Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters: Council of the Hunters

by D. C. McGannon

Fish pulled out a long-handled, silver, antiquated flashlight, shining the beam over a few of the buildings. Dink jumped when the light revealed the snarling maw of a bear—a bear crudely carved from wood and placed in front of an abandoned feed store.

  “You got the jitterbugs?” Fish asked, looking at his friend with mock concern.

  “Heck no, not me, no way.”

  Something hit Fish’s windshield, this time making them all jump.

  “That wasn’t no wooden bear,” said Dink.

  “A squirrel, perhaps?” suggested Priest.

  Once again, a tap on the windshield. This time they saw a small rock hit it, bouncing onto the hood of the truck.

  “Angry squirrel,” said Dink.

  Fish shook his head, motioning for quiet. They listened, but didn’t hear anything. Then Fish rushed forward, followed by Dink. Priest was about to ask what was going on when he heard the rocks scatter and saw the small, dark shape scampering across the abandoned road. Far too large to be any rodent, and the last time he checked, the smaller wildlife here didn’t alternate between two legs and four while running.

  “Go right, Dink!” Fish called, motioning with his flashlight. Then the beam disappeared, throwing them into darkness. Priest lost sight of his companions, hearing only their muted footfalls and the small patter of feet ahead. The creature was breathing heavy— raspy, wet, hushed sounds in the night. It wasn’t long until that was the only thing Priest could hear. Something snagged his foot, and Priest fell face-first into the ground.

  He jumped to his feet, knees complaining from the hard impact, and looked at the ground. He made out a tree stump in the darkness and realized they were entering the territory of the saw mill. So much for checking the town first.

  Priest ran forward again, slower, and more careful to avoid the remnants of felled trees. Up ahead he heard an angry shriek.

  “He’s coming your way!” Fish cried from the same direction. Priest saw the sportive figure this time, with Fish and Dink not far behind it, and drew his sword. The small monster stopped in front of him, falling on its hind quarters and panting nervously. Priest pointed his sword.

  “Wait!” said Fish. “Is that ... ? Dräng, is that you?”

  Priest dropped the tip of his sword to the dirt, squinting into the night. Floppy ears, two large eyes reflecting the sparse moonlight, and long, gangly fingers, cowered in front of him.

  “Behind the spooky building is your friend,” Dräng told them. Then he smiled sadly, pointy teeth glinting, and said, “Don’t be telling Missus Elizabeth. No troubles for you or for me. The nasty ones have ears everywhere.”

  “Wait,” said Priest, reaching for the tomte, but he was already off into the night, running away from the saw mill.

  The three men looked at each other solemnly. The moment was bittersweet. It was the first time in months anyone had seen or heard from the little monster, and there was gravity to Dräng’s words.

  “We should get a hurry on,” said Fish. “I like this place less and less the longer we’re here.”

  Dink pointed at a warehouse directly before them, one that Dräng had been running toward. “Spooky building. I think he meant for us to go in.”

  Fish banged the head of his flashlight until it clicked on again, illuminating a doorway that looked like a gateway to some backwoods haunted house. “Who wants to go first?” Priest rolled his eyes, walking into the darkness.

  The smell of death inside was thick, but otherwise seemed normal for an abandoned, run-down mill. They pushed through the old warehouse, staying close together, watching the odd shapes of dead machinery, waiting for the frightful haunt of something to mysteriously turn on and start moving. Running into a large sliding door covered with graffiti and obscenities, they swallowed their discomfort and threw it aside.

  The stench of dead things grew more intense. Fish shined his light around the room once, and then refrained from doing so again after seeing things that he would rather have not seen. All manner of skeletons and animal carcasses had been hung and displayed around the room. Priest scowled, reminded of why he hated demons. “I doubt the men who worked this mill had a taste for this type of décor.”

  “Come on,” said Fish. “I see the door over there.”

  They spent no more time than needed in that room. It was small enough to see every corner and, the fact was, Chen was not there. They burst through the back door, glad to breathe in the open air. Priest stretched his neck upward, feeling relief spread throughout his body, when his eyes spotted something in the moonlight. A mere twenty yards, or less, ahead of them, the shape of man hung, arms and legs outstretched, framed by two pieces of thick lumber jutting from the ground.

