by Kit Hallows
A trail of scarlet footprints appeared, glowing like hellfire along the pavement. The magic thrummed inside me and the thrill of the hunt coursed through my blood as I followed them.
I was determined to eliminate the creature. Bring it down and tear it limb from limb. It had defied me. It had committed a felony in my city with no regard for me or my authority, as if I was a man of no consequence.... I clenched my fists, stopped running and forced myself to quell the toxic voice in my head. The dark magic inside me flickered out like a spent match and the footprints vanished, but I'd seen where they were headed. I ran on.
The road intersected with a main street lined with dollar stores and pawn shops. The sidewalks were mostly empty but there were a few harried people that kept looking back over their shoulders, as if they'd seen something repulsive and outlandish. Chances were they had.
"I want a hit of whatever that freak was on!" A pockmarked guy said to his friend. They stood in the middle of the sidewalk holding their phones up, filming the now empty street.
"Where did he go?" I asked.
They didn't even pause to ask who as they pointed to a brightly lit building at the end of the block. I ran on, thankful for the reassuring weight of Haskins' gun.
The pizza joint was called Dough Ray Me, a timeworn place with an awning that had more holes in it than Swiss cheese.
I glanced through the grimy windows to find it unexpectedly busy but none of the diners seemed happy; their faces were filled with shock, disgust and horror. I shoved the door open and stepped into warm yeasty air that smelt of wood smoke, spicy basil, and the acidic tang of tomato sauce.
"Fuck off!"
The Wendigo was halfway down a long row of tables, towering over an obese man in a red tracksuit. It lunged for the slice of pizza in his meaty hand, tore it away and stuffed it into its withered mouth.
"What the hell!" the man cried out, his face so angry and flushed it almost matched his outfit.
The Wendigo ignored him as it grabbed the remaining slices from the tray. The man watched in fury as the cloaked creature crammed them sideways into its mouth with one great sweep. Strands of greasy cheese hung from its chin as it turned to the next table.
It was growing stronger, and while pizza was no doubt a poor substitute for flesh and blood, it was clearly gaining nourishment from it.
I glanced at the pasty kid behind the counter then to the security camera above his head, and prayed it wasn't working. Not that there'd been much to see, apart from a gluttonous old man stealing pizza, but the Wendigo's appearance could change any moment.
Which meant I needed to get him out of the place, and fast.
"Come on dad." I held my palms out. "You know you can't just take other people's food." I smiled at the flustered diners as I reached for his blood spattered sleeve.
It wheeled round, teeth bared, and raked a hand through the air.
I ducked in time to avoid its nails and a swipe that was far too close to my eyes.
"Out!" I pointed to the door and opened my coat enough to show Haskins' gun, not that I had much faith it would understand. It was in the midst of a feeding frenzy and while it knew enough to cloak itself, its sanity seemed long gone.
"Get him out of here!" A girl with an outraged face full of piercings yelled. "Fucking freak!"
I turned back as the Wendigo loped from table to table, snatching at plates and stuffing wedges of pizza into its mouth. "Great." I grabbed a fork and bore down on it. The Wendigo turned and roared at me, the sound piercing. I closed in, dodged its incoming fist, and stabbed the fork into the back of its arm.
The Wendigo snarled and pulled it out, the tines red and wet as they whistled toward me. I sidestepped. The fork embedded itself in the wall. The creature turned and ran to the back of the restaurant, its strides fast and powerful.
I gave chase. It flew through a pair of swing doors and loped into the kitchen where a short, sweaty man watched aghast, the circle of dough in his hand falling to the filthy floor.
The creature smashed the back door open and ran out into a parking lot. "What the hell's going on?" the chef cried as he stooped to pick the dough up off floor.
Clearly the customers in this place had worse things to worry about than a Wendigo. "Forget it!" I said. He nodded absently. "And chuck that in the trash, wash your hands and start again. Right?"
"Right."
