Blood Moon Eclipse (The Shadow Lands Book 2)

by Lloyd Behm II

“We aim to please,” Betros replied. “Need anything else?”

  “Not at the moment. We’re going to move out and see about freeing the locals, so you might have some escort work shortly.”

  “Roger that. We’ll pull back and orbit. Sledgehammer-1 out.”

  “Malone out,” I said, before tossing the handset back to the commo dwarf. “Cease fire, all elements, cease fire. Break, break. Dalma, stay on the roof with Ozzy and Alfie.”

  “Roger.”

  “Holt, you and Wilson stay here with Dalma and Mighty Mite. Diindiisi, Hovis, and Padgett, you’re on me.”

  Clicks in response.

  “Fred, leave two dwarves behind to support the team and let’s go see if we can find Mr. Chariot Rider,” I said, pulling furniture out of the door.

  While we’d been holding off daemons and other assorted Akkadian nightmares, something had been trying to warp the reality of London County. The rift was still open, but mostly blocked by the huge head of a water buffalo. Small creatures were able to clamber over it, and a few imps were trying to clear the blockage when we sallied forth from the bar. The imps quickly scampered back through the rift before we could fire them up. The courthouse, which should have been a Civilian Construction Corps–built pile of industrial ugly concrete and limestone block, somehow looked like a mud brick ziggurat out of the corner of your eyes.

  “I hate it when gods try to fuck with reality,” Fred said as we stumped toward the courthouse.

  Something in the courthouse howled.

  “That’s not good,” Padgett said. “Werewolf?”

  “There wolf. There ziggurat,” I said, pointing at the courthouse. Yeah, I got looks from everyone. I guess they weren’t fans of Young Frankenstein.

  “Anyway,” Fred said, sticking an unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth, “we gonna follow the noise or just stand here and wait?”

  “Oh, we’re going to follow the noise,” I said as the four-wheeled cart came thundering around the corner of the courthouse/ziggurat, donkeys braying.

  We scattered to the sides as the cart charged, the archer doing his skeletal best to fire on us. We shot the cart full of holes, and tried to do the same to the donkeys. Shooting the donkeys had about the same effect as shooting the cart—jack shit.

  “I fucking hate ghosts!” Hovis shouted, switching magazines.

  “Duck,” Dalma said, followed by the booming report of the dwarf’s big gun.

  They hit something on the cart, and it shattered, sending the driver and archer flying. The ghost donkeys vanished mid bray, and the driver went ass over teakettle into the giant water buffalo head sticking out of the rift, shattering into about a billion pieces. The archer tumbled on exit, and smashed into Hovis—hard enough that the archer lost all four limbs. Hovis leapt to his feet and tried to get rid of the archer, but it had locked onto his armor with its jaws.

  “Get this thing off of me!” Hovis shouted, dancing, with the torso beating against him.

  Padgett collided with the commo dwarf trying to grab the skeleton as Hovis pirouetted past them. I’ll admit it; I was laughing my ass off in a combat situation. Fred and the remaining dwarves were covering us, which was a mitzvah. Diindiisi stepped in close, and with impeccable timing, shattered the skull of the archer as Hovis twirled away from her. He realized the bones had fallen away about two turns later, and stopped waltzing across the road.

  “If anyone’s interested, yes, I got that on camera,” Dalma said into the silence. “For training purposes, of course.”

  “Dalma…” Hovis said before I interrupted him.

  “We can discuss the footage and what it’s going to cost you to keep Dalma from turning it over to the net later,” I said. “For now, we need to free the folks in the pens and find the dude in the kilt.”

  “Can I help?” Mina said, walking over. She had changed into jeans and a work shirt, and had her 870 casually laid across one shoulder.

  “Jesus Christ, woman, are you trying out for a bad eighties action flick?” Fred asked.

  Ok, so the jeans were a bit tight, and she’d tied the work shirt up, exposing her midriff. On the other hand, for all I knew, Fred had a thing for tall, well-stacked blondes.

  “Yeah, we need someone who knows the locals to get them moving,” I replied, heading for the first pen.

