by Ben Meeks
Holt was busy chasing the imp around the graveyard and not having much luck catching it. I wasn’t going to be much help until my leg healed. The skeleton monster came shambling out of the woods like a Model T with loose wheels. My kick didn’t seem to have done any real damage. I was going to need a weapon. With nothing but tombstones and rotten sticks on the ground to choose from, I hobbled over to the closest headstone and pulled it out of the ground. I lifted it into my right hand and hurled it like a discus. It spun vertically before hitting the ground and rolling. It collided with the legs on the right side of the bone spider, severing them. They flailed on the ground like fish out of water as the monster crashed to the ground.
My sense of accomplishment was short lived. The legs that remained churned rhythmically like a tiller, pulling the body across the ground. I liked it better with all its legs attached. I pulled up another large headstone and lifted it over my head, waiting for the spider to claw itself into range. When it was a few feet away, I slammed the stone on top of it. Bones crunched from the impact of the stone. It lay still for a moment before the legs started clawing the ground again, leaving long gouges with their sharp points.
Luckily the weight of the stone held the monster in place. I took a third tombstone and slammed it down on each leg individually to sever them. When that was done, I flipped the other stone off and the round pile shook like boney Jell-O, unable to propel itself in any direction. I drove the stone down on it repeatedly until whatever dark magic was holding it together released its grip, letting the bones fall into a loose pile.
I turned to find myself alone in the graveyard. Holt must have chased the imp into the woods. My leg had already stopped bleeding but there was still a large wound that would take a bit to heal. It would be done soon but in the meantime it still hurt like hell.
I pulled off my shoe and poured out the blood. Taking off my sock, I wrung it out before putting the bloody sock in the shoe. Opting to walk back barefoot, I started limping my way back to the truck.
“It got away,” Holt said, coming out of the woods a minute later. “I almost had it.”
He had a few of the barbed quills in his hand.
“I see that, let me help you with those,” I said waving him over.
He held up his hand for inspection. There were three and they weren’t deep. I grabbed them and yanked them clean without any warning.
He jerked his hand back with a yelp. “You couldn’t have done that a little gentler?”
“What’s the fun in that? It’s better to get them out sooner rather than later. Besides, you’ll be healed up in a minute,” I said, continuing to limp back to the truck.
“How’s your leg? Want me to jab a stick in it?” he yelled from behind me.
“Let’s go,” I said. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Where are we headed?” He jogged up beside me.
“Steve’s house. It’s time for plan B.”
C H A P T E R • 2
There’s a point where people don’t come back. From what he posted online, it sounded like Steve was close to learning how to open a portal. I have to get to him before he goes that far. It’s not that practicing some minor magic, or a single summoning, is going to corrupt him, but once people get a taste for the power behind it, they can have a hard time giving it up. If he didn’t fall victim to the power, he would to whatever came through the first portal he opened.
I found an article in the paper about a local preacher touting salvation for otherworldly creatures. From there all it took was a quick trip to the library for some internet research and I found everything I needed. Most people thought he was crazy, but the details he wrote about told me it was for real. What worried me the most was a book he described. A grimoire of ancient knowledge and rituals. If this P.V.T. really had one I had to get it. A book like that wasn’t something you want to be unaccounted for. Books have a way of spreading ideas and these ideas I have to be contained.
His house was on the edge of a subdivision backed by some woods and a small creek. This was a nice setup because it gave me an easy way in. I parked my truck a couple miles away on the side of highway 575 and pulled my knife out of the glovebox. It was carved out of solid mahogany with an eight-inch blade and a leather-wrapped handle. Symbols carved in the blade instilled it with magical energy. While it was wood, with the enchantments it was as sharp and strong as anything forged, and it didn’t set off metal detectors.
“Nice hardware. You got one of those for me?” Holt asked.
“Nope.” I tucked it into the belt of my shorts and got out of the truck.
He followed me as we walked into the woods on the side of the highway. “So, Obie, I know it’s our first real job together but how about you let me take point on this one? Let me show you what I can do.”
“I’m sure Cedric trained you well and I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I would prefer you see how I handle things before you start doing things on your own. You guys were only together for what, thirty years at most? It may seem like a long time, but you’re still new at this,” I said. I didn’t get the impression he liked that answer but he didn’t argue, which was a pleasant change.
The backyard was surrounded by a wooden fence that backed up to the tree line. It gave us plenty of cover to check things out without worrying about being seen. Steve’s backyard needed a trim, the grass was up to knee height. A small patio had a table with a few chairs, one of which was flipped over on its side. I stood behind the fence, watching and listening. I could hear some kids playing out on the street, a random car passing, and Holt’s impatient shuffling in the leaves. The neighbor’s houses were quiet and there was no sign of anyone home. It was late afternoon, sometime between when kids got home from school and adults got home from work. It looked clear.
“Let’s go,” I said and jumped the fence. We crossed the yard to the sliding glass door on the back of the house. The lights were off, making it hard to see in. Holt stepped up to the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes to see inside.
