Monster Hunter Guardian

by Larry Correia

  One thing we did know for sure, once they fully possessed someone, if they ever let go, the host’s brain was done, fried, dead or going to the cast-off wing at Appleton. The guy in the garage had been as good as dead before Albert had shot him. I felt fractionally better that at least we weren’t responsible for killing some little boy’s daddy unnecessarily.

  Of course, the question remained how long it had been working on Amanda without any of us noticing that she was being taken over by a monster. That was another thing for me to feel guilty about later.

  I hesitated before making the next call, even though it was the logical thing to do. The presence of the rope suggested that the Condition was involved. It was one of their signature abilities. Lucinda Hood had lost her hand over the artifact, so it was looking likely that she was the one who’d hired the Adze to get it back. Because Lucinda had been involved up to her eyeballs in the events at Copper Lake, she was on the Monster Control Bureau’s hit list. They had far greater resources than we did, so if anyone had an idea of where Lucinda Hood was, it would be the MCB.

  The problem was, if I involved the MCB, I was done. They barely tolerated MHI’s existence on our best day. There was no way they were going to allow the mother of the kidnap victim anywhere near that case. They’d take over, and worse: Their primary mission was keeping monsters secret; rescuing hostages was way down their list of priorities.

  However, there was one MCB agent I could reach out to, who might know something that could help, and keep this on the down low, at least for a little while. It was odd, but putting my body through a portal to who knows where created by an insane troll was easier than calling my ex.

  I sighed and swallowed my pride. “Call Grant Jefferson.”

  Grant had once been one of us, a respected employee of MHI, with a prestige posting on Earl Harbinger’s personal team. Plus, well…we’d sort of been engaged, too. Okay, just dating, but we’d talked about marriage; only then I’d met Owen.

  Grant had a lot going for him back then. Smart, handsome—I’m talking really good-looking—suave, cultured, went to the best schools, been all over the world, and had lots and lots of impressive accomplishments; but after I’d gotten to know Owen, nothing Grant was, nothing Grant did mattered.

  In a way, we’d treated him shabbily—I still feel bad about how we’d broken up—but to be fair, he’d been kind of an asshole to my future husband. But it wasn’t until my crazy vampire mother had kidnapped him and a supernatural warlord had almost sacrificed him to dark gods that Grant had given up on MHI.

  He had decided that monster hunting really was too dangerous for private organizations and belonged only in the hands of the government. As repugnant and idiotic as that idea was, I thought that at his heart Grant was still a nice guy. I’d known him well, and understood that he was an idealistic guy, even if he’d grown up in a pretty shitty environment, with a rich, self-centered father and a never-ending rotation of trophy stepmothers. He still wanted to kill monsters and keep people safe, and if he couldn’t do it with MHI, then what other choice did he have? I hated the intimidating witnesses and destroying their lives part of the MCB’s job, and for the good of his soul, I sincerely hoped that Grant did too.

  It rang three times, and then I heard Grant’s voice. “Julie?” So he still had my number programmed in. I was going to try not to read too much into that.

  “Grant, I need your help.”

  “What?” He sounded out of breath, as if he had been running. Of course I caught him exercising; he ran marathons for fun. “Look, if this is business you need to call the director’s office or the hotline. I’ve got no—”

  I didn’t have time for him to go all official on me. “My baby’s been stolen by an Adze. I need your help. Is this line secure?”

  “Whoa…okay.” There was a moment of silence, then he said, “Hold on.” After a while he came back on-line, sounding more composed. It also sounded like he was someplace small and bare, because I could hear a weird echo. “Now it is. What’s happening?”

  “This is off the record, just between me and you. I need your word.”

  There was a lumbering old farm tractor ahead of me, taking up way too much road on the way into Cazador, so I laid on the horn, slowed down to eighty, and passed him on the shoulder.

  “Are you driving?”

  Like a maniac. “Yes. Promise me, Grant! They’ve got my kid.”

  “Okay, okay. I promise.”