By the time I got through the tiny parking lot, the Wendigo had almost reached the end of the deserted back street and was about to turn a corner.
I couldn't catch it.
It was too fast, too powerful.
I thought back to the family, the portraits and the slaughtered meat bubbling in the pots on Hickory Street. "Screw it." I pulled Haskins' gun out and took aim.
The Wendigo was about to round the corner.
I had one shot. I closed my eyes and called on the dark energy; it surged through my veins within an instant and I fired.
The bullet burned like a shooting star as it flew down the street and tore through the back of the Wendigo's leg, bringing it down in a crumbled heap.
I strode after it, fighting the tide of anger rising inside me and the voice that urged me to make the monster's death a slow, painful one. I closed my eyes until the voice faded. Then I continued on.
The Wendigo hobbled to its feet and limped, leaving a trail of watery blood along the sidewalk. Thankfully the backstreet was deserted, aside from the roaches and rats infesting the trash bags that lined the road.
I closed the distance between us as the Wendigo crouched, roaring in agony and fury.
We paused in the shadows facing one another and I wondered what someone might have thought if they'd seen us. Me, a man in his thirties with a gun, chasing down a grey, painfully thin old codger with an oozing bullet wound.
"Give it up," I said. "I'm calling this in. The Organization will send someone out. It can be an agent that'll escort you to Stardim, or a man with a hacksaw and body bags to haul your corpse away. The choice, for what it's worth, is yours."
"I can't stop." The Wendigo shook its head. It clutched a hand to its washboard stomach. "Can't stop eating. There's never enough..."
"The warden will make sure your symptoms are treated-"
"What good is that? I don't want to be made less than what I am. I don't want to be like you." It half smiled through its grimace. "I see your hunger, half man. Your fire's just as wild as mine. One spark," it flicked its fingers, "and it'll blaze like an inferno. You try to hide it, but I see it." The Wendigo licked its lips.
"Thanks for the sermon." I raised the gun. "Now put your hands behind your head."
"I think not." The Wendigo reached inside its pocket.
I fired. The bullet slammed into its chest.
It tumbled to the ground and the object it had been reaching for rolled across the pavement. A half-eaten apple. The creature gurgled and a line of bile-colored liquid leaked from the side of its mouth. Then its eyes glazed over and its head fell to the side.
I stepped back as its cloak fell away, revealing the dark twisted looking being beneath the earthly disguise. "Shit." I glanced away.
Night was creeping over the city and a cold wind stirred the dead leaves on the sidewalk. Sooner or later someone would come this way, I needed to clean up this mess and fast. I dug into my pockets, searching for my phone.
There was only one person I knew who could make this go away.
4
I heard the rattle and choke of the hearse long before it appeared at the end of the narrow street. A cloud of bitter blue exhaust spewed from the tailpipe as Dauple inched up close, the rims scraping the curb. Then he hit the brakes and the engine let out a horrible squeal.
Dauple jumped out, his face and body twitching like a macabre marionette dancing from invisible strings. He was wearing the top hat again, the one he'd had on the last time I'd seen him, along with a preoccupied grin. "Evening, Morgan!"
"Evening."
"Oh." Daupl
e glanced at the Wendigo's corpse. Its dark limbs resembled a tangle of brittle branches and its eyes glowed foggy and sickly green in the hearse's headlights. The creature's mouth was a black wide hole, gaping open as if it still hoped for one more meal.
"A Wendigo!" Dauple knelt on his haunches. "I've never gotten my hands on one of these before." He pulled a shiny silver cellphone from his pocket and took a selfie beside the corpse. "Nice!"
"Is that a new suit?" I'd never seen him looking so sharp; although the carnation in his lapel had seen better days, its petals brown and wilting.
"Indeed." He smiled, revealing his disconcerting yellowed, cracked teeth.
"Going somewhere special?" I asked, more out of politeness than genuine interest.
