Full Moonster [BUREAU 13 Book Three]

by Nick Pollotta

  Both of the remaining creatures went stock-still and tiny wisps of steam rose from the bits scattered about on the floor. Equally exhausted, I slumped to floor hoping to land on something soft. I missed.

  Dumbfounded, my team stared with slack jaws.

  "How the hell did that happen?” Mindy croggled, lowering her weapon.

  "Impossible!” Father Donaher gasped.

  "Mon du!” George added unexpectedly in French.

  Raul spun about. “And when the bloody heck did you get your telepathic powers back?"

  Just now, she sent softly, fingering the glowing necklace in her hands.

  "Happy birthday,” I groaned from behind the ruin of the bed.

  The team rushed forward and helped me to my feet.

  No pain, sent Jess.

  Instantly, my throbbing head pieced itself together. Gracias, hon.

  You're welcome, pumpkin.

  Sssh!

  Sheathing her sword, Mindy helped me into a chair, while Raul gave me a bottle of Healing potion and George offered a beer. As I thanked each of them, I gazed hard into the faces of my teammates. Okay, apparently nobody had received the dreaded ‘P’ word. My pride was yet intact.

  "Report,” Father Donaher ordered, in a good impression of me.

  I took a healthy swig from the Healing potion and my bruises went away. Then I took a swallow from the beer and my thirst went away. Alternating sips from the two bottles, I gave the pertinent details: Mathais, rune, safe, statues, balls.

  Sitting boneless in a chair, his feet dangling, Raul massaged his chin. “So the Brotherhood can track a ‘port. I'll have to do some work on that."

  "Definitely,” I agreed.

  Just then, Katrina jerked her head. “Raul!” she screamed, pointing.

  Weapons at the ready, we turned to see the angry manager of the motel stepping through the doorway. Raul gestured so hard and fast to cancel the earlier spell he fell out of his chair, but the man stayed in one piece as he walked into the room. Whew, that was close.

  "What the hell is going on here!” the manager stormed. His nametag said ‘Fred', and the bulge over his belt said ‘diet'.

  Moving fast, Jessica took his head in her hands and he went motionless. “We are a famous rock band,” she said aloud to reinforce the hypnotic illusion. “We're here in disguise to escape our fans. We have given you a deposit of five—"

  Always overly generous, Father Donaher lifted a pack of cash from our emergency stash.

  "...ten thousand dollars for any damages we might incur to your property. You interrupted us in the middle of an orgy. You joined in for awhile, and now, totally sated, you're going back to the office for a nap.” She released his head.

  "Take care, gang,” he said with a wave and ambled away whistling a Madonna tune.

  Chuckling, I locked the door, Raul closed the window curtains, and George offered Katrina a robe.

  She looked puzzled, then laughed. “Da! Nudity taboo. Forget. I go finish shower.” Unconcerned, the natural blonde strolled into the bathroom with the grace of a panther and soon the sound of running water was heard again.

  "Conference,” I announced, pulling up a chair.

  "Wait,” Jessica commanded and slowly revolved once, twice.

  "There,” she sighed with a smile. “I've put everybody in the motel asleep again and sent the police off to the nearest donut shop."

  Will that accursed stereotype never die?

  Meanwhile, the rest of the team had gathered cushions and chairs around me to form a rough circle. That way we could talk face-to-face, and watch each others back. Since the bathroom door was open, I craned my neck and see that Katrina was listening from under the shower, while she lathered.

  Are you peeking?

  Good heavens no!

  "Okay, we have protection again,” I started, resting my arms on my knees. “What's the fastest way to get a replacement Bureau vehicle, so that we can go and crack this Hadleyville nut?"

  "The longer the Scion is left unsupervised, the harder it will be to stop them,” George stated.

  "Closest supply dump is our own in Chicago,” Mindy said, sitting cross-legged on the rumpled bed. “With Raul and Katrina to drained for a mass teleport or Gate, it'll take us five, six hours to drive there."

  "Only two, if we put Flash Renault behind the wheel,” Father Donaher gibed.

  Sucking on a fresh lollipop, George was not insulted. Our daredevil soldier firmly believed that highway speed limits where merely social guidelines to be used by the weak and confused.

