The Guardian’s mark had stopped the life-threatening wounds, but from the nausea and dizziness, it didn’t do much for blood loss. Mr. Trash Bags, now the size of a toy poodle, came along by my side, dragging himself along on pseudopods. He didn’t shout any warnings, and his eyes were interested but not pleading as they had been.
“Cuddle Bunny sad.”
“No kidding,” I was terrified for Ray, scared of what the curse was doing to me, overwhelmed, and exhausted. I wanted to scream and break things, but that was no excuse to snap at my clueless but loyal childhood friend who’d gone above and beyond to help me. “You saved my life, Mr. Trash Bags. Thank you. You’re the best.”
He seemed positively gleeful at that. “Mr. Trash Bags is best.”
When we found the kitchen, I told him, “Don’t eat anything. Might be poison.”
Or human, but if I told him that, he might fail to see the problem.
I won’t tell you what I found in the fridge, but suffice it to say that I’ll have it in my nightmares to the day I die. One thing, though, none of them was Ray. I had to make sure, even though it broke my heart to look.
After I was done vomiting in the kitchen sink, I went back to searching. Ducharm seemed to be an organized beast, so there had to be some clues to his business dealings around here somewhere. I smelled the bottles in the living room. I had no idea what they actually contained, but it’s safe to say it wasn’t Madeira, or brandy, or sirop de cassis.
Upstairs had an office and a computer. It was on, but password protected.
I’m not a computer genius. Actually other than shooting, I don’t really have any special talents. I’m a relatively smart, relatively competent human being, but I knew absolutely nothing about breaking into a computer. That’s what Melvin was for.
I couldn’t risk turning on my phone, because then the government monster hunting agencies would be all over me. However, Ducharm had a landline, and since he was a consultant, him placing a call to an American hunting company wouldn’t be seen as suspicious.
Dorcas picked up on the first ring, which was saying something since it was like five in the morning there. “This is MHI.” Of course, companies that operate under legally mandated secrecy can’t just say “Monster Hunter International” to any random caller from an unidentified number.
“How’s the head?”
“Julie! I’m down to seeing double, which is nicer than triple was. Are you okay?”
Fifteen minutes ago I’d been bleeding out, but instead I said, “I’m fine.”
“Where the hell are you?”
“France.”
“France! Did you find Ray?”
“Working on it.”
“Listen, you don’t sound fine. Be careful. Use your brain. You won’t do Ray any good if you get yourself killed doing something stupid. I rounded up who I could to back you up. The B team we’ve got covering New York was the fastest I could get someone to help you. They’ll be landing soon, but in the wrong country. They’re heading to where you were in Cologne.”
“They’re probably going to get detained as soon as they land by the SJK. It’s a long story. Can you reroute them?”
“Only if they hijack the plane. They’re on commercial not private. It was the quickest thing they could find at the time.” I should have figured that. We could’ve chartered a trans-Atlantic private flight, but that had been really short notice to hope somebody was available. “Did you find Ray?”
“Not yet. Grab Melvin. I need his technical expertise.”
Dorcas began shouting, and from her tone I didn’t expect the troll to give her any of his usual sass. While she waited for him, I gave her a quick update.
“MCB has been calling to scream at me. Sounds like you’ve caused an international incident. There’s still no word from the Hunters at the siege. The blizzard is over, but comms are still out. It’s like the Russians are jamming the whole area.”
“That can’t be good.” While Dorcas kept talking, I began rifling through Ducharm’s big desk. Most Hunters were even lesser computer geniuses than I was, and the number of times I had to guess someone’s password didn’t bear thinking about. It was particularly heartbreaking when one of us died, and I had to try and guess their password to get into their files…but if that process had taught me anything, it was that people liked to write down their passwords.
I started going through drawers. It was all very normal stuff, office supplies, lots of papers in hanging file folders, but there was an oddball scrap of paper squished to the side of the bottom drawer. It had a single word on it: Athenais08.
It was hard to type with my left hand wrapped in a bandage, but the computer accepted that password.
Jackpot.
It was entirely possible that the monster I’d just killed had actually been Athenais de Montespan in an earlier incarnation, or perhaps he’d been one of the lowlifes who’d killed babies to supply her with her potions. Or at least, he had killed the originals and taken over playing their roles, like he’d done with Ducharm. Grimm Berlin had thought Marchand had been around at least that long.
“Dorcas, listen. Tell Melvin never mind. I need to go. I’ll be in touch as I can.”
“You’d better. I’m depopulating the entire Eastern seaboard of Hunters to try and get you some backup. In the meantime, want me to call the French Hunters?”
“Not yet.” They’d either turn me in or end up in the same boat as Fabian. “By the way, call the lawyer and tell him I’m wanted for some murders.”
“Oh, honey, you’re on a roll, ain’t you?”
