Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters: Council of the Hunters

by D. C. McGannon

  “So I see. And you, girl. Good job, not giving up on your brother. Well done.”

  Lisa smiled, sucking in a pained breath, tears streaming down her face. Thick, black eyeliner became war paint on her pale face.

  “Nash, m’boy.”

  Nash stood tall. “Hey, Loch!”

  “Darcy.”

  Darcy couldn’t help but run over to give the weary guardian a hug. He grunted, wincing as she squeezed his ribs.

  Finally, Loch nodded at Charlie. He said so much without speaking. Charlie could see pride in his mentor’s eyes. “Charlie.”

  Charlie couldn’t speak. He smiled and bowed his head, tears welling in his own eyes. They still weren’t out of the woods, but with Loch there, Charlie felt a weight slide off of his soul.

  “Welcome back to the world of the living,” said Wotan.

  Loch ignored him. “Priest, Bartholome. Thank you for coming to the aid of my students, and for believing in them. To the rest of my fellow council members, I would ask what in the name of all that is right and worthy were you thinking, if I didn’t already know about the demons in our midst.”

  “Demons?” asked Wotan. “What blasphemous drivel are you on about?”

  “Don’t play the ignorant, Wotan. Hunter’s Key has shown me everything that has happened while I was asleep. I’ve seen you consort with the demon that casts its shadow over Hunter’s Grove.”

  Ashikaga and Naifeh both made a sharp turn of their eyes in Wotan’s direction.

  Gregory chuckled, returning their short looks with amusement. “Are you sure you were not experiencing fever dreams? Are you sure you aren’t still in one? You are accusing council members of the very thing we are trying to keep from happening with these young hunters.”

  “I’ve seen it myself,” said Bartholome. “Or should I say, my amis have seen and communicated it to me.”

  “You mean your puppets? Your own personal demons?” Wotan retorted. “And this coming from the man whose private jet the demon chose to escape with. I have to wonder.”

  Loch removed his hand from his face. Darcy gasped, and Charlie felt a thrill of confused curiosity. “Enough with the ad hominem, Wotan,” Loch said. “You can’t argue with this.”

  Loch’s right eye was different—blood red, as it was when he used the Sight, but with his crystal blue iris still visible. Usually only the pupil was visible when a person used the Sight. A ruddy liquid rimmed his eye, leaking from the tear duct. “I see the mark of evil on you.”

  Wotan laughed at Loch. “You caught me. The game is up.” He stood quickly, knocking his chair back. Both hands were already in the air, and the room became still, static, as the Warden, Wotan Gregory, exercised his power over everyone in the room. They were arrested, frozen in mixed stages of reaction—Kepi Naifeh remained seated, a look of critical shock written over face, while Charlie and the others had begun to spring from their seats. Only Elizabeth Witherington was allowed to stand, her eyes like obsidian, and with dark shadows gathering around her arms and shoulders like ghostly fabrics.

  “I think it’s time I take my leave,” said Wotan as two gargoyles moved to apprehend him from their perches in the shadows of the room.

  With his hold on the hunters and faoladh released, all manner of chaos erupted. As Elizabeth grew less and less human, shadows swept off of her to swarm the room. A small figure began to appear from behind her among the dark wisps, peering out. Charlie vaulted over the table, and with Wotan occupied he could again engage his Sight. Elizabeth was completely bound in the creature’s dark magic, and violent wisps were quickly ripping through the room.

  He could feel the dark magic try to wrap itself around him. Charlie looked into Elizabeth’s black eyes, feeding her images of Darcy, of her friends, of Hunter’s Key and all the work she had put in to restore the old mansion. He thought about Hecate and the Dark Prince and all of those moments in which he had seen true evil, hoping to wake up the hunter inside her. He grabbed her shoulders, tackling her to the ground and holding her there.

  A moment later, her small puppeteer, appearing as a pale and dirty child in rags, stood in front of him, eye level with Charlie. The thing giggled, grabbing hold of Charlie’s cheek. He felt his body burn in anguish.