  "We could ask for an air drop,” Raul suggested.

  Jess gave a snort. “Air drop an RV?"

  "Okay,” the wizard said. “Or how about a nice tank?"

  "A LAV-25 Fighting Machine would be better.” But then ever since I traveled backwards in time to fight dragons, the US Army Light Armored vehicles had a special place in my heart.

  Reloading his M60, George frowned. “Might as well announce ourselves to the media with a bullhorn if we're riding a LAV-25 down public streets. No armored vehicles. Period."

  "Humph,” Raul grumped, on his rump.

  "Then again, maybe we don't need an armored assault vehicle,” I said thinking aloud. That caught their attention.

  "What'cha mean, Ed?” Raul asked, leaning on his staff.

  "The Scion might think that we died on the Ohio highway,” I explained. “If so, we can sneak back, find out what they're doing and stop it before they even knew we're alive."

  From the expressions shown, my idea was met with general approval.

  "Jess, can you do a soft recon of that town and give us more information without endangering yourself?” I asked.

  My wife chewed a lip for a moment and then nodded. “Yes, I can do that. But it would help tremendously if I could see the place."

  "Any maps of West Virginia?” I asked the group.

  "In the RV,” Mindy answered, getting comfortable on the floor. “Burned to ashes."

  Floating in closer, Raul smiled as he tucked both feet underneath his butt. “There I can help. Mike? The hair, please."

  Smiling in understanding, Donaher reached inside his cassock and withdrew a white evidence envelope. Using tweezers, he pulled into view the werewolf hairs he had found on the corpses on the highway. How long ago was that, a million years?

  "Standard ritual?” Father Donaher asked, loosening his rosary.

  His fingers already crackling with power, Raul nodded and we prepare for the long-distance call. This was not going to be an easy task for mage or telepath. There was a good thousand miles to cover, with nobody on the other end that either was familiar with, plus it was hostile country patrolled by an enemy telepath as strong as Jess. Maybe better. Just your average day on the job.

  Clearing a spot in the wreckage, we laid a soft blanket on the floor and dimmed the lights. Placing the hairs in the middle of our circle, Raul gestured at them and a white spotlight illuminated the follicles. Then he began speaking under his breath, raising his voice in timber and volume until he shouted the last unintelligible word and lightning crackled from his staff to the hairs! Whew, what a stink.

  In ragged stages, a blob of light formed on the blanket, a splotch that moved and changed, flowed and reformed until it suddenly clarified into an aerial view of Hadleyville and the surrounding country. It was primarily the same as we last saw it, with but one notable exception.

  The hotel was gone. Only a flat-bottomed hole remained to show where the ten story structure had once stood.

  "Confirmation,” I barked, staring at the translucent three-dimensional image. “Is this the past, present, or future?"

  "Present,” Raul said, scrunching his face into a scowl.

  Mindy prodded at the vacant spot with the tip of her sword.

  "Blown up?” she asked. “Teleported away? Eaten? What did they do with it, Ra?"

  He gave a palms up shrug. “There is no way of telling."

  "Wait,” Jessica said in a soft
whispery voice. “There's a feeling ... a message..."

  Eyebrows rose.

  "A message from the Scion?” Mindy scoffed in amusement.

  "Or fan mail from some flounder?” George added softly.

  Speaking quietly, to not disturb my wife's concentration, I explained. “Telepathic residue. Hadleyville is so twisted in the different dimensions, it would have been unusual to discover there wasn't any ghostly thought from the residents."

  "Its very fuzzy,” Jessica spoke, her eyes closed in concentration. “Jumbled ... chaotic...."

  "That sounds like the Scion,” agreed Raul.

  Using his armored Bible, Father Donaher rapped the mage on the head and Raul got the hint. No jokes. This situation was too unclear. We needed information badly. Lots of it, and now. What was their master plan? Where was the Hadleyville Hotel? And what happened at the occult convention which started these events? Was it an isolated incident, or an event chain that we could somehow break?

  "Mostly there's hate,” Jess whispered hoarsely, her mental vision turned to infinity. “And disgust at the decadence of the world."

