The Tome of Bill Series: Books 5-8 (Goddamned Freaky Monsters, Half A Prayer, The Wicked Dead, The Last Coven)

by Rick Gualtieri

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Rick Gualtieri lives alone in central New Jersey with only his wife, three kids, and countless pets to both keep him company and constantly plot against him. When he’s not busy monkey-clicking words, he can typically be found jealously guarding his collection of vintage Transformers from all who would seek to defile them.

  Defilers beware!

  Rick Gualtieri is the author of:

  Bill the Vampire (The Tome of Bill - 1)

  Night Stalker: A Tome of Bill Series Companion

  Scary Dead Things (The Tome of Bill - 2)

  The Mourning Woods (The Tome of Bill - 3)

  Holier Than Thou (The Tome of Bill - 4)

  Sunset Strip: A Tome of Bill Series Companion

  Goddamned Freaky Monsters (The Tome of Bill - 5)

  Half A Prayer (The Tome of Bill - 6)

  The Wicked Dead (The Tome of Bill - 7)

  Shining Fury: A Tome of Bill Series Companion

  The Last Coven (The Tome of Bill - 8)

  The Tome of Bill Series: Volume One

  Bigfoot Hunters

  Lycan Moon

  Midnite’s Daughter

  THE TROUBLE WITH TOM

  By Tony Perez

  The following story was the awesome winner of the Worlds of Bill Fanfic Contest. It is licensed under the Creative Commons as derivative, noncommercial fiction and is presented here solely as bonus material.

  The screech of wheels on tarmac and the bumpy landing jolted her awake. After her oh-so-relaxing trip to Vegas with Sally she hadn’t been able to muster enough magic to teleport home and a nice long plane ride sounded like exactly the rest she needed. One mildly frustrating trip through baggage claim later, Christy stood trying to flag down a cab when the theme to Thunder Cats started blaring from her purse. She immediately picked it up.

  “Hi sweetie”

  “Where are you?” Tom was speaking loud and fast, he sounded frantic.

  “What’s wrong?” She asked, concern instantly welling up inside her.

  “I need your help, I have problem” he started to whisper. “There’s something here”

  “Sweetie slow down, I thought you were at your nerd fest?” She finally flagged down a cab and was trying to slide into the back while the driver loaded her bag.

  “It’s Comic Con, Christy!” His voice was rising in pitch. “New York Comic Con is one of the bi...”

  She cut him off, starting to get frustrated. “Okay, Okay I’m on my way. Where is this place?”

  “It’s at the Javits Center, 655 West 34th Street. I’ll be out front, I have your ticket. Hurry please! He’s moving I have to go!” The call was disconnected.

  It seemed to take forever to get from the airport to downtown Manhattan. The entire ride she grew more and more worried. After trying to get Tom back on the phone and getting nothing but voicemail she spent the remainder of the trip trying to keep her errant magic under control. After what seemed like an eternity the cab finally pulled up in front of the Javits Center. Christy’s eyes scanned the crowd of cosplayer’s until she landed on Tom. She groaned quietly and rubbed her left temple.

  Tom bounced up and down in anticipation, causing his chest armor to come close to hitting him in the chin. He held his helmet under his right arm while his head swiveled back and forth looking for her, seeming facing every direction but the one she was coming from.

  “Yo Optimus, how about a picture?”

  Tom spotted the speaker, a teenager of maybe fifteen. “Okay, fine. Just make it quick, I’m waiting for my girlfriend”

  “Yeah, sure you are, dude” The kid said with a sneer.

  “You know what, man? Fuck you and your picture!” Tom’s voice was rising again as she approached him. Something Christy normally associated with someone trolling him on some forum or video game. “Christy!” He reached about and grabbed her hand in a firm almost painful grip.

  “C’mon, c’mon!” he began dragging her into the hugely crowded convention center.

  “Stop!” She put some power into the word and brought him totally to a halt.

