by James Hunter
And best of all—Winona had dispatched a pair of tech-savvy hairballs to fix the Camino. I’d discovered my home on wheels all patched up and good as new with a little note from Winona, which simply read:
Thank you, Yancy Lazarus.
—The People of the Forest.
Greg, Ferraro, and I idled around a table in the Feed Trough, finishing a well-deserved celebration meal—of course I had ribs—and drinking a good scotch with a round of cigars to follow. Was everything hunky dory? Hell no. I was carting around a chunk of demon, James was a traitor, the Morrigan was officially involved, and Doctor Hogg was still at large and with the Wendigo, no less. Even if that hairy asshole was only braindead meat, Doctor Hogg could still use him to finish his army of plague-beasts. Hell, things were worse now than when we’d started, or at least more complicated.
There was a war to fight, sure, but we’d still won an important battle here. And just seeing Kong and Winona happy was cause for celebration in my book.
I leaned back in my leather chair and pulled a fat cigar from my pocket. When the waitress wasn’t looking, I conjured a brief gout of flame and lit that bad boy up, puffing deeply as I stared vacantly, lost in thought.
“So what are you going to do now?” Ferraro asked. She reclined and stifled a small burp as she pushed her empty plate away. “I’m assuming you’ll have to go to the Guild with this?”
I puffed, inhaled a wave of smoke, and let it roll around inside my mouth. A gray cloud trickled from my nose as I spoke. “Kinda looks like I don’t have any other choice. If James really is the bad guy, I don’t have another option. Especially since the Morrigan’s involved. I’m gonna need intelligence and backup. Not to mention, I’ll need to find out what the arch-mage knows about the Fourth Seal Bearer.”
“Hold on a minute”—Greg held up a hand, his brow furrowed—“what’d you mean, ‘if James is the bad guy’? I know you two go back a ways, Yancy, but here’s the hard truth: James is the bad guy. Ain’t no ifs about it, Princess. He held a daggon blade to your throat. He betrayed you and he’s been working you from the get-go. Get your mind right about this. Don’t be a fool.”
I shrugged and took another pull from the cigar. “Yeah. Probably.” I exhaled leisurely. “He held a blade to my throat, true, but he could’ve cut my throat and didn’t. That’s gotta count for something. Plus, he said this thing at the end—it’s been picking at my mind. He said, ‘this makes us even for Haiti, back in ’76.’”
“And?” Greg asked. “I fail to see how that changes all of jack shit.”
“I think it might’ve been a coded message. Haiti was one of my earliest missions with the Fist. He and I were working deep ops. This group of rogue necromancers created their own little empire in Cité Soleil. Dark voodoo, murder, extortion. Ugly shit. The guy runnin’ the show was this cat named Pa Beauvoir—everyone called him the Voodoo Daddy—but the Guild couldn’t get a bead on him. Guy was as charismatic as a televangelist. He had plans to set up a rogue nation to rival the Guild, and he promised power to any mage willing to defect. And, lots of magi with a darker bent flocked to his call.
“Well, James and I went down to put a stop to it. It’s a complicated story”—I waved my hand, it’s not important—“but I ended up selling James out to prove I was a legit defector. I needed to get close enough to Beauvoir and that was the only way to prove my loyalty. Of course, I buried that voodoo asshole in the end and saved James, but it’s always been a sore point between us.”
“So it sounds like he was taunting you,” Ferraro said.
“Yeah.” I shrugged again. “Maybe. But I got this sense that he was saying this was like that … could be, there’s more going on than strictly meets the eye. I mean the Morrigan practically told me not to stop investigating, which doesn’t make a damn lick of sense. What if he betrayed me to get closer to the Morrigan—close enough to figure out the real con game? What better way to prove your loyalty? It’s the kind of subtle play James favors. Though, he could also be trying to throw me. Either way, I’ll have to pursue him like he is the traitor, but for me, the jury’s still out. How ’bout you guys?”
“If you need me on this,” Ferraro replied, “I’m here. You know that, right?”
I nodded. “The Guild doesn’t like bringing in outsiders though,” I replied, “especially not if they suspect one of their own. This will end up being a Guild sanctioned job.” I groaned. What a friggin’ nightmare this was gonna turn into.
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I figured it might happen like that. I’ve got to get back to work. The FBI needs to know about what we found in that mill. Now that we know where Doctor Hogg is targeting, we’ll be able to mount a proper defense. Obviously, I’ll have to spin things a certain way, but we’ll work it out. I’ll also get I.A. to take a hard look at the boys in blue up in Missoula. I’ll bet they all have a stack of unexplained cash sitting in their bank accounts. If they don’t do serious prison time, I’ll be shocked.”
“But before she does,” Greg interjected, “I’m gonna head out to Virginia and introduce her to the folks over at the Quantico branch of the Lucis Venántium. Get her situated and squared away. Now, enough with this business talk.” He leaned back and hefted a frosted beer mug. “Let’s get down to the celebrating. To us, for saving the daggon world. Again.”
“Hear, hear,” Ferraro replied, lifting her bottle and clinking it against his glass.
I followed suit. A moment later, the jukebox began belting out Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son.” Only time would tell how fortunate we were, but for tonight at least, I could pretend everything was going to be okay.
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About the Author
Hey all, my name is James Hunter and I’m a writer, among other things. So just a little about me: I’m a former Marine Corps Sergeant, combat veteran, and pirate hunter (seriously). I’m also a member of The Royal Order of the Shellback—‘cause that’s a real thing. And, a space-ship captain, can’t forget that.
Okay … the last one is only in my imagination.
Currently, I work as a missionary and international aid worker with my wife and young daughter in Bangkok, Thailand. When I’m not working, writing, or spending time with family, I occasionally eat and sleep.
Dedication
For Gregory Paul Charlton—G.P.C.—a great father, a humble servant, and a man after God’s own heart. Love you Devil Dog.
Special Thanks
I’d like to thank my wife, Jeanette, and daughter, Lucy. A special thanks to my parents, Greg and Lori. A quick shout out to my brother Aron and his whole brood—Eve, Brook, Grace, and Collin. Brit, probably you’ll never read this, but I love you too. Here’s to the folks of Team Lazarus, my awesome Alpha and Beta readers who helped make this book both possible and good: Owen “Ari” Wilkie, Megan Meyers (aka Teal Canary), Bob “Gunslinger” Singer, Dan Goodale, Joan Carmouche-Hairston, Nell Justice (playing the part of “Blond Siren”), Jen “Ivana” Wadsworth (playing the part of “Raven-haired Siren), Rhonda Almodovar, Robert Olsen, Brett Farris, Jim Dutton, Scott Hoerner, and Renee Robertazzi. They read the messy, early drafts so that no one else had to; thanks guys and gals. And of course a big thanks to my editor,
Tamara Blain who rocked this book (if you need editing, go to her, she’s seriously awesome: www.acloserlookediting.com/ ).
—James A. Hunter, November 2015
Copyright
Wendigo Rising is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by James A. Hunter and Shadow Alley Press, Inc.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the publisher, subject line “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.
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