  There were a few imps standing there, making obscene gestures at the people behind the bone fence. That changed when Diindiisi shot the first one in the back—the others took one look at us and fled.

  “Who are you?” asked a severely dressed woman standing near the gate to the pen.

  “They’re the good guys, Mayor,” Mina replied, walking over and trying to open the gate.

  “It’s locked or something,” the mayor said, watching Mina struggle.

  “Diindiisi?” I said, scanning the area around us.

  She walked to the gate and laid a hand on it.

  “No, Jesse, I believe this one is more in your realm,” she said after a moment, a serene look crossing her face.

  “Right, then,” I said, stepping over to the gate.

  I whipped out a prayer card, ‘The blessing of Blank, short form,’ and a bottle of holy water, anointed the gate, and chanted a quick blessing. The gate and the fence around it faded into dust.

  “Thank you, Mister…?” the mayor said, stepping to where I stood.

  “Salazar, ma’am. Now if you’d wait a moment, we’re going to go let the other folk out and arrange some cover for you to get the hell out of Dodge,” I said, striding to the second cage and repeating the procedure.

  I didn’t even bother finding the gate for the third pen, just blessed a section of the fence. While I’d been blessing things, Diindiisi and the commo dwarf had been on the horn to Sledgehammer-1 and arranged for the birds to shepherd the people out to the Gas N’ Go. As I walked the last group of rescuees to the main group, I watched one of the Black Hawks come in low and lower several containers to the ground.

  “Jed figured we could use some ammo,” Diindiisi said, handing over a couple of magazine pouches.

  “Anything else?” I asked, swapping empties for full magazines.

  “Yeah, the ground convoy is here, Sola thinks he can close the gate without ‘dwarven interference,’ and the drone caught Hovis’ dance with the skeleton perfectly,” she said with a grin.

  Hovis groaned in the background.

  “Right,” I said for a placeholder while I thought. “That leaves the courthouse. Five minutes, people, and we’re heading in.”

  I noticed Mina standing to the side, talking to Fred.

  “Mina? You need to get moving,” I said as the last of the crowd disappeared down the street toward safety.

  “I talked to the mayor, and she said she wanted someone from the town to watch y’all, and I was elected,” Mina said defensively.

  I raised an eyebrow at her, Spock-like.

  “Yeah, I heard it,” Fred said. “Mayor said she’d be more comfortable if a local went with ‘those crazy people who seem to be intent on destroying my town.’ And she muttered something about ‘another damn cow’ before walking off.”

  “Okay. You pay attention and stay toward the rear of the group. And keep your head down,” I said.

  “I’ve hunted monsters before,” Mina said, bowing up.

  “Yeah, well, this ain’t Scooby and the Gang finding out that old man Smithers has been wearing a mask to keep the locals off his property,” I said. “This is serious shit, and I don’t want to have to explain to Bubba or William how I’m responsible for you getting eaten by a damn grue.”

  “Father, you do care,” she replied curtseying.

  “Oh, for fucks sake,” I said, looking skyward. “Let’s go find out what’s going on in the courthouse, huh? Imshi, yalla, and all that shit.”

  I took point and strode toward the courthouse. Behind me, someone asked what an imshi yalla was when it was on its own time, and how to kill it, followed by muttering. I just shook my head and cont
inued walking.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Ten

  The courthouse looked like a short ziggurat by this point. I’d never made it down to the ruins of Babylon to see Saddam’s reconstructions, but I’d seen pictures, and the original white limestone of the courthouse was now the rusted ochre sand of Iraq. Just freaking wonderful.

  “How you want to do this?” Fred asked as we paused before the doorway into the building.

  I said it looked like a ziggurat, not that it was one.

  “Back off and call in an airstrike?” I replied, shrugging. “But since that isn’t an option, I’ll go first; Diindiisi, you bring up the rear. That’ll put someone with the backing of a god in the best point to keep the undead or other minions of Abzu off us if needed. The rest of you just kinda fill in as needed.”