  “Christy ... he ... is ... here!” Just then there was a beep and crackle from under Tom’s armor.

  “Red leader this is Red Two. Subject is on the move. If you’re going to do something about this it has to be now!”

  Christy didn’t recognize the voice coming from the walkie talkie Tom pulled out from his chest piece.

  Franticly he spoke into the device. “Where is he Red Two, and is the package in play?”

  “The package is in play. Subject is heading to the north cosway towards the bathrooms,” the unknown voice quickly replied.

  That seemed to be all Tom needed to hear. With a firm grip still on her hand he pulled her into the convention center proper. He dealt with the ticket booth operator rudely and as fast as he could. Christy frowned at his actions but whatever was going on here had to be bad.

  She loved Tom but he wasn’t the brightest star in the sky. Still, though, to act like this and to involve someone mundane like whoever this Red Two was it had to be important. He pulled her through the dealer room as fast as he could while continuing to check in with his man on the floor. Christy couldn’t help but be fascinated at the things she passed. Toys, booths, and comics from all eras surrounded her. But it was all nothing compared to the smell. Being pregnant had heightened her sense of smell and that in this crowd was not a good thing.

  “Ugh, don’t they know what a shower is?”

  Tom only gave her an irritated look as they entered a tiled hall mostly devoid of people. They came to a corner and Tom, with his back to the wall, slowly slid forward and looked around it.

  Christy drew in power behind him and prepared to lash out.

  “YOU!”

  She heard a man yell then saw Tom quickly leap back while something whizzed past his face.

  Her nerves were frayed after Vegas and after having Tom lead her through this sweaty armpit that he called a comic con.

  “The hell with this!” She strode around the corner, her hands outstretched towards the large red haired man at the end of the hall. She let both spells loose at once. The first a silence spell, the second a binding spell. Both spells took effect in a moment. All noise ceased and the large mans arms and legs snapped together causing him to fall backwards to the floor. Luckily for him, his rather large behind provided plenty of cushion. At the moment of impact, a silver case fell from his fingers to the floor but thankfully made no sound due to her first spell. Tom rushed out immediately, even going so far as to try to make the dive for the case. He didn’t quite make it and crashed face first into the floor.

  Christy watched, stalking at the end of the hall while Tom retrieved the case and shoved something into the coat of the man she had disabled. He said something but she couldn’t tell what because he’d put himself in the range of the silence spell. She motioned him forward. He came over slowly his eyes never leaving the case in his hands. When she could hear his raspy breathing she spoke. “Tell me what the hell is going on Tom? What did you shove in his pocket? And what is that thing? Her voice was rising with each word and it was echoing off the tile walls.

  He finally looked up at her a strange smile on his face. “Oh ... that was nothing. I gave him what it was worth! Well maybe not completely but still a very fair deal!” His fingers were clumsily opening the locks on the case.

  “Wait.” Comprehension began to dawn on her “WHAT, WHAT WAS WORTH?” She was yelling now and little purple sparks of energy were playing off the nearby tiled walls.

  Tom was oblivious of all of this as he opened the case. “It’s a Generation 1” His voice rose with each word,
getting closer and closer to a true geek squee. “Chrome plated Megatron with no orange barrel end, mint in package.” He was breathing hard now, like it was difficult to get the words. Each one was higher pitched than the last. “And signed by Frank Welker!!” He was nearly jumping up and down with excitement at the end, with no idea of the peril he was in.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Ed wasn’t sure what had pulled him out of his coding trance. It was a sound but it was so out of the ordinary he couldn’t place it. He wasn’t about to take any chances though. Since Bill had become a fuck up on a legendary scale instead of the normal one, life had gotten a lot more interesting. Just as he lifted his shotgun from its resting place by his door he heard it again “CROAK”.

