you need me, Fifi.”

  I grab a piece of junk mail and chuck it at his head but he ducks and it misses. Talking to Witty equally brightened and darkened my mood—I got to talk to a friend but it only made me more homesick. I take the chair in front of the computer and start paging through paper while it whines and brings the screen up at last but I don’t think it’s even worth trying to use it. It’s obviously busted like Jefferson said.

  The rest of the day we spend going through paper, paper, and more paper. We’ve started to sort it into general piles—names starting A through E there,
F through L there, and so on. We comb through medical records, newspaper articles, profiles, and toss junk into another garbage bag we uncover. We’re starving by noon and Jefferson still hasn’t returned. The fridge is raided for more venison, which seems to be in every container, and we’re back at it.

  The afternoon drags on and I can’t get rid of the frown on my face. I know Jefferson said he regulates the werewolves but I’m astounded by the amount of private medical data he has. I get an itch in the back of my mind. Is this all legal? What right does he have to hoard so much on everyone?

  Jefferson finally returns after the sun has gone down. He gazes around and whistles. There’s still plenty of paper but it’s certainly more orderly than it was before. There’s more room to walk at least. He doesn’t speak to us but grabs his camera, food from the fridge, and is about to leave again.

  “Keep at that,” he says. “At the rate you’re going, it might be done next year.”

  “Hey!” I shout at him before he can escape. I toss the papers in my hands to the side and they billow in a cloud. I haven’t felt this kind of pure anger towards someone since a centaur falsely accused me of stealing. “We’ve been doing what you asked. You don’t have to rub our noses in it. We already know we’re being punished, all right? We get it.”

  His squinty eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

  “We’re doing the best we can!” I shout, my frustration getting the better of me. Hawk doesn’t back me up but stands next to the sink, his eyes frozen on the piece of paper in his hands. “You don’t have to treat us like slugs that snuck into your house. All we ever wanted was to become IMS agents. And yeah, we screwed up. I understand that. I’m not proud of it, but you could at least treat us like human beings. You gave us almost no direction, no help, no supplies—you didn’t even let us know if there was food we could eat!”

  Jefferson angles more towards me, his eyes turning squinty again. “You’ve been helping yourselves to my food.”

  “Maybe that’s because we don’t have transportation to go buy our own!” My throat burns I’m yelling so hard. I can’t seem to stop. “We’ve got nothing! And now we’re stuck here out in the middle of nowhere with no support, no friends, no guidance, and no family!”

  I’m panting and my whole body is shaking. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve let loose like this. A muscle in Jefferson’s jaw bulges as it tightens then relaxes again.

  “Is there anything else?” he asks calmly.

  I feel almost manic and shrug half-heartedly, wishing I could curl up into a ball somewhere. “We could use some more boxes,” I say weakly. “There’s a lot of paper.”

  He doesn’t nod, he doesn’t shout, he doesn’t say anything—he takes his dinner and retreats outside to the barn. Continuing to shake and feel weak in the knees, I slide down against the wall and sit on the floor holding my hands against the sides of my head. Hawk comes to stand next to me but keeps quiet and doesn’t offer a hug or anything. I’m glad he doesn’t. I’m so angry and frustrated right now that doing either would probably only make me more upset.

  Part of me wants to cry. I don’t cry often but when I do it usually comes like a flood and there’s no stopping it. Instead I bite down on my tongue and close my eyes for a couple of minutes. Hawk puts a hand on my shoulder then and I let the tension ease out of me. There’s nothing I can do about anything right now except the paper mess. So, I rise to my feet and pick up where I left off on the paper stacks which signals Hawk to do the same.

  The one thing about my outburst is that it’s given me a do or die drive. Hawk heats up supper but I hardly eat. I’m too focused. It gets darker and my eyelids become heavy. I slap my arms and face a few times to stay awake and keep working. Hawk ends up sitting on the floor against the kitchen cupboards to look through paper and yawns constantly. I’m not sure when he falls asleep but I don’t disturb him. Thankfully it remains quiet and there’s no howling to disturb him tonight. Jefferson’s talk with Ben’s mother must have gone over well.

  The light bulb starts to flicker. I sit in the chair in front of the computer, which has died again, and the dimming light puts me in a kind of hypnotic state. I keep paging through a stack without really looking at it anymore. I struggle on and keep glancing at the progress we’ve already made to boost my drive. We’ve uncovered the rest of the table the computer is sitting on along with three other chairs. Boxes are stacked high against the walls and a trap with the skeleton of a mouse sits on the floor.