  He might be lying and would call his bosses the second I hung up, but I was committed now. I told him, as rapidly and succinctly as I could, everything that had happened. Only I left out the incriminating part about me keeping an illegal magical superartifact in my possession. Also Mr. Trash Bags. I can’t even imagine how badly the MCB would freak out about keeping a shoggoth popsicle in the fridge.

  “I know I’m a complete idiot. I shouldn’t have given them the…the price without them giving me my baby back.”

  “No.” I could feel him holding back from asking me what the ransom was, something for which I was eternally grateful because Grant wasn’t stupid. “I completely understand doing whatever’s necessary to rescue someone you love. I’d do the same for—for someone I love.”

  I really didn’t have time for awkwardness right then. If he started talking about his feelings, I was going to wreck the damned car. “Great. I need to know where Lucinda Hood is.”

  “You and every supernatural law enforcement agency in the world.”

  “I’m on the clock, Grant!”

  Thankfully he didn’t ask me what I was in a rush for. Black magic portals were probably super illegal too. “Lucinda was last seen in Europe.”

  “Where in Europe?”

  “All over. London, Paris, and Lisbon mostly.”

  “That’s helpful,” I said sarcastically.

  “Look, I know it’s not, but it’s all I have. We’ve got reports that she and her loonies are rebuilding there. They’re setting up cells in every major city. The Condition is rejuvenated since Lucinda found them a new god, and their recruiting is way up. Every so often she’ll dump a truckload of zombies somewhere, just to be a bitch. Our equivalent agencies in Europe have had the hardest time hiding the evidence of her activities.”

  “Any idea where someone would hold an auction of a potentially magical baby to evil cultists and monsters?”

  “Shit, that’s terrible. I’ve got no idea. I’ve never even heard of anything like that. If a bunch of supernatural entities are going to congregate somewhere, we usually hear something, but there hasn’t been anything on the radar. Let me call my friends in intel—”

  “You promised. I’m not getting shut out of this. He’s my son!”

  “Calm down, Julie. I’m a federal agent. If I find out an Adze is stealing children and killing people on US soil, I can’t just—”

  “I’m going after him. Don’t try to stop me.” I was getting close to the compound when I got another call. It was Melvin. “Hang on, Grant. I’ve got to take this.”

  “Julie, wait. Don’t put me on h—”

  I flipped to the troll. “Go.”

  “Nice orc ladies came over to help Melvin. Red beard’s handwriting sucks and is lame, but you bring rope, we get you close to last place it used.”

  “Define close.”

  “Walking distance…hmmm…Melvin hopes they weren’t on boat. Heh-heh-heh…You drowning is funny. Anyways, Harbinger has old treasures in basement with magic inside. You mind if Melvin breaks them to power the—”

  “Go for it. How big will the portal be?”

  “For such little magic? Only one go. And tight fit for you. Having babies makes humans fat.”

  I swear if I didn’t need him, I’d have shot him just on principle. “Get ready. I’m almost there.” Then I switched back to Grant.

  “Julie?”

  “I’m back.”

  “Okay, we’re not the bad guys here. My people are good at what we do. You don’t need to keep us out
of the loop.”

  If the portal rope actually worked, even if the MCB tried to stop me, there was no way they could get here in time. I’d be off to who knew where, beating the Adze’s location out of whoever had hired him to steal the artifact. “I don’t care. Talk to your agent friends. Tell your boss. The only thing that matters to me is that Ray comes home safe.”

  Putting him on hold must have given him time to think. He actually sounded a little contrite. “I’m sorry about your grandfather. I always respected him, even if he didn’t like me. I can’t understand what you’re going through right now, but rest assured I’ll keep looking for where an auction could take place, okay? In the meantime, don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Ha!”

  I put my finger on the button to hang up when Grant yelled, “Julie, please be careful. Be safe.”

  Fat chance of that. I hung up.

  * * *

  The “nice orc ladies” turned out to be two of Gretchen’s sister-wives, who’d been called by Shelly. For whatever reason, magic comes far easier to species like orcs, elves, trolls, and gnomes than it does for humans. Between them, Melvin Google searching troll magic, Milo’s notes, the frayed rope from the bridge, and the magic sucked out of some miscellaneous knickknacks we’d stored in the archives, they were fairly certain this would work.