  Several feet away, Wotan shouted strange words and a gargoyle exploded into pieces. The other stone construct was knocked back by the force of the blast, and Gregory used his power to freeze the construct. Keeping an eye on the stone beast, he dug a black piece of paper from his pocket and threw it on the ground. It landed flat, much heavier than paper should have, and burned up in a flash, leaving behind an occult symbol.

  “Is it true, Wotan? Did you betray us?”

  Without releasing his hold on the gargoyle, Wotan turned, stepping carefully around the piece of paper. Naifeh stood there, scimitar in hand, blades flaring out all around her, poised to fly at Wotan.

  “Kepi, darling. Don’t you ever just get bored with it all?”

  “You are just as disgusting as they are!” Knives and darts came forward in a dazzling wave, slicing through the air with lethal beauty. Wotan dodged, yet several of the longer blades ripped the front of his jacket to shreds. She stepped forward to follow him, which was precisely what he knew she would do.

  As Naifeh rushed forward with her blades, Wotan released the gargoyle, transitioning his attention to her instead. She froze in mid-swing, and with a small pocketknife he cut a deep gash into her arm, spilling blood onto the black page on the floor. The gargoyle recovered and leapt for Wotan as he moved out of the way, and the symbol from the black page erupted into flames. A hand shot through the flames—a diseased thing with four decrepit digits, claws chipped and cankered. It grabbed the gargoyle by the leg, and the stone construct’s momentum pulled whatever the arm belonged to out of the portal. From the fire in the floor, a foul monster revealed itself, green skin with spots of disease that smoldered like ash. Two horns wrapped from its head and around through its torso, piercing its back and exposing the blackness within it. One of the beast’s eyes was gouged, and the other was a churning void. The gargoyle clawed mercilessly at its face and, in kind, the monster tossed the guardian across the room.

  Hunter’s Key shuddered. Two more arms shot through the portal, and then another, and several more, each a pair or some odd number of limbs connected to a decomposing existence which the hunters soon realized to be demon Lessers.

  Priest and Ashikaga were already contending against the first demon to emerge from the portal, trying to keep up with the increasing flow. Ashikaga fought with his sword and a strange gift that shot flashes of fire from his snapping fingers. It did little more than blind the monsters, but it gave him enough time to step in and slice into them with masterful strokes of his ancient blade. The demons were not so easy to kill, though, as the younger group of hunters had discovered the day before.

  “Not so fast, Wotan,” warned Loch as the traitorous council member attempted to casually leave the room amidst the confusion. He pushed off from Fish and Dink. “I want to know just how deep your treachery lies.”

  “Can’t you see all with that shiny new eye of yours?”

  “I’ve seen what I needed to while you were sneaking around this house. What I want to know is, how long have you been working as an agent of our enemies?”

  “Who can say?” said Wotan. “The Ancients are beyond the scope of our understanding. Maybe we all are acting under their influence without realizing it. Me? I’m just tired of holding off the inevitable.”

  “I’m shocked. You were never the submissive type.”

  “That is true. And when our little world ends, I would like some measure of luxury while the rest of humanity slaves away under their rule.”

  “I know it isn’t the first time I’ve said it today, but you are a fool,” Loch repeated. “To think they would give you a place at their side. The Ancients didn’t even care about their own kind, from what the old stories tell us. What makes you think they’ll care about
a human like you?”

  Wotan smiled. “Trust me. I’ve seen enough proof.” He raised his hand, intending to place Loch in a static state, as well as Fish and Dink behind him. The two woodsmen gritted their teeth, bodies locking up against their will, but Loch was another story. The rough hunter, albeit stiff and slow, raised his hand toward Wotan, blazing a pinkish-blue energy. Wotan, surprised that anyone could resist his gift—especially a man who had just woken up from a vicious coma—barely moved aside in time, and the side of his thigh was grazed by the Loch’s projected magic, a seared hole in his pant leg.

  With his leg in immense pain, he lost his focus, and the three men suddenly had him cornered. Fish and Dink grabbed whatever they could as soon as they were free to move again—meaning a mace from an empty suit of armor for Fish, and in Dink’s case, a marble bust of Aristotle. Loch had another spell of pink and blue ready to go, although the effort to maintain his use of magic seemed to tire him quickly.

  “I would suggest not raising your hands,” Loch said in a low growl.