The first thing I clicked on was Ducharm’s email. The child-eating shapeshifter still used Yahoo. The last email he’d sent had gone out last night. I could read French well enough to tell it was announcing the upcoming auction of a very special…piece of livestock? I gritted my teeth so hard I nearly cracked them. If I could kill him over again right then, I would’ve. It said this particular animal was of two unique and portentous bloodlines. Only the teaser was in French. The rest of the message, probably including the time and location, appeared to be in some manner of alphanumeric code.
“Julie, are you still there?”
I checked who the email had been sent to. They all looked like random, anonymous addresses…but there had to be at least fifty of them.
“On second thought—have Melvin call me at this number. I’m going to give him remote access to all the files of a really bad dude to pick through.”
“Bring Ray and you both home safe, girl.”
* * *
I ransacked Ducharm’s office. Amid his papers I found a tattered old children’s book from Portugal. It was curiously out of place, but as I flipped through, I realized it told me what manner of creature I’d just killed. The book was about a bicho-papão, aka an “eating beast” in Portuguese. It was one of those moral, scolding books about how this shape-changing monster would devour recalcitrant children, like those who refused to do their homework, say their prayers, or take their naps.
I’d heard about such creatures through other Hunters. They existed around Mediterranean countries and had been terrorizing people since Roman times. They were mostly solitary creatures, and though they spawned litters every century, the cubs would fight and eat each other until only one remained. Then when that one was an adult, it would find its own territory to torment.
Albert would love to add this book to the library…assuming he was alive. I’d been so preoccupied I’d not even remembered to ask Dorcas how he was doing. I was a terrible friend, but I had a lot on my mind.
This whole place was probably a treasure trove of monster information. It wasn’t very often we found something this old, knowledgeable, and organized. As much as I wanted to set fire to the house because it was so unclean, that would be a waste of valuable intel. After I was long gone, I’d tip off the French Hunters so they could loot the place, and maybe even collect whatever the equivalent to PUFF was here.
Melvin had imp
atiently walked me through a few websites that had let me grant him remote access to the computer. While I broke open drawers and went through the papers, the computer screen kept changing as Melvin stole everything. Marchand had lists of emails and phone numbers attached to codes that had to represent names. He saw customers. I saw potential targets. One of these was Brother Death.
I found that the repulsive monster had kept a handwritten diary. I didn’t read it all. Evil, besides being unimaginative, is long-winded. It whines or brags at length for page after page that no sane person would want to read. I’d heard that serial killers often had pages and pages and pages of confessions and admonitions and explanations that no one ever bothered to read, not because they were horrible—though they often were—but because they were amazingly predictable and boring. This was like that. I skipped to the end and skimmed enough to see my son wasn’t mentioned. He was very proud, however, of his new thirteen-meter yacht and the dock he’d had built for it. So at least now I knew how I was getting off this rock.
The desk phone rang again. Hopefully Melvin had found something. But just in case it was one of Ducharm’s friends or customers, I didn’t say anything when I picked up.
“Hello. I am looking for Julie Shackleford-Pitt of Monster Hunter International.” The caller had a very polished, educated, resonant voice.
I thought about just hanging up and making a run for the dock, but something told me to hold on. “Speaking.”
“Ah, what an incredible pleasure. I’ve made your husband’s acquaintance and provided a great deal of funding to your company’s current operation, but the two of us have never been formally introduced. I am Management.”
Holy shit. I was talking to an actual dragon.
Owen had met Management in his secret cave beneath Las Vegas. The mysterious billionaire was something of a collector, more like a hoarder. But Owen liked him, he’d helped us against the Nachtmar, and he’d bankrolled the siege against the City of Monsters. But I was still bewildered how he’d found me here, and for just a moment I thought that he might somehow be involved with Ray’s kidnapping. But that made no sense.
“Why?”
“If you will recall my reputation, I pay a great deal of attention to current events. In particular, it behooves me to keep track of my investments.”
“I’m an investment?”
“In that I believe Monster Hunter International is the single best hope of keeping Asag from destroying the world, yes. And with the death of your grandfather—my utmost and sincere condolences by the way—you will be named the CEO.”
With everything else on my mind, I hadn’t even really had time to dwell on that new weight on my shoulders. I was still suspicious. “How’d you find me here? Did you know Ducharm?”
“I knew of him, as I know of many things, though I did not know what he truly was. As for how I found you, I’ve been keeping my eye on MHI.”
“You’ve tapped our phones?”
“You don’t have to tap them if you own enough stock in various telecommunications companies. I’ve been investing since you humans invented the concept of capitalism. I still have shares from the Dutch East India Company around here somewhere. I’m seeing these files before your troll does. I will admit Ducharm’s records make for fascinating reading. I’ve gone through fifteen of them while we’ve been having this pleasant conversation.”
Owen had said that the dragon liked to watch all the news channels simultaneously. It wasn’t a surprise he was a speed reader too.
I was still suspicious though. “And it wasn’t because you just got an email from Marchand about an auction?”
“Well…”
“I knew it!”
“Just a moment now. As you humans say, hold onto your horses. I am on many mailing lists, but because I am a collector of things, not people. All sentient life should be respected. Well, except for gnomes. To hell with gnomes… But I have a love of antiquities and items of power. The sources of such treasures are often the most unsavory sorts.”