  They were using the middle of the cafeteria. The tables had been shoved off to the side to make room. It was rare to see him outside of the basement, but Melvin was sitting on the floor, huge, green, and hideous, drawing troll runes on the floor with a Sharpie.

  They needed a few minutes to stitch more rope onto the old one to make it big enough for me to fit through. Melvin’s cracks about my mom bod aside, the problem wasn’t one of dimensions, but of available power. Apparently none of the trinkets they’d used up could hold a candle to our old ward stone. It had been the magical equivalent to a nuclear power plant; this was more of a double-A battery. The more mass that moved through, the faster the energy was drained. When that power was used up, the portal would instantly snap closed like a quantum guillotine.

  “How instant?” I’d asked. Melvin had suggested that just in case of technical difficulty I go head first, rather than feet first. Because feet first, I might get decapitated, but head first, at worst, I’d only leave my feet in Alabama…but probably not, though it would be close. Troll shrug. Since trolls can regenerate lost limbs, they’re pretty flippant about amputation and don’t understand why humans get so upset about it.

  Fantastic. I hadn’t even said a word to that revelation. Since it was going to take them a little time to get ready, I decided to take a shower and get into some dry clothes. Since the lunch I’d promised Albert had never happened and it had been a stressful few hours, I was starving, but I was scared to eat because those extra ounces might cost me my feet.

  In the shower, I watched the blood run pink down the drain. That little monkey monster had scratched the hell out of me. There was a huge, purple, spreading bruise on my leg. It felt good to be clean, but unfortunately not being in motion gave me too much time to think of all the horrible things that could be happening to my kid. I had to keep moving.

  As I dried off I went over equipment. The problem with portals is they could lead anywhere. Dress light and I’d probably land in a blizzard. I thought about armor, but armor was heavy, and heavy meant it was going to use up magical energy. So I went with cargo pants and a black Under Armor shirt. I’d risk frostbite in hopes of getting a gun through instead. Then I’d have the rest of my gear staged and they could toss it through after me until the portal closed. Maybe I’d get lucky.

  While the orc shamans sewed on enough rope for me to fit through, I set up my kit. They could send me, then my pistol, and then—fingers crossed—a rifle, then my armor and equipment. But getting all that would be like winning the lottery. Hopefully, the portal wouldn’t land me directly in front of the bad guys, but that was a risk I was willing to take. I kept my phone on me because I was still hoping Mr. Trash Bags would call, but he hadn’t yet, so that wasn’t looking likely. Whoever had received the artifact had probably just squished him and finished what Hood started.

  That thought made me cringe. Mr. Trash Bags was a monster, but he was also my childhood friend. I’d kept him frozen because I hadn’t known what else to do with him. I really hoped I hadn’t condemned the poor little guy.

  I left the kidnapper’s phone with Melvin in the hopes that once he had the chance he could maybe glean some useful information from it, but that was a long shot.

  By the time I was ready, Skippy’s wives were still working. More orcs had arrived, except for the members of the tribe who were taking Amanda out of my trunk to give her a Hunter’s funeral—as in decapitation and cremation. It’s safer that way. They’d already done the same for Grandpa.

  The wait was killing me. I checked my watch and discovered that only a few hours had passed since Ray had been taken. Then I thought better of it, pulled my watch off, and tossed it on the floor. I’d rather have that weight in bullets.

  Then one of the orcs gave me a nod. It was time.

  “Will this work?”

  She spread her hands apologetically, as if to say maybe?

  Melvin placed down the rope. Unlike the Condition one, it didn’t have the cool snake-wiggle effect, so he had to arrange it into a circle himself. But then he cackled with glee as it ignited and some of the cafeteria floor disappeared. “It work! Melvin brilliant!”

  Just in case, I went head first.

  CHAPTER 8

  I dropped from a hole in the sky onto a ratty lawn. My impact woke up some sleeping geese who waddled away protesting.