"Maybe I am." His voice carried a sing-song note, then he winked and touched the side of his nose. "But I'd sooner not divulge further details."
"Right. Well-"
"Yeah, if you must know, I'm going on a speedy date."
"You're going speed dating?"
"No, a speedy date. That's what she called it. I think." Dauple flipped through his phone and pulled up a picture.
"I...well...she's got nice eyes," I said, despite my first impression, which was of a chipmunk being pulled from a muddy puddle.
"You should hear her laugh. It's like a cascade of summer stars descending into a millpond!"
Dear God. "Right."
Dauple laid a long body bag on the sidewalk, opened it up, rolled the Wendigo in and zipped it shut. The creature's willowy corpse was light but unwieldy, still he didn't ask for any help as he gathered it up to place it in the hearse.
"Thanks, Dauple."
"Not a problem. Of course I'm breaking more Organization rules and laws than I care to think about. But I trust you, Morgan. You wouldn't call for smoke and daggers if they weren't needed."
"Cloak and-"
"Say no more!" Dauple winked again and held his hand out for a shake. It was just as cold and clammy as I'd expected. "I still consider you the creme de la cream of all the Organization's agents. No matter what the others say."
"Others?"
"The other agents. They've been talking about you. So have some of the office staff. And the janitor. Not that he should judge anyone...the things I could tell you about him!"
"What are they saying?"
"Just trash talking. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."
I placed a firm hand on his shoulder before he could climb back into his hearse. "What are they saying?" I asked again.
Dauple sighed. "Where to begin... Well, some of them insist you're part vampire. Others that you're a serial killer using the Organization as a front for your sadistic pleasures. But the janitor is convinced that you're half demon, and that you feed off the souls of the dying. But I don't believe a word of any of it."
"Thanks."
"Indeed. Well," Dauple tipped the brim of his hat, "fare ye well, Morgan Rook." He climbed into his car, slammed the door shut, opened it again, unhooked his seat belt and slammed it once more. Then he glanced from me to the shadow-filled street and for a moment I caught the slightest hint of fear in his eyes. He nodded, gunned the engine, and sped away, leaving me in a fog of acrid exhaust.
The night grew dark as the moon disappeared behind the heavy early October clouds. Spots of icy rain fell upon my face as I walked along the street. The Wendigo's words returned to me.
I see your hunger, half man. Your fire's just as wild as mine.
I wished its words had been no more than idle banter, but they were true.
There was a hunger inside me, and a terrible darkness. One I'd had from my first memory of waking into the world at the age of ten. I'd managed to quell it for most my life but it had been reawakened after the events in the asylum, where it had gotten a taste of evil and blood. Now it wanted more. I had to find out exactly what it was, to devise a way to contain and manage it.
Before I transformed into exactly the kind of monster the Organization had hired me to hunt.
A breeze swept along the street whipping the autumn leaves into a mad swirling dance. I hurried on, eager to get home before the rain turned to a torrent and the night grew even colder.
My phone rumbled. I pulled it from my pocket to find a photo, it was a message from Erland. A snapshot of a bar coaster printed with a cartoonish owl clutching a glass of bright red wine, the color, a little too close to the shade of blood for my liking.
I hailed a cab and sank into the back as the driver regaled me with a stream of words I barely heard.
5
The Tipsy Owl was quiet, a few regulars haunted the stools along the bar but most of the tables were empty. I ordered a beer and made my way to the back, where Erland Underwood sat with his customary glass of merlot in hand.
He wore an elegant blue suit with a crimson tie and a fedora that was angled to shield his piercing lilac eyes.
"Erland," I said as I sat.
He gave me a short-lived smile. "Thanks for coming, Morgan. I'm sorry I gave you such little notice."
Nothing new there. "No problem."
He glanced up as the bar tender and a chef walked toward us and sat at a nearby table. "No," Erland said, his voice barely a whisper. He waved a hand as if dismissing a lazy fly. Within seconds the pair stood and wandered away as if they'd suddenly decide to go outside for a cigarette break.