“Nothing. Want me to bust the door in?” he asked a little too eagerly.
I pushed the handle and it slid open freely. “I think we’re okay.”
The smell of rotting food drifted through the open door. I stepped in, holding my nose, to a small dining area, kitchen adjacent, open to the living room to my left. It looked like what you would expect for a pastor’s home. The décor wasn’t fancy, largely religious themed, with a picture of Jesus on the wall in the dining area, blood dripping from open wounds on his head and hands. Not my choice of a picture to hang where you eat, but to each his own I guess. The open floor plan didn’t do much to contain the mess or smell. The table in front of me was covered in empty soda bottles, fast food wrappers, and other debris that might have had a chance to make it into the garbage can, if it wasn’t already overflowing onto the floor. I opened a pizza box on top of the pile, half-eaten pepperoni. A large stack of mail, most of it unopened with PAST DUE stamped on the front, sat in a pile on the kitchen counter. Shuffling though the stack I found a plain envelope with “Steve” written on it by hand at the bottom. Curious guy that I am, I had to check it out.
Steve,
I don’t understand what is happening to you. What you are doing isn’t right. I will always love you, but I can’t stay and watch you do this to yourself. I will be staying at Belleview, apartment 1703. Please get help.
Candice
A lump in the envelope turned out to be a wedding and engagement ring. At least I didn’t have to worry about the wife coming home.
The sound of splintering wood got my attention. I turned to see Holt ripping a large flat screen off the wall.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m going to stick this in the truck. My games would look awesome on this baby,” he said.
“We’re not here to loot the place.”
“What? You said I could take things,” he said.
“Don’t you think a guy walking
out of the woods with a TV might draw some attention? That’s the last thing we need. If you’re going take things, take small things, things you need.”
“I can handle a cop, I’m not worried about them,” he said.
“Sure, you can take a cop,” I said. “The thing about cops is they don’t fight you one-on-one. If you take on that one, you’ll have ten more chasing you down. Next thing you know you’re getting run over by a tank or locked up in a lab getting anal probed. So, for all our sakes, just put the TV down.”
He tossed it into the fireplace, cracking the screen. “Fine, what can I take then?”
“Nothing with a serial number,” I said, looking around. I spotted a few crumpled up bills on the counter beside some Chinese containers that maggots were going to town on. “Here, here’s four dollars.” I threw the bills over the couch into the living room.
“Four dollars won’t buy a TV,” he mumbled as he picked up them up.
“You could just go buy one. Hell, you can afford a nicer one than that. There’s plenty of money from dust coming in,” I said.
“Maybe for you,” he said. “I didn’t have anything when I came here and since this is our first hunt together the money isn’t exactly rolling in.”
“Just be patient, you should have something to work with real soon,” I said.
“Soon? It takes months to turn a demon into dust, and after that wait I’m only getting a portion of it between your cut and Hob’s cut. I may not have enough left to get something nice,” he said.
“I’ll buy you a TV to shut you the hell up, how about that?” I asked. Why did Cedric have to die and stick me with this guy? I could deal with him later, right now I had more important things to think about. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get to work.”
I put the letter back in the envelope with the rings and shoved it into one of the pockets of my cargo shorts before heading upstairs. I found an office that appeared to be where Steve spent most of his time. The walls had summoning circles framed like artwork. On the desk, I found a small plastic container about half full of a light grey powder. Under it were copies from a grimoire he had scribbled notes on during his sessions with the mysterious P.V.T. It was basic stuff: demon descriptions, summoning incantations written out phonetically. I popped the top off the container and gave it a sniff, it smelled like minerals.
“What is it?” Holt asked.
“Pixie Dust.” I took a tiny pinch and placed it in my palm and focused my intention. The dust burst into a clear gray flame that novaed in a few seconds. “What did that tell us?” I said turning to Holt.
“Gray is on the lower end of the demon spectrum, so the dust was made from a demon without a lot of inherent magic. The flame burned clear and at least from here the powder looks uniform in consistency so it is well refined, a passable lower grade powder,” Holt said.
“Good job, here’s your TV,” I said putting the top on and tossing him the container.
He deposited it in the cargo pocket on his leg, leaving an obvious bulge. “Sweet.”
It left no doubt that this was the real thing. Not a good sign for Steve. More concerning than the dust and demon literature—where did it come from? P.V.T. probably supplied it to him. If she had access to dust it might complicate things. Hopefully she didn’t have a large supply sitting around.
“All right, let’s change to krasis. Steve should be home soon,” I said, kicking off the flip flops I kept in the truck for when something happens to my shoes.
“Hell yeah!” Holt closed his eyes and concentrated, starting his change.