  Cautiously, Priest crept forward, wanting to make sure of what he saw.

  The person lifted his head. It was Chen! “Watch ... watch out!”

  Priest drew his sword a moment before he saw the firelight. Walking out of the building they had just trailed through was Donnie Wickles, a fiery glyph carved into his hands. Fish and Dink couldn’t turn around fast enough before blasts of fire knocked them to the ground.

  “You weren’t supposed to show up here yet,” said Donnie, looking pleased anyway.

  Priest raised his free hand, hoping to plead with the troubled bully. “Stop what you’re doing, lad! Don’t you see what that demon is doing?”

  “Does it matter? I’m having the time of my life!” Donnie laughed, picking up Fish’s flashlight. The metal immediately began to melt in his hand, and he threw the burning pieces at Priest. The hunter spun out of the way—a mistake, as Donnie was already there, floating at eye level. Priest felt a flash of heat and saw a burning fist before he blacked out.

  Priest came to a while later and scrambled off of his back, unsure of how long he had blacked out. Fish and Dink were there, trying to wake him up. They held their own foreheads, scraped and bruised from being ambushed.

  “Chen?” Priest asked.

  Fish shook his head, frustration written over his face. Priest turned around. The space between the two wooden pillars was empty, highlighted by the moonlight.

  Elizabeth closed the front door as softly as she could manage. Darcy, who had been on her way to the living room with her laptop under her arm, stopped at the top of the stairs.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  Elizabeth looked up, leaning against the banister. “Hi, Darcy. How was your day?”

  Darcy thought about the fight between Charlie and Lisa and decided not to mention it. Her mom looked stressed enough as it was. “It was a really good day. Seeing Aisling was pretty cool.” Then changing the subject, she asked, “What’s wrong? You look ...”

  “Irritated?” she snapped. “It’s just the other council members. They are a like a group of children, and playing host is like being a babysitter. We’re waiting on Bartholome, who was supposed to arrive today. Originally, the meeting was to take place tomorrow, but now it will probably be postponed until Saturday. I have a feeling I’ll have to put up with the lot of them for longer than I had planned.”

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, Darcy?”

  “Do you think they’ll accept us as hunters?”

  Elizabeth sighed. “I don’t know, Darcy. Loch really should have waited to make you a part of our society and gone about this the proper way.”

  Darcy was worried about her mother. Elizabeth Witherington wasn’t the type to do things the ‘official’ way, and had approved of their actions thus far without any objections. Something about the way she was acting and speaking these days sent a shiver up Darcy’s spine.

  Elizabeth squinted at her daughter. “There isn’t anything I need to know about, is there?”

  “What? Of course not,” Darcy smiled, trying to hide her nervousness. “Hey, I’ve got to finish up this history homework or my teacher is going to fail me on this assignment. You should get some rest.”

  Elizabeth rubbed her eyes. “I will. You too.” She turned out of the hallway toward her bedroom, leavi
ng Darcy behind with a sick feeling.

  Chapter 10

  Charlie eyed the janitor as he shoved his backpack into his locker. The man looked like the demon for a split second.

  Maybe I’m seeing things.

  Lisa and Liev passed by and Charlie forgot the janitor. He turned to put his backpack away, before realizing he had already done so. Closing the locker door was more of a slam than he’d meant it to be.

  “You all right, man?”

  “Of course not, it’s still morning,” Charlie answered Nash with a fake smile.

  “Fair enough.”

  The class bell rang and Charlie glanced over his shoulder, making sure the twins were a good distance toward their class before he started walking, Nash close behind.

  “So what was that about last night?” Nash asked.

  “What?”

  “You and Lisa going at it.”

  Charlie shrugged, but didn’t answer.

  “Are you two going to keep fighting? I mean, now really isn’t the time. Kiss and make up already. You have kissed her before, right?” he added with an elbow.

  “I’m not the one with the problem. Talk to her. I’m fine. And cut it out with the romance crap. It isn’t helping.”

  Charlie’s homeroom was a few steps away. Nash growled in frustration. “Charlie—”

  “By the way, did the last council member ever show up last night?” Charlie stopped, hovering outside the door to his class.