He seemed preoccupied with something and his pause was starting to get to me. Had Dauple told him about the Wendigo? It was entirely possible. "Look, I know I'm not officially employed right now, but I had no choice-"
"Whatever you've done, Morgan, I don't want to know about it. It's most likely none of my business but even if it is, we'll just let it lie." His eyes flashed as they bore into mine. "How are you?"
"Fine. I guess. It's been nice having time off."
"Good, because I think you should take more. You'd mentioned wanting to dig into your past. Does your father still live in Thornton?"
"I think so. We don't talk much."
Erland smiled. "I understand. I have little contact with my parents myself."
This took me by surprise. I tried to dial back my reaction but the very idea of him having parents or family was wholly unexpected, nearly inconceivable.
He drummed his fingers on the table. "You know the other agents are talking. Right? About you."
"I heard."
"I know your opinion of them, Morgan. Sometimes I share it. They can be unconventional but better the devil you know. Still, can you blame them for talking? That business at the asylum..."
"I don't-"
"The Council has issued a summons. You'll need to appear before them. They've asked me to bring you in but I'm fairly sure that's not a good idea for anyone right now. I'm going to hold off for a while but I want you to stick around. Stay on hand." He took a sip of wine and gazed toward the window. "The city's changing. You don't need me to tell you that. The forces we're battling are increasing in numbers. And viciousness. It's like something's calling them. A beacon, if you will. That shade in the asylum..."
"He said his name was Stroud."
"Indeed. Well, the Council has decided that discussion of the incident is strictly off limits. And they've ordered all loose ends surrounding the event to be cleared up. I fear you might be considered one yourself."
"Cleared up?"
"Any creatures that escaped the asylum have been tracked and eliminated. At least those that were foolish enough to speak of their presence there. I've no idea what the Council has in mind for you. It may be a caution, but it could be more. Either way I'd rather you were off their radar for now. Let the situation blow over, if it can."
"Right."
"So I'm suggesting you extend your break. Go forth and know thyself." Erland sipped his wine and dabbed his lips with his handkerchief. "Visit your father. Take this time to discover whatever you can."
"And you want me to do that because?"
"Because I know almost as little about you
as you know yourself, Morgan. You probably don't need me to remind you how hard it was to assess you when you first came to the Organization."
"I remember." My training and evaluation had been extensive. Combat, basic magic, as well as lots of people trying to peer into my mind. Seeking to learn whether I was an asset or enemy. They'd found nothing.
"You were an enigma, your talent for magic almost unrivaled as far as new recruits went. Off the charts. And then there were the other skills; your knowledge of swordsmanship being one. Why? How? Where did you come from?"
"Your guess is as good as mine."
"Let's stop guessing. Go and delve because for all we know you might have other talents that may come in useful." Erland sighed. "Something bad is coming to the city, or maybe this entire world. And when it does, I'm going to need all the reliable assets I can find. So go visit your father. Discover what you can and share your findings with me. Off the record of course."
"Sure."
"Good. And once you're done there I want you to take a little detour to a town called Copperwood Falls. It's less than a hundred miles from where your father lives."
"What's in Copperwood Falls?"
"Maybe nothing, but there's been some chatter. Might be a crystal farm. If there is, I need you to shut it down. The less dark magic making its way into the city, the better." Erland smiled. "You see how efficient I am? Killing two birds with one stone."
An image of bluebirds came to my mind. And an owl with deep black eyes. But I dismissed them.
"See what you can do, just don't get caught." Erland reached into the pocket of his overcoat and pushed an envelope to me. "Lost earnings. And visit the armory before you leave town. Take whatever you need. If there is a crystal farm, the cartel will be well armed."
"Right."
"Good. I'll make sure Bastion's on his own tomorrow. Go and see him."
"This sounds suspiciously like a job."