  “What the hell? If there is some goddamned frog monster out there or Bill has turned another member of the animal kingdom I am so fucking done!” Ed tore open the apartment door waving his shotgun back and forth and saw…nothing. “CROAK” Ed looked down. Sitting on the “Go the hell away” mat that Bill had thought was so funny was a silver case with one of the biggest damned toads he’d ever seen splayed over the top, almost protectively. There seemed to be some note. Ed reached down for it, the entire time watching the toad watch him. Was this thing seriously giving him the evil eye?

  Ed,

  He should turn back in a few hours. Tell him when he stops craving bugs he can call me.

  – Christy.

  THE END

  THE ROAD TO ARMAGEDDON

  The Road to Armageddon is a series a short stories written before the release of The Last Coven – a celebration of the end of the road, so to speak. These are brief snippets from the lives of various important characters from the series, a sneak peek into some of the turning points they’ve faced in their lives.

  The vast majority of the Tome of Bill was spent inside of Bill’s head with small glimpses into Sally and Sheila within the pages of Sunset Strip and Shining Fury respectively. I thought, with the series coming to its conclusion, it would be nice to step behind the eyes of some of the other cast members and let them take center stage for a few moments.

  I had a blast writing these alternative perspectives. I hope you enjoy them too.

  Christy

  This story takes place roughly halfway between the events of Bill The Vampire and Scary Dead Things

  I step outside and spot my quarry. He’s sitting on a concrete stoop in front of a fountain, enjoying a hotdog he must have purchased for lunch. He looks so normal, so mundane, but I know he’s not. He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a slave to darkness, a thrall.

  I know that what I am doing is necessary for the survival of my people. If I fail in my mission then disaster could strike. Our lives, our entire history, could be erased, scorched from the face of this world in a torrent of white fire. The prophecy is quite clear on that point.

  Nevertheless, I hesitate in approaching him. Though I know what must be done, a part of me resents the role I am forced to play. For over a decade I’ve studied the art under Mentor Decker. I have worked hard to perfect my craft, spent many a sleepless night invested in one form of advanced spell-crafting or another. I’ve been called a prodigy, a natural adept. Indeed, my master has often told me that I am his favored pupil, his trusted second in our coven.

  Yet, here I am, being asked to play the part of the whore, to willingly give my body to this shell of a man who sits before me. None of my sisters have drawn such a demeaning task. Most of them sit and wait – scrying the portents, looking for signs. The master has assured me that he too is forced to suffer for this task, gathering intelligence so as to fend off our fate. Yet, I’ve seen him. He used his magic to secure a place of power within the beast’s workplace, supposedly a facade until he was ready to strike.

  Despite his claims otherwise, I have caught him admiring the expensive suits he has procured for his new station, the shiny Rolexes he now wears. I asked him why not just create the illusion of such, a glamour to fool the lesser minds, but he waved me off. He told me illusions can be defeated, that the stakes were too high for such. We must make this as real as possible so as to remain undetected.

  So, too, was his logic upon my suggestion to simply ensnare this human thrall. Mind magic has always been a specialty of mine. Such a thing would be child’s play.

  “No!” Mentor Decker had roared. “Do you not understand what is happening here, child? The Freewill, the dreaded Night Spawn, has been reborn. Their power is reputed to be legendary. Who knows what foul compulsions he has placed upon the minds of the humans who serve him? If you are found out, it will be our undoing, for his rebirth heralds the coming of our destroyer!”

  The fury in my master’s eyes convinced me to question him no further. But now, with my assigned task finally at hand, I find myself wondering whether there was something else in his eyes too. It is nearly heresy to think it. He is my mentor, my teacher, practically a second father to me. But I can’t help but wonder if he is being driven mad by the events that are transpiring.