  I don’t know when I fall asleep. I dream about Witty interrogating the berserker, asking it where it put the Styrofoam containers. The berserker starts to puff up and turn bright red, reaching across the table and grabbing Witty by the throat—

  I jerk awake with a gasp and find myself still in the chair in front of the computer. Something crunches under my elbow when I shift. I look and find some roll of crinkly green wax paper. I unwrap it to find a turkey sub sandwich. It smells delicious, but for whatever reason, I can’t understand what it’s doing there. There’s a loud snort and I see Hawk spread out on the floor against the kitchen cabinets still asleep. Pushing back in the chair, I see there’s also a new stack of empty boxes sitting just inside the door. Faint sunlight filters in from the lone window.

  The door behind me creaks open and I just about launch out of my chair. Jefferson laughs under his breath and passes me carrying a bag of something that clinks when he moves. He stops by Hawk and prods him with the toe of his boot. It’s only then I realize there’s an identical wrapped sub next to him as well.

  “Wake up,” Jefferson says in his croaky voice. “No time for sleeping.”

  Hawk jerks and glares at Jefferson in a daze until he pushes himself upright. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and hold up the sub next to me like it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “You got us breakfast?” I ask.

  “Nah,” Jefferson says. “I’d never do that.” He looks at me over the rim of the coffee cup he sips from. I can’t be sure but his eyes seem to be testing me.

  I unwrap the sub completely and take a bite. After eating reheated venison for nearly every meal since we got here, it tastes like heaven.

  “That’s too bad,” I say. “If you had, I would have said thank you.”

  I rip into the sub like I’ve never eaten before and Hawk does the same. My brother gives Jefferson a thumbs up and devours his sub with little deference. Once the food has disappeared, Jefferson sits on the edge of the table we cleared and sets down the bag which makes a loud thud. Whatever’s in it must be heavy.

  “So, you two want to train?” Jefferson asks, continuing to take steady sips from his coffee. Hawk and I nod. “Okay, then. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll ask you a series of questions to see what you know about our work. For each one you get wrong, you have to organize twenty-five more pieces of paper.” When we start to groan he holds up a hand for silence. “For each one you get right—” He digs into the bag and pulls out a small, shiny, copper capped bullet. “—you get one of these for target practice out back. Deal?”

  There’s no hesitation—we both nod vehemently. He flips a coin in the air then slaps it back down onto his hand.

  “Phoenix, heads or tails?” he asks.

  “Heads?”

  He looks at the coin before tucking into his pocket. “Okay. You start. First question—who founded the IMS?”

  This is going to be easy. “The dragons.” I allow myself a smile.

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s so few of them. They needed agents all over the world that could help keep the monsters in check.” I don’t know why he’s asking something so simple. It’s in every history book related to the IMS.

  Jefferson tosses a bullet in the air and I catch it. The weight is heavier than I expect. I’ve actually only seen human guns and bullets in movies. Hawk and I trained solely with bio-mech guns—dragon-designed weaponry—at the Underground armory. Most average, hum
an weapons aren’t very effective on the things the IMS hunts and bio-mech guns are more humane anyway.

  “Hawk,” he continues, angling himself towards my brother, “Who does the IMS answer to in the United States?”

  “The Department of Dragon Affairs,” he says looking eager. “The dragons made a treaty with our government when it was first formed.”

  He tosses another bullet and my brother catches it.

  “Phoenix, how are monsters classified?”

  I sit a little straighter. This is my kind of game. “They are classified by their power, abilities, and potential for destruction. There are five levels.”

  Another bullet. We spend the next twenty minutes going over elementary IMS history and procedure. Our stockpile of bullets grows and I start to mound them in the green wrap my sub came in.

  “All right, smarty pants,” Jefferson growls, checking inside his bag for more bullets. “Phoenix, how far can you run flat out before you have to stop?”

  I blink. “What? What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe—”

  “Wrong answer!” he says loudly over me. “Twenty-five pages to sort for you. Hawk, what about you? How far can you run flat out?”

  Hawk holds his chin in a generic thinking pose and narrows his eyes. “I’ve held my longest sprint for ten minutes over four miles. After that I have to slow down.”

  The surprise is clear on Jefferson’s face. “Seriously?” he says and tosses my brother another bullet. “That far?”

  “Yeah. I run the track at Underground all the time. I keep in shape.”

  I roll my eyes and jingle my stash of bullets. “Yeah, and running that time as a wolf has nothing to do with it,” I mumble under my breath.

  The questions turn back to me. “How many pounds can you lift?”

  “I can bench press six hundred ninety pounds and squat eight hundred eighty pounds,” I answer immediately with a wide smile. When Jefferson doesn’t toss me a bullet, I hold my hand out. “Really? You believe Hawk but not me? Honestly, I’ve been keeping track. That’s the one thing I can do really well.”