My husband had said that his cave had been packed with a Smithsonian’s worth of stuff. It wasn’t like you could just buy moon rocks on eBay, so he was probably telling the truth. “If you knew these monsters were trading in humans, why didn’t you rat them out?”
“To whom? The MCB, who would destroy me and confiscate my treasures? You forget, Mrs. Shackleford-Pitt, that though I have a great deal of fondness for humanity’s artistic achievements, I hold no loyalty to your species beyond our mutually beneficial business arrangement. You are not the only intelligent life upon this world. To speak to human authorities about the dark markets would mean forever being excluded from them. I am the last of my kind. I’ve survived because I have resources, but mostly because I pay attention. If I am caught helping you, then I will be cut off from that source of information forever.”
“I get that, but please, I’m begging you. You’ve lived thousands of years. My baby hasn’t even had one. I need him back.”
“Please, do not cry.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Apologies, it is difficult to tell with humans. You all sound very squeaky to me. You want him back. I do not disagree. I engage in many activities your species considers immoral, such as stealing information or eating large numbers of gnomes, yet I have no love for fiends who would steal eggs or babies. I will help you. As a former client, I am privy to the cipher to Marchand’s code. I know where the auction will take place.”
My mouth went dry. I didn’t even want to allow myself to hope. Instead, I held my breath.
“It says the auction will be in Lisbon. Marchand arranged it on behalf of an entity called Brother Death. The asset in question is a human male, aged six months, the offspring of the Guardian and a Chosen, both from a long line of Hunters. If it makes you feel any better, he is being advertised as in excellent health and temperament.”
I was speechless for so long that Management asked, “Are you there?”
“Yes,” I answered, and then, “The auction is going on now?”
“It begins at midnight. One must be present to bid. I suspect it will gather representatives of many of the power players in the supernatural world capable of trading in the currency this creature seeks.”
No wonder they needed so much secrecy. If Hunters, government or private, got wind of a meeting like that, they’d hit that place hard. Depending on who or what was in attendance, the bounties could be astronomical. Only Hunters tended to go in guns blazing. They’d be interested in surviving first, killing monsters second, and hostage rescue a distant third. It was rare to get back someone who’d been taken by supernatural creatures. That was just the nature of the things we dealt with and something we had to accept.
Screw that.
“Tonight. Lisbon. Portugal. I don’t know how, but I’ll get there.”
“First, permit me to offer you the use of a private jet. I have access to one which is currently in Cannes. Second, I will send one of my employees to the meeting as my proxy. I will instruct him to bid for your child to try to win the auction.”
Lucinda had made the same offer, only she was in it for the artifact. “Why—why would you do that for me?”
Management chuckled. Over the millennia of doing business with humans, he had, doubtless, perfected the art of reading us. “Fear not. I do this because your child is the scion of a legacy. Those of us who have practiced high finance for thousands of years are aware that it is not merely business transactions which move fortunes, but what is owed and what can’t be paid. Favors, madam. Obligations. Debts of powerful beings to powerful beings. I plan on living a very long time. Someday, perhaps one of your descendants will return this kindness to a poor old dragon.”
“Thank you.”
“Do not thank me yet. The type of assets Brother Death most desires, I do not keep. I am far from the wealthiest participant when it comes to the currency of the dark market. I will offer up treasures that I believe may interest him and hope fo
r the best.”
“And if your guy doesn’t win?”
“If a price cannot be agreed upon, you’ll simply have to rely upon your fertile imagination and capacity for mayhem.”
* * *
With Mr. Trash Bags bouncing along around my feet like an enthusiastic puppy, I went to investigate the arrangement for Ducharm’s boat. I’d stolen the keys and a few thousand euros I’d found lying around.
Turned out the mechanism for lowering and getting the boat down the ramp was push-button, which figured, since evil was stupid and lazy. I didn’t know much about yachts, but the controls seemed incredibly simple. There was gas in the tank. I was good to go.
I set course for Cannes, which was a fancy way of saying that I drove in the general direction of Europe. The rain had let up a bit, and the waves weren’t too rough. I was in bad shape. Everything hurt. The Guardian’s marks had stopped the life-threatening wounds, but didn’t do anything for the dozen or so smaller ones. The cut on my hand was the worst, and it was bleeding through the bandage.
While I was piloting the boat by guesses, Mr. Trash Bags had climbed on my head and made himself thin, so that I was in fact wearing a Mr. Trash Bags hat. The shape he had assumed was somewhat reminiscent of a Napoleonic hat, albeit a Napoleonic hat with a lot of crazy little eyes and mouths.
He was just being protective. I suppose I was getting used to the little guy again. He’d saved me from getting my guts stomped out by Ducharm, and he only seemed to leave drool or slime when he wanted to. Most of the time he had the consistency of silly putty and the loyalty of a really good dog. More people should get miniature shoggoths. It turns out they make great pets. At least mine did.
Monster Hunter Guardian (ARC) Page 18