  “Hell of a plan there, Jesse,” Padgett said, fiddling with one of the sling swivels on his UMP. “But I can’t think of a better one.”

  We entered the courthouse. Whoever was running the show on this side for Abzu had gone for low budget atmosphere—there were rush torches lighting the corridor, which still contained the modern offices and doorplates.

  “Is it just me, or does this place look…?” Mina said in a stage whisper.

  “Half-assed?” Fred rumbled in reply. “And don’t bother whispering. That carries further than actually talking.”

  “Or rumbling like a damn cement mixer on a rough road,” Padgett said.

  I sighed. “Anyone see anything that looks out of the ordinary?”

  “Other than an early 20th century courthouse lit by reeds? Nope, nothing out of the ordinary here,” Padgett replied.

  “Upstairs it is,” I replied, looking for a stairwell.

  “How did we get to climbing to the next floor from my comment?” Padgett asked, aghast.

  “Easy. I just remembered my ziggurat lore from a lecture we got in Iraq on local antiquities. They did all the important stuff on top.”

  Padgett muttered something under his breath.

  “What was that?” I asked, kicking the door back and going up the stairs two at a time. “Sounded like muck sew, but I’m not sure.”

  I bypassed the second floor. If whatever was happening was happening there, we’d come back to it. I knew something was up when I reached for the door opening onto the third floor, however. The air in the stairwell was cool, and the door was warm to the touch, even through my glove. It reminded me of leaving my hooch in Iraq during the summer.

  “Guys, something tells me the other side of this door isn’t in Kansas anymore,” I said as I eased the door open. Sure enough, the door opened onto the top of a ziggurat somewhere in the sands of Arrakis, for all I knew.

  There was a low brick building about ten feet from where I stood. Something in the building howled in pain.

  Behind me, I could hear someone pounding something into the wall.

  “I’ve staked the door open, just in case. Now don’t step through, but stick your head through the door and look around,” Fred said when the banging was done.

  “Why am I sticking my head through the door into not Texas but possibly ancient Iraq?” I asked.

  “Look, I need to know what this looks like from the other side,” he said, “and the only way to check that is to stick your head through and look. Besides, you’re the one who said his God likes him.”

  That made sense, in a weird, ‘I work with the supernatural’ kind of way, so I stuck my head through the door into the dry heat of the desert, and fought a flashback to ten years ago.

  “There’s a sharp drop to the right,” I checked the other side, “and left, like the door opens at the top of the ziggurat. Which is what it appears to do.”

  “I fucking hate pocket dimensions,” Fred said.

  “You hate them?” I asked, wondering when the dwarf had last been in a pocket dimension.

  “Yeah,” he said, stepping through the door. “Right, the door is there, replacing one of the stairways to the roof of the ziggurat.”

  Whatever was in the building howled in pain again.

  “Shall we see what’s in the building making the noise?” Fred asked.

  “Diindiisi, Padgett, hold the door. Everyone else, follow Fred.”

  “Gee, thanks,” the dwarf rumbled.

  “Shouldn’t have volunteered yourself,” I said, following his broad back across the top level to the building in the center.

  The ‘doors’ were covered with hangings of thin gauze. Inside was something I hope never to see again—chained to a table was Louis P. Garrett, half-transformed. His left side was full werewolf, while his right was still human—the interface between the two was a horror, and probably hell for Lou. His human eye rolled mindlessly in the socket. The fleshy skeleton in the skirt from earlier was bending over Garrett, chanting, while the Platonic Ideal of a mad scientist ran a laparoscope into Garrett’s right thigh—without anesthesia, judging by the screams.

  “Zo, it pains you, ja?” the mad science type said to Garrett’s howl of pain.

  “He had to be a German,” I said to the universe at large. “Any other fucking stereotypes you’d like to reinforce? Is he a cross-country limping champion three years running?”

  Conehat turned and looked at the door, and stuttered over a line in his chant, and that was all Garrett needed to break free of whatever spell was holding him to the table. With one hand he slapped Conehat hard enough to knock his jaw off —it went spinning toward the edge of the ziggurat. Garrett swung his transforming arm at the mad scientist, disemboweling him in one stroke.