  Suddenly, Charlie screamed, and Loch couldn’t help but look for his pupil. Gargoyles descended from the ceiling, shattered remnants of stained-glass windows showered the room, and hunters, council members, and faoladh alike were fighting a stalemate against the demon plague. Loch clenched his jaw when he saw Darcy laboring to pry Charlie away from Elizabeth Witherington, who stood tall, radiating with dark magic.

  The instant Loch looked away, Wotan muttered a spell under his breath, causing Fish and Dink to fly backward. Fish crashed painfully into a set of chairs, and Dink stretched flat against a wall. Wotan kicked Loch’s hand aside, wincing again as the magic burned through his shoe, and rushed forward to clench the elder’s neck.

  Loch glared deep into Wotan’s cold and manic eyes.

  “It’s me or the boy,” Wotan rasped into Loch’s ear before slamming an elbow into the hunter’s temple.

  The room spun dark, for how long Loch couldn’t be sure. However long he had blacked out was long enough for Wotan to exit. He pushed himself up to a seated position.

  “You all right?” Fish asked.

  Loch grunted as he stood. “I’m fine. Find Wotan. Don’t let him leave the Key!”

  Fish nodded, pulled Dink to his feet, and the two left running after the traitor.

  Pushing the worry of Wotan out of his mind, Loch focused on his students, particularly on Charlie. There were too many demons to ignore, but the hunters and faoladh were doing their best to deal with them. Intervening with Charlie and Elizabeth would have to come first. The poor boy was hovering at her fingertips, splayed out in the air with ropes of dark magic trying to find purchase in his Sight and in his mind. Loch would have none of that.

  Although using his right eye was agonizing, he looked deeper, seeing new things that even the Sight hadn’t revealed before. He knew straightaway where to go to deal with the problem. He focused his glare on Elizabeth, and she stumbled, dropping Charlie.

  Loch entered the fray. A stray demon flew in front of him, two bolts of lightning hammering it through the air. He dodged the scab, and was thankful when Aisling jumped in front of him, stunning the impish devil with a twirling strike from her braided sap. The club was magically spelled, leaving a burn mark against its face. She had seen Charlie’s plight, and that Loch was on his way to help. Looking over her shoulder, she told Loch, “Go help him. I’ve got this one.”

  Loch nodded his appreciation and kept going. Although still weak, he was steadfast and used a chair as a stepping stool, marching over the top of the council’s table, past the two faoladh, who were successfully draining the spiritual energy from a demon, banishing its physical form and tearing its spiritual hold in this world to shreds. The beast disappeared in a vortex of flames.

  “Watch out!” Lisa cried as a large demon with leather wings hurtled through the air, crashing into the table in front of Loch. It reared up on thick hind legs, roaring in his face. Loch sighed in frustration as the spawn attempted to spit an acidic spell into his eyes. “My morning breath is worse, I guarantee it.” He placed a foot into the demon’s chest and pushed it off the table before it could retaliate. Connor took over from there, keeping it occupied with tooth and claw.

  Loch marched past Charlie, ducking under a gargoyle busy crushing an imp in its talons. He met Elizabeth face-to-face, grabbed her by the neck, and kept moving forward toward the corner of the walls behind her. He grit his teeth as his former pupil dug her claws into his wrists, attacking him both physically and with hate-filled magic.

  In the shadows, thinking he was invisible to everyone, the monster controlling Elizabeth crouched. Realizing Loch could see him, the small witchspawn—Dub—attempted to scurry away. Loch quickly secured a hold on Dub’s neck, holding both Dub and Elizabeth at arm’s length, focusing on the blackness inside both of them.

  “Right, you. Your rent is up. Get out of my house.”

  Dub reverted into the image of a small child again, playing on human sympathy, but Loch had fallen for that once, months prior. Not again. He spoke a quick fire spell—nothing fancy, but enough that Dub was engulfed in preternatural flames. Only then did Loch let him go. He kept a hand secured on Elizabeth, a risky way of helping to channel the darkness out of her.

  Dub screamed—an eerie sound mixing a child’s cry for help and a witch’s howl of hate and pain. The scream sunk into the material foundation of the room, causing even the demons to pause for a moment.