  We exchanged glances. Could that be the big reason? The Scion were ethical purists and wanted to destroy the world because civilization was so decadent?

  "But also a purpose,” she muttered. “And much happiness. The Day is coming soon, very soon."

  That sounded bad. We could hear the capital letter.

  "Which Day?” George demanded, taking notes.

  "Soon,” my wife breathed and with a body jerk, Jessica returned to the real world.

  "Good work, kid,” I complemented patting a knee.

  She smiled, then went pale and clutched my arm. “Oh Edwardo, they know who we are!"

  "That we're Bureau 13?” Mindy asked shocked.

  "Say, that is bad news,” Raul agreed somberly.

  My wife shook her head. “No! The Scion knows who each of us is, individually."

  "We, as in us?” Father Donaher asked, with no trace of his phony Irish accent.

  "Our names?” Raul squeaked.

  Jess gave a frightened nod.

  Mike and I both made the sign of the cross. Sitting side-by-side, Mindy and George bumped hands and I could have sworn they maintained the contact for a bit longer than decorum allowed.

  "How?” Raul asked, his fingers white on the staff lying across his lap.

  "The license,” Jess explained wearily, looking as if she had not slept for a week.

  What license? Oh, the license plates on our ex-van were Illinois state and we had a Chicago city sticker in the window. With that much info, tracking us was easy. I smacked a fist into my palm. Damnation! The team had been fighting non-sentient monsters for so long, we made a serious mistake. In this business, one was all you got. On the other hand, what was the worse they could do with that information?

  "Jessica, check our apartment!” Mindy cried, rising from the floor.

  Grabbing a hold of the glowing necklace, my wife closed her eyes and frowned in concentration. “Somebody is there!"

  "What?” we bellowed in loose harmony.

  "There are dead werewolves littering the floor,” she spoke in a monotone. “They must have died by the dozens to gain entrance, but they did get inside."

  At least our defenses had held that much.

  "Donaher!” I snapped. “Call both of our downstairs tenants and inform them the building is on fire. Order them out now! Save nothing! Just get out!"

  "Done!” he cried sprinting for the desk phone.

  A towel wrapped around her head, and thankfully wearing a bathrobe, Katrina had exited the bathroom during the shouting match. “What about deaf family on floor first,” asked Katrina in concern. The deudonic pulses of her steel wand ebbed and sparked in mimic of her emotional discord.

  I waved the trifle aside. “They have a computer monitor hooked to the phone that allows them to see and read any incoming message. A flashing red light tells them the phone is ringing."

  Cassock twirling, Father Donaher spun around. “George!"

  "Yeah?"

  "Ready the SDC!"

  He gulped and got busy with equipment bag. Soon, he reluctantly handed me a miniature radio transmitter with a built in keypad.

  "Jess?” I asked, typing a long coded phrase into the mini-computer. This was no Palm Pilot, but rather a Palm Kamikaze.

  She released the gem. “Yes, the tenants are safe outside and the fire department is on the way. The monsters are rummaging through our computer files."

  I hit the switch.

  In a way, I was glad we couldn't see the results of that simple action. Our apartment building was designed by the Technical Service geniuses of the Bureau to be as fireproof as possible on the outside. Meanwhile, the inside was packed with enough thermite and napalm to put that theory to the ultimate test.

  Tossing the SDC aside, I slumped in my chair. Jessica touched my arm and gave a squeeze. Mindy tightened her fists until the knuckles cracked. A solemn Donaher began saying his rosary. George closed his yes. Raul was livid. Katrina was pale.

  Everything we owned was gone. Our wedding album, family photos, Mindy's antique weapon collection, Raul's library on magic, our trophy room filled with irreplaceable mementos from our combined ten years of service. Gone. What a day this had been! But at least it was over.

  No, it isn't, Jessica sent.

  Good lord, what now? An IRS audit?

  We should be so lucky.

  Uh-oh.

  "We didn't get them all,” Jessica announced aloud.

  Heartfelt groans greeted the statement.

  "How many escaped?” George asked wearily, picking at some lint on his new slacks.

  "No, we killed the werewolves in our apartment,” my wife amended. “But Hadleyville boasted a population of 2,000 and we have only eliminated about a hundred."