I reached back and opened the Velcro I had sewn into the back of all my pants, loosened my belt, and started to change into my real form, one of part man, part otter. My body contorted and elongated. Feet turned to paws, claws grew from my fingers and toes, a long muscular tail grew out of my back, and my head rounded out, growing long teeth and whiskers. Light brown fur covered everything from head to claws, finishing my transformation in a matter of seconds into the half-man half-animal form known as krasis.
Holt’s body, being much newer to this than mine, made the change slower. After centuries or even decades of changing between forms, a kind of muscle memory eases the transition. It took maybe thirty seconds for his body to take its new shape. He was something new in our world. Thera, the Earth Mother, had always linked her Keepers to predators. Holt was the first to be bonded with a domesticated animal, a Doberman. It was a curiosity why Thera chose to stray from her normal routine, but I guess one advantage to being the boss is that you get to do what you want. Holt groaned his way through the change, panting when it was finally done. His loose clothing now stretched tight by his muscles, with black fur sticking out from underneath.
“Still getting used to it, huh?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s a lot better than it was,” he said. “The first time took a couple minutes. It was like getting run over by a steamroller, covered in salt, and scraped back into a pile with a shovel. You remember your first change?”
“I remember my first time in krasis but the pain of the change I forgot a long time ago. It doesn’t last forever.” I could see Holt smirking. “What?”
“Don’t get me wrong, you change fast, but you look like a stuffed animal, not exactly scary. You sure you don’t want me to handle Steve?” he asked.
“I’m sure. I can be plenty scary if I need to. See?” I raised a lip and put my finger on a canine. “I’ve got big teeth, too.”
“You have a couple big ones but not like this,” he said giving me a low rumbling growl and revealing a face full of pointy teeth.
“You’re very scary,” I said casually so as not to give away that he really was rather intimidating. “Let’s bust up these circles.”
He got excited about that and started smashing them with his claws, mutilating not only the pictures and frames but the wall behind them as well. They were cheap frames with a plastic cover instead of glass. The one I did I just put a claw in through the plastic and dragged it down through the circle. Not even noticeable compared to Holt’s work. When I was done he smashed mine anyway, for good measure.
“So, what’s with the Velcro on the pants?” Holt asked catching his breath.
“Just a little modification for my tail. It’s necessary unless I want to wear a kilt everywhere.”
“Is that what you did before Velcro, wore skirts? The first thing Cedric did was dock my tail. No problem with pants for me,” he said, turning to show a slight bulge at the base of his back.
“For a while I had a version with buttons, but it got all droopy in the back, so it wasn’t the best.”
“Yeah, anything that makes you look like you crapped yourself is probably a bad idea,” he said.
“How were things with Cedric?” I asked to change the subject.
“It was great. He really got me. I really felt like I had a place there. Ever since he was killed it hasn’t been the same,” he said.
“We all miss him. Cedric was one hell of a Keeper. Give it some time. I’m sure you will come to like it here. How long were you with him for?”
“About twenty years, not long enough,” he said.
“I was with Cearbhall, my teacher, for about a hundred as an apprentice, and we worked together for almost another fifty after that,” I said. “Just focus on the work and I’m sure you’ll feel right at home before you know it.”
“Focus on the work? I can do this in my sleep,” he said.
“You haven’t been at it that long, you some kind of expert now?”
With a smug look he said, “What can I say, poopy pants, some people are more talented than others.”
That remark wasn’t going to fly. “Don’t call me that.”
“What are you going to do, otter boy, cuddle me to death?”
I squared up to him. “You’re out of line.”
“Cedric never got all bent out of shape over nothing. Why do you overreact to everything?” he said.
It was cle
ar I was going to have to teach him a lesson in manners. That was no problem, hell, it would be fun. Before class got officially under way, the front door opened. Steve was home.
C H A P T E R • 3
The door closed, and footsteps stomped their way up the stairs. I was glad too; if he had gone into the living room and seen the mess Holt had made with the TV, we may not have been able to get the jump on him. I gave a nod toward the corner of the room and Holt moved to it without argument. I ducked into the next room down the hallway and peeked around the doorframe. When Steve walked passed, carry a briefcase in one hand and a bag of fast food in the other, I followed behind him quickly and quietly. He went in the office but didn’t turn on the light. He plopped down in the office chair in the dark, put his briefcase on the desk, and fumbled with the bag of fast food.
Trying to lean against the doorframe with an air of nonchalance, I flipped the light switch. “That smells like a bacon cheeseburger. I’ve never had one but I have to admit sometimes I am tempted to swing through the drive-thru to pick one up. Are they everything they’re cracked up to be?”
He swiveled around slowly, wide-eyed and clutching the bag to his chest like he was trying to protect it from the Hamburglar. Holt stepped into the center of the room, staring him down with bared teeth and fierce eyes. It didn’t seem necessary. Steve didn’t appear to have any real fight in him.
“Are you from the other world?” he stammered.
“Nope. I’m a red-blooded American, just like you,” I said.
He looked at me with a puzzled expression, then realization dawned over his face. “It’s you, from earlier today, that stupid shirt.”