  Watching Loch deal with Dub and her mother, Darcy was dragging a still unconscious Charlie toward the table, trying to avoid the chaos of battle. Aisling rushed beside her, startling Darcy.

  “How is he?” the Irish girl asked, brushing the hair from Charlie’s forehead. He was covered in cold sweat, a grimace on his face from Elizabeth’s torment.

  Darcy shook her head, scared.

  Aisling set down her sap and helped her drag Charlie the last few feet, before beginning a healing spell. It didn’t take long for Charlie to gain enough strength to sit up again.

  Crumpling on the ground in flames, Dub folded in on himself, waves of dark magic being sucked back into his center. The flames burned on as Dub attempted to shapeshift and scatter into a plague of rats, scampering in different directions.

  Loch spoke a few words under his breath, increasing the magical strength of the flames. It took more of the precious energy he lacked, but he wanted Dub out of the Key and out of his life for good. He waited until every rat lay exterminated on the floor before cancelling the spell.

  Loch probably would have collapsed, had he not needed to catch Elizabeth. His former student was unconscious, pale and sick, but her features were no longer warped by the sinister strain of the witchspawn. She was safe now.

  Charlie limped up next to his mentor, Aisling not far behind.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” he told Loch, his voice cracking from exhaustion and the effects of vile magic.

  Loch turned around. He looked Charlie over with a critical eye—moments ago, the young man had been screaming his lungs out. “You’re okay, then?”

  “Yeah. I’m okay.”

  “Good.” Loch pulled Charlie into a one-armed hug.

  “Is it true the Key showed you things while you were asleep?”

  “I saw everything that’s happened within these walls.”

  Charlie felt a lump rise in his throat. “I messed up.”

  “In more ways than you know. We have a lot to talk about. But before that, know that though you were a little rough around the edges, you did good, m’boy. You put your nose to the grindstone and it’s made you a fine leader. Now get back to it. I want these scabs out of here.”

  Charlie nodded, blinking away the mist in his eyes, and drew his dagger, rejoining the fight.

  With Wotan and Dub out of the picture, the tide of battle changed rapidly. What had taken all the fight they could muster the day before to banish two demons, Charlie now saw Priest, Naifeh, and Bartholome do repeatedly, efficien
tly, to these Lesser devils. Priest was particularly impressive, quoting spells and ancient scriptures in the same breath, swinging his sword like a holy warrior. He pinned one demon to the ground with his blade and reached down, invoking loudly as he snapped the creature’s neck. It dissipated rapidly over the floorboards.

  Naifeh and Ashikaga worked together. She stood over the hellish portal of fire, speaking a long-form incantation in an old dialect of high-Egyptian as she drew open another vein, allowing blood to drip into the flames again. All the while, Ashikaga danced back and forth, sending bursts of fire and light into the eyes of demons that approached Naifeh, trying to stop her. The Asian council member looked stiff on any other day, but in battle he nimbly darted around like his nickname suggested—the Firefly of Shimane. His katana mesmerized, lopping off more than a few arms and legs, although it merely caused the devils to pause.

  Most frightening to watch, perhaps, was Bartholome, his shiny black teeth revealed by a battle-hungry grin. Six ghastly monsters wreathed in purple and black fought alongside the man. He, along with his undead puppets, would reach inside a demon with a non-gloved hand and mutter powerful words, sucking the demon into a doll and then ripping it to shreds, laughing all the while. The shreds of burlap burned with purple fire on the way down. He was nothing if not sadistically thorough.

  Charlie did what he could to help as well, but he and his team were mainly mopping up and keeping the demons subdued until Priest or Bartholome got around to finishing them off. Not long after, the fight was over, leaving Naifeh to finish removing the portal from the floor. It vanished in a flash just as another gnarly claw reached through and quickly disintegrated without the rest of its body.

  At last, a peaceful silence filled the room. The hunters looked around at each other, acknowledged their victory, and each found a chair or window seat to collapse onto. Loch fell against the table, Charlie coming to his side for support. Together, he and Aisling maneuvered Loch into a chair, where he leaned back, breathing heavy.

  “All right,” he said with a thin, weary voice. “Let us revisit this horrible decision now with all of the facts.”