  It was nighttime but there were plenty of streetlights. Nearby, staring at me, was a guy in virulent yellow tights and the sort of tabard that medieval people used to wear, also in violent yellow with blue polka dots. He wore a crown with antennae and—I hoped—a false nose about the size of an eggplant and the same color. And he was looking at me like I’d lost my mind.

  The woman with him, wearing a sort of ballet outfit in the same colors, striped tights in black and white, fake plastic glasses, and a headband with eyes attached to it, glared at me and grabbed his arm. It probably looked like I’d just appeared out of nowhere.

  They said something in fast German. Where the hell was I? And why were they dressed like crazy people? I spun around, saw a cathedral dominating the sky, and immediately realized where I was. Koln. Cologne, the eponymous city of eau de cologne.

  I’d kind of been expecting to land in the middle of nowhere, not a crowded city. Then I had to turn back to catch my pistol as one of the orcs tossed it through. I quickly shoved the compact .45 into my waistband and covered it with my shirt before the locals noticed.

  I’d been through this area before, but just briefly as a tourist. The view was dominated by the largest cathedral in Germany, visible from everywhere in Old Town. I’d landed on the grassy verge near the river walk. Down from me, the bridge was brightly illuminated. The river walk was full of outlandishly dressed people. I could hear drunken singing nearby. I swear the entire city smelled of beer. And the little bit of road I could see from where I was looked like it was chockablock with…floats.

  Fasching. This was Koln’s answer to Carnival and started sometime in November and lasted all the way to Ash Wednesday, achieving its most frenzied celebration just before then. I wasn’t Catholic, which meant I had no idea when Ash Wednesday was, but from the look of things right now, it must be just around the corner.

  Then Melvin screwed up the order and sent through the gear bag with my armor, which I caught with a grunt. And before I could drop my kit on the grass, my rifle fell through, but only half of it, because that’s when the portal gave up the ghost. There was a flash of sparks as my custom M-14 was instantly sheared in two. The front half hit the grass with a thud. The magazine had been sliced through so the spring shot out, spilling .308 rounds everywhere. The receiver was glowing like it
had been hit with a cutting torch and the plastic stock was smoldering.

  I turned. Eggplant nose and his googly-eyed girlfriend were still standing there, so I resurrected my very rusty German to say, “Magic show! I’m an assault commando. Good costume, hey?”

  It shouldn’t have worked. It wouldn’t have worked if Fasching didn’t amount to the world’s largest beerfest, and if everyone involved hadn’t by now, for sure, drank enough to believe just about anything. By the magic power of beer, both of the witnesses to my arrival smiled wide and started clapping.

  That was one problem solved, but it left me with others, such as how to find a cult of weirdos in a city that was going to be overflowing with people dressed like weirdos. Worse, while I wasn’t very conversant with magic, I knew that events like this, tied to a religious festival and probably having roots in pagan festivals long ago, were the kinds of things that cultists loved to infiltrate. So of course it made sense that this was where they’d sent the artifact.

  I looked around. The road near the river walk was filled with floats built on flatbed trucks. I had a vague memory that at some time or other in the last few years there had been floats depicting American politicians, which had upset a bunch of people. Upset me too, truth be told. If anyone was going to mock our robbers and con artists, it should be us, and besides, from across the ocean, they didn’t know what the hell they were talking about anyway.

  But the floats I could see didn’t have anything to do with politics, and it was late enough the parade was over. It was party time now. There was a float parked nearby that seemed to be an autonomous beer garden, complete with maidens in dirndls and men in lederhosen dancing around what had to be the world’s largest beer stein. The float behind that one had a huge dragon which looked like it was made from some sort of plastic; only three guys were on top of it, drinking beer. And behind that was a truck carrying a big Cthulhu, or at least what they imagined Cthulhu looked like, because this one was kind of cute. Guys and girls who looked much the worse for wear were sitting on some hydraulic-powered tentacles which bobbed up and down, and from where I stood, I swear they were singing, “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”