  I almost turn around and go back to the desk that has been my daytime home for the past three months. It is not nearly as prestigious a position as that which my mentor procured for himself. My job is that of a mere marketing coordinator in the same firm within which my quarry bides his time. However, since day one, I have been continually surprised to find that I actually enjoy my work assignments. Not only that, but I’m good at my job too. It shouldn’t be surprising. As a Magi, I have been continually taught to think outside the realms of the box that humanity seems intent on sequestering itself in. Nevertheless, I would be lying to myself if I were to claim I wasn’t growing fond of this façade of normalcy I have undertaken.

  That thought stops me in my tracks. If I fail, there won’t be any normalcy – not for me, my sisters, my mentor, or any of the other Magi who live in the shadows of this world. They will all burn in the white fires of so-called faith. None of them deserve that fate.

  I turn back and steel myself for what is to come. Fear grips my stomach, not only for what I must do, but what it could mean for me. This human is the thrall of the Freewill. There is no telling what dark machinations have been put in place in his mind. I will defend myself if needed, but I have no delusions. Mentor Decker has warned me of the power against which I am positioning myself.

  Collecting my will around me, focused on protecting my mind against the evil influence I am about to make contact with, I step forward and offer a tentative, “Hi.”

  He looks up at me mid-bite, his eyes widening in surprise. Despite knowing what he is, I can’t help but think he has a comical look about him thanks in part to the smear of mustard on the side of his mouth. “Um...”

  “You’re Tom, right? From Accounting.”

  An almost panicked look appears on his face. Perhaps it was a mistake to announce that I knew his name. He’s no doubt been warned against such things. I brace myself for whatever comes next. My mentor has prepared me well. Despite lacking the power of their masters, thralls will not hesitate to fight or die to protect those pulling their strings.

  He stands up, facing me. I begin to gather power inside my closed fist, but remember that it’s midday in the busiest city of the country. I need to be careful. I prepare to cast a glamour around us, one that will let me deal with this fiend should the need arise.

  The thrall raises his right hand and holds it out toward me. “Nice to meet you. I ... think I’ve seen you around. Marketing, right?”

  “Yes. Christy, Christy Fenton.” I play along, tentatively grasping his hand with my own. I’d been dreading his touch, wondering whether it would corrupt me. I’ve never had direct contact with either a vampire or those under their spell. Despite what I’ve been taught, I don’t know what to expect. But his hand is warm, surprisingly normal feeling – if a bit clammy. Unfortunately, in my nervous haste, I forget to dismiss the power gathering in my own. He jumps back at making contact with me. My cover is blown. Combat is only mo
ments...

  “Whoa. Holy static electricity, Batman!” He laughs. “It’s nice to meet you. Shocking, too.”

  Something about his voice is disarming. My paranoia insists it’s some dark thrall power I’m not aware of, but somehow I don’t think so. His tone is so ... innocent.

  An awkward silence ensues between us as I try to process this.

  After a moment, he steps back, and asks, quite matter of factly, “So ... would you like a bite of my hotdog?” I open my mouth to reply, but can’t think of an answer to that. “I mean, not mine. I ... could ... get you your own,” he stammers. “That is, unless you really want to bite mine.”

  My mouth stretches to a grin, then to a full blown smile. Within the next second, I’m laughing. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am.

  “That was lame, wasn’t it?”

  “It was,” I reply, but the smile on his face tells me he’s not insulted in the least. “And you have mustard on your face.”

  That sends him into a near panic of using the sleeve of his sports coat as a napkin, leaving a yellow smear on it. “Oh, fuck me sideways with Man-At-Arms!” He turns and smiles sheepishly at me. “Sorry. So much for first impressions, eh?”

  The funny thing is, he’s wrong. A part of me still insists I should keep my guard up, be prepared for anything, but nevertheless I just can’t seem to summon that earlier dread I was feeling.

  Gan

  This story takes place roughly halfway between Holier Than Thou and Sunset Strip

  "You are acting the part of the fool."

  Silence descended in the room. Such disrespect would never have been uttered in the presence of my father. But then, considering the would-be usurper who now sat upon his throne – looking down upon me – I should have expected no better.