  Nash frowned at his friend’s change of topic. “No clue. We all left after you two stormed out.”

  “Hello, Charlie,” a bemused voice said from inside the classroom. His teacher. “Are you joining us this morning?”

  “See you at lunch,” Charlie said.

  Nash nodded, watching his friend trudge into the classroom with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He shook his head and ran to class.

  “It would be cute,” Darcy whispered, “if there wasn’t a demon after us and if a bunch of old people weren’t about to disband us.”

  “What would be?” asked Nash.

  She pointed her fork at the lunch line, letting the prongs slide from Charlie to a few feet behind him, where Lisa was desperately trying not to look forward. Liev waved back at Nash and Darcy, looking bored.

  “They’re being stupid,” Nash said. “There’s enough to worry about as it is.”

  “Speaking of which, have you seen Donnie today?”

  “He’s still absent.”

  They lapsed into silence. One day without Donnie was nice, but now everyone wondered what he was up to.

  Charlie sat down next to Nash, breaking their worried lines of thought. A few seconds later, Lisa and Liev joined them. In an instant, the table was transformed into a battlefield of silence.

  Nash looked at Charlie. “So about—”

  The cafeteria door slammed open, thundering through the large room. The five hunters were on their feet, forks and knives raised like weapons. The twins were crackling with energy, and Charlie’s eyes burned red.

  In the doorway stood a tall man dressed in a ragged suit, a top hat tilted on his head. He saw the hunters, eyes bugging as he let loose a deep laugh that seemed to engulf the school. He clapped, and walked toward them slowly.

  Like someone turning the volume knob on a stereo, the noisy room hushed to a whisper. One by one, students froze in their seats or in the lunch line, all eyes locking on the eccentric man who was not shy about making his presence known.

  “Bravo, bravo!” the man boomed. “Although I doubt you would be able to do much against any real threat with those plastic forks and knives, I do like your esprit.”

  “Who are you?” demanded Charlie, seeing dark magic rolling off the man in waves. Charlie’s hand grasped the silver dagger in his backpack, still concealed. He felt naked without his spear, unarmed and unprepared.

  The man stopped a few tables away from them, tipping his top hat with a deep bow. “Emmanuel Bartholome. It is a pleasure to finally meet you all.” Straightening, he smiled at them, revealing two jet-black canines. He looked Charlie in the eye—not something most people could stomach. “I mean you no harm, so you can put away your plastic wares, and remove your hand from the silver dagger.”

  Charlie didn’t let go. “If you mean us no harm, then why are you here?”

  Elizabeth Witherington appeared in the open doorway behind the strange man. She was out of breath and pushed off the doorframe, propelling herself into the still frozen lunch hall.

  “Emmanuel! You can’t just barge into their school like this.”

  Emmanuel Bartholome turned, hands spread in an apologetic gesture. “It is their break for lunch. I have not disrupted their studies.”

  “That ... that is not ...” Elizabeth put a hand on her forehead, exasperated.

  “I only wish for a little demonstration, madam. To think over my decision, before I make it.”

  She sighed. “Fine.” Elizabeth looked over the cafeteria. Every student watched with rapt attention, unsure as to what was about to unfold. “Darcy, Charlie, guys, come this way. You can finish your lunches later.”

  Charlie looked at his team.

  Crazy, Nash mouthed at him.

  Suspicious, but not having much of a choice, they left their table—and their lunches—and followed Elizabeth and Bartholome into the hall. Darcy’s mom led them to the auditorium, not far down the empty hallway. Charlie brought his backpack, silver dagger in reach if he needed it. He watched Bartholome like a hawk, but despite the magic that clung to him like a heavy coat, the strange man didn’t do anything out of the ordinary.

  Entering the auditorium, they walked up to the stage. The young hunters wondered what Bartholome meant by a demonstration. Now he stood next to Darcy’s mother, whose arms were crossed, and who was clearly unhappy with the situation.

  “Nash, Charlie. Why don’t you two start? Spar for me.”

  Confused, the other hunters made space while Charlie and Nash faced each other. Nash shrugged and Charlie nodded. They began.