  "So its not over yet,” Mindy growled, partially drawing her sword and then slamming the blade back into the scabbard.

  "Not by a long shot,” Jess stated firmly, stroking her necklace. The jewel pulsed with inner lights and sparks crackled along the chain.

  "What do you mean?” I asked.

  "There's to be an attack on Bureau headquarters.” Jess said the words hesitantly, as if not sure she had that correct. “I was trying to scan their minds when the roof caved in, but I definitely got that much."

  "Faith, lass, and how could they possibility find it?” Father Donaher countered. “We don't even know where HQ is!"

  A reasonable question. Since the Slaughter of ‘77, when an unknown enemy destroyed most of the Bureau, not even its own agents knew where headquarters is located. I thought we had found it once in Manhattan, but by the next business day, it was gone.

  "That doesn't matter,” Jessica said, in that sad voice.

  "What?"

  "Eh?"

  "Nonsense!"

  "Why?” I demanded, getting to heart of the matter.

  "The exact location of the Bureau isn't pertinent to the attack,” she wearily explained in a monotone. “Now that the Scion knows we come from Chicago, they plan to totally destroy the city. All of it. Every building, person, rock and tree. That way they're sure of getting our hidden main base."

  Dead silence filled the motel room, only the dripping of the shower could be faintly heard in the background.

  "But HQ may not even be in Chi!” George suddenly stormed. “It moves around, so this sort of thing can't happen!"

  Running a palm along his face, Raul scowled. “Try telling them that."

  "When is the attack?” I asked breathlessly.

  "Midnight."

  Her bade feet padding softly on the carpet, stark naked Katrina walked into the room toweling her long hair dry. “Tomorrow midnight?” she asked, rubbing vigorously. “Next week?"

  "Tonight,” sighed Jess, gazing at the clock on the motel wall. “In less than four hours."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER TEN

  Aft
er placing a telephone call to the local FBI office, within minutes a commandeered Bell Air Ambulance helicopter retrieved us from the Lazy Eight Motel. Violating federal and civilian air traffic laws, the chopper ferried my team to the Lake City National Guard Arsenal where a sleek USAF supersonic transport flew us back to Chicago. Traveling at Mach Two, we arrived almost as fast as Mr. George could drive.

  En route we telephoned a travel agency and made reservations in our own names for a railroad to New York and chartered a plane to London, England. That was to throw the Scion off the trail. Underestimating these people was fast becoming a sure way to die.

  Also, I sent a coded, scrambled, radio message to our hidden headquarters detailing our discovery and the possible threat to Chicago. A special meeting was arranged at the downtown Sears Tower at 9 o'clock; which would give us twenty minutes to examine the ruins of our apartment building for any clues or Scion survivors. Telepathic impressions were good, but if we could secure a prisoner and make the bum talk, we might bust this plan before fruition.

  That is, if winged hordes of flying Mack trucks didn't try to ram the plane in flight. Luckily, there were no attacks and we arrive on schedule. It made me nervous.

  There was a big crowd of reporters at the main terminal, so we chatted with the O'Hare security and took a side route through the hangars and called a cab from there.

  * * * *

  We saw the crowds from a block away. Police cars with flashing lights, fire truck spewing streams of water the crackling ruin of our decimated home. Parking at the corner, we paid off the car and proceed on foot. Nobody said a word.

  The marble outside of the building was black with soot. Every window was gone, the roof was missing and it was painfully obvious that the structure was now hollow.

  Strong shoulder and grim determination got us through the bustling crowd of curious onlookers. A TV station was here filming the destruction and maybe a dozen people in the crowd had cameras. Raul gestured with an empty hand and the TV camera shot out a geyser of sparks. Katrina sub-vocalized an unintelligible word and every chemical camera in the crowd popped open, spilling rolls of film onto the ground. The digital cameras simply fell apart. A city ambulance was nearby and I saw our tenants getting treatment for smoke inhalation. But otherwise, everybody seemed fine. Our Bureau issued insurance would cover medical expenses, replace their stuff and pay ample punitive damages for relocating. But even if we survived this night and rebuilt the place, I made a solemn vow never to have tenants again. It was too damn dangerous.