  “Lich!” someone shouted.

  “Hold your fire!” I shouted back. Last thing I wanted or needed was a warm, .45 caliber enema.

  Garret blurred, transforming to wolf, then shifting to wolfman, and finally back to human. Mina rushed over and handed him a pair of pants that he slipped into, while I watched Conehat struggle to pick up his jaw. Just before Conehat got it back in place, Garret bounded over and ripped the jaw from his hands.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so,” Garrett said, dropping the jaw to the floor of the ziggurat and grinding it to dust under his foot.

  Conehat’s eye sockets glowed green before Garrett picked him up and tossed him from the edge of the ziggurat.

  “Lou, you okay?” Mina asked.

  “I will be when that bastard heals enough to take whatever he hammered into my neck out,” Garrett said, pointing at the mad German.

  “You kinda gutted him like a fish, Lou,” Mina said. “Not a whole lot of hope of coming back from that.”

  It was true. German boy was flopping around trying to stuff his guts back in.

  “Oh, he’ll heal when we take him through the door there,” Lou said. “Something here is stopping him from healing without that damn lich chanting. Gutless there thinks I don’t recognize him, but I do. We met back in 1918, between the trenches in France.”

  “You’ve met him before?” Mina asked, watching Garrett stride over to the German scientist.

  “Oh, yeah. He created me,” Garrett said, staring into the scientist’s face.

  The German stopped trying to stuff his intestines back in and snarled at Garrett, who laughed at the man lying on the ground.

  “Is that the best you have? You know, I have been waiting for you for a century. After I was caught in Williams’ geas, I never figured you’d show up in Piccadilly,” Garrett said, turning to me. “You know, Father, I might have to reconsider my views on going to church.”

  Garrett turned back to the werewolf scientist lying on the top of the ziggurat and snarled low and long at him.

  I’d never seen a man whose bladder was lying on top of his pants piss himself before. It was an interesting experience, but not worth coming to where-and-whenever we were. Besides, I’d been looking for one-century-old werewolf, not two.

  “Grab anything that looks important.”

  I suited my actions to my words and swept the ‘medical’ devices lying on the table into
a pouch on my armor before leading the party back home.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  We’d chained Dr. Feelbad before we left Not Iraq, and he’d healed as soon as we carried him back through to Piccadilly. I could hear Sola Stellus disclaiming about something when we hit the landing for the second floor of the building. Sola had at least dressed for the occasion—black leather jacket, dark blue jeans, and cowboy boots.

  “Ah, there you are!” he exclaimed as we walked out of the building. “Did you leave any portals open anywhere?”

  I looked at Fred, who shrugged and sent two dwarves back upstairs to close the door he’d nailed open.

  “Yes,” I said to Sola, “but we should have that closed here shortly. Is it important?”

  “I am going to close the rift,” Sola said. “I wanted to make sure there were no other openings, and my spell detected something near here.”

  Cathe stood nearby, overladen with various magical accoutrements, a look of grim determination on her face.

  “I see you brought back some friends,” Sola said while we were waiting.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Mina, Lou, this is the one and only Sola Stellus.”

  Sola walked over to the other werewolf.

  “Tsk-tsk-tsk,” Sola said. “Why are you chained?”

  “Because he’s a fucking sadistic werewolf son of a bitch,” Garrett said, “and he’s not going anywhere until he takes this thing out of my neck.”

  “Thing? Neck?” Sola said, whirling back to Garrett. “Hold still a moment, this will only hurt if you move.”

  Sola started to reach for Garrett’s neck, stopping inches from contact.

  “I don’t think so,” Garrett growled. I hadn’t seen him move, but he’d grabbed Stellus by the groin.

  “Jesse?” Sola whimpered, standing as still as possible.

  “Oh, hell no, elf, you got yourself into this one,” I said.

  Fred stood there grinning like a loon. Cathe dropped her burdens and sank to the ground laughing.

  “Anyone?” Sola asked, a martyred look crossing his face.