  Nash started with a kick, which Charlie dodged, countering with a straight jab. It was blocked easily, and Nash countered with a jab-hook-uppercut-low kick combo. Charlie ducked and bobbed through the flurry, then shot underneath, tackling his friend to the hard ground. They both grunted from the impact.

  “Stop!” Bartholome ordered with a commanding voice.

  Charlie’s fist hung in the air, and Nash punched him in the face, knocking Charlie off balance.

  “Sorry!” hissed Nash. “I didn’t mean that.”

  The two looked up at Bartholome and Elizabeth, whose face was buried in her hand.

  Bartholome pulled two contorted figures out of his jacket lining. They were dolls. Dolls made of burlap and straw, held together by bits of twine. “Perhaps if we try something different,” he said, throwing the dolls in the air and muttering words in his own, unrecognizable language.

  Once in the air, the dolls did not fall to the ground, but instead hovered there by some unseen force. Slowly, as if he had all of the time in the world, Bartholome took two more objects from his inner pocket. One was a hairy, dried claw. The other, what looked like a bird’s beak. With more pieces of twine, he secured the beak to one doll and the claw to the other. Still muttering under his breath, he stepped back. A black and purple mist appeared around the dolls, growing in strange protrusions, congealing, solidifying, until a werewolf and a strange humanoid with a birdlike face and tattered black wings appeared. The humanoid held a sword in hand.

  Charlie felt the skin of his neck prickle as he used his Sight to discern the monsters before him. Each was very much alive, although they looked like they shouldn’t be. As soon as the last bits and pieces of each monster were complete, they began to move, flexing stiff muscles and sore wings, clenching claws, baring teeth.

  “Go on,” encouraged Bartholome. “Have at them.”

  Charlie looked around for his backpack but, noticing the monsters looking at Bartholome,
and seeing Bartholome nod at the werewolf, he realized the man was speaking to the monsters. Not to him and Nash.

  “Holy ...!” exclaimed Nash. The werewolf howled, launching itself forward. Charlie had just enough time to roll out of the way, landing roughly next to his backpack. He reached inside and found his dagger, feeling hot breath on his neck. He turned and jumped, surprised to see black cords of energy holding the beast back.

  “Any day now, Charlie!” Lisa said, struggling with the creature. Behind her, Darcy and Liev struggled to hold Nash on the ground as the avian monster was attempting to lift him into the air.

  “Now, five against two isn’t fair is it?” said Bartholome. Charlie dodged a swipe of the werewolf’s claws and chanced a look at Bartholome, mortified to see three more dolls in the air, already bound to monstrous body parts—an eyeball, a complete jaw, and a pointed ear.

  “Emmanuel, this is going too far,” Mrs. Witherington warned.

  “Let it be, amie. Let it be.”

  Seeing that Darcy’s mom was doing exactly that, Charlie didn’t wait for the next three dolls to finish forming.

  He looked into the werewolf’s eyes, tried to use the Sight to enter its mind but was met with a coldness that physically hurt him—a sentience that felt void of actual life.

  He shook it off. Another person might have crumbled, but in the last year Charlie had held an entire town in his mind, had a malevolent death curse ravage through his body, and seen—truly seen—an old god for what it really was.

  Charlie wrenched open his eyes and dove into the werewolf, relying on brute action instead. His dagger met its throat and, with a few forceful tugs of the blade, the werewolf’s head fell backward, all but severed.

  Lisa yanked on the cords of her energy, throwing the werewolf body behind her into an oncoming creature whose form was all points and angles; from its pale, pointed ears to its sharpened claws and needles for teeth. It was heaved aside like a bowling pin.

  Another monster was quickly upon them, this one a chimerical cross between a monkey and a tiger. With her gift, Lisa wrapped its legs like a lasso, and one quick blow to the nape of the neck from Charlie’s dagger caused it to fall still. They looked for the others—Darcy was fighting the bird-man, the creature diving at her without effect, trying to pick her up with taloned fingers only to phase through, while Nash and Liev were tag-teaming a Cyclops. An oversized Cyclops. Liev tore at its shins with fingers that had transformed into wolf claws, while bolts of lightning flew from Nash’s foot into the giant’s chest.