The thing shrieked.
He shoved the stake down far enough to lodge into the ground. It was moist, muddy, and didn’t grab very well, but the spike stuck.
Nick freed his foot and rolled sideways, avoiding an expected attack that never came. He threw himself away from the squid, over and beyond the paved path, and out of its reach—hoping the thing couldn’t leave the water.
No such luck.
The thing bent; it was segmented, like a giant insect, with tentacles protruding from all sides, eyelet things on stalks emerging from its head, and similar appendages acting like feet on its bottom third.
Three tentacles bore down on him. Nick rolled backwards, sliding into his gun and kicking it further away. He felt the wind when one limb missed him; it struck the path and cracked the pavement.
Nick glanced at Jack. The watcher was on his feet, running; the squid-thing pursued him, losing interest in Nick. He grabbed his gun, though it had proved useless, and looked at his stake. Somehow, despite the water-saturated grass, it had grabbed onto something. The squid went only as far as the spike allowed, then pulled and strained against it, whipping its tentacles at a retreating Jack.
Nick reached for his knife, his longest weapon, but Lisa still had it. Cursing, he went instead for the butterfly knife. It was short, silver like all his weapons, kept at his ankle. He was fortunate to still have it. If the stake could hurt the squid, the blade—even a mere four inches of silver—would cut it.
He flipped it open and ran.
He didn’t attack the beast; that was suicide. He raced around its apparent reach, through the trees lining the outside of the path. The squid thrashed, smacking everything it could reach; soon, it would wrench itself free.
When one of those tentacles came near him, Nick slashed with the knife. It cut easily; there was no bone. Didn’t sever the end of the limb, but gashed it good. Blood—or something like it—spurted from the wound.
The squid aimed all its appendages at Nick, striking and slashing furiously. Nick stepped out of range, slashing when something came close enough.
Nick pulled another stake. He had to do this just right . . .
Years of fighting vampires had honed his nerve. At exactly the right moment, Nick stepped forward and swung the stake. He caught the tip of a flailing appendage and lodged the end of the stake into the tree next to him.
Then he ducked and rolled backwards, out of the way, as the other appendages—there must have been thirty—smashed the ground and tree.
The oak was thick and sturdy. Though it shuddered with every strike, it seemed unlikely to break right away.
Two limbs down, thirty to go? No way. Nick flipped his butterfly knife shut and ran after Jack. He’d done just about as much as he was able; two would have to be enough.
4.
Jack had managed to run maybe twenty yards before stumbling. He felt like a stupid character in a bad horror movie; he’d look up to see the bad guy looming overhead, chainsaw (or other implement) over his head, and that would be the end of Jack.
He looked. Nick (not the bad guy), carrying his gun (not a chainsaw), stooped to help Jack to his feet. “What is that?” Nick asked.
“Eld . . .” Jack shook his head, not really wanting to know. “I’m not sure. What happened?”
“Pinned it,” Nick said. “It won’t hold.”
They ran, as best as Jack could, toward Lisa’s apartment. They were still a good distance away. While the rain continued to ease, the night darkened, and quite suddenly there were frogs everywhere. They hopped from the trees, off the grass and onto the pavement. Dozens, at first, then hundreds, until they lined the path ahead of them and behind.
Most were regular tree frogs, mottled brown, no bigger than a fist. Some, however, were bright green, spotted with reds or yellows, sporting huge bulbous eyes; some were as large as a man’s head.
They croaked loudly, without rhythm, as their numbers increased.
Jack stopped running first; Nick slowed after only one more step. “They’re all around,” he said.
But they weren’t. They’d left a clear path away from Lake Eola and toward the street Jack couldn’t actually see through the trees and shrubbery. Tentatively, he stepped in that direction.
Behind him, the frogs closed in. They seemed to be one massive creature, their individual hops no longer discernable.
Nick followed closely. Every step, the frogs closed ranks behind them, leaving the path ahead open.
Jack glanced further down the path, wondering if the frogs were diverting them toward something. In the dim light under a streetlamp, a man adjusted his hat and took a drag off a cigarette. His trench coat flapped in the wind. He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his heel. Never once did his eyes stray from Jack. If not for the frogs, they would have run right into a dark faerie.
Jack Harlow had seen a dark faerie just a few months earlier, in the low lighting of a bar. Might have been the same one: tall and thin, hiding in the shadows, taking long breaths from a pungent brown cigarette. He’d picked a particular woman from the bar; she approached, captivated by his glamour. That was how they drew their victims to them; they never attacked, specifically. They had no need for blood or flesh or sacrifice; they killed for the thrill.
The dark faerie, however, did not seem content to watch his intended target walk away.
Nick said, “We have company.”
Jack said, “Dark Faerie.”
The dark faerie approached the edge of the frogs, who croaked and hopped in growing agitation. He crouched.
The dark faerie jumped. Nick turned to shoot, but never got off a shot before the faerie landed directly in front of them, squashing frogs beneath its feet, and twisted the gun out of Nick’s hands.
His coat spread out behind him like wings. Feline eyes glowed. He bared jagged teeth, hissed, and grabbed Jack by the neck with his free hand.
Jack pulled back, swinging a fist up, under the faerie’s arm into his elbow.
Before Jack or Nick could do anything more, the frogs moved en masse. They leaped on the dark faerie from all directions. Some landed on Jack, but then hopped again. One, on the end of Jack’s arm, spit in the faerie’s eye.
He staggered back, releasing Jack and swiping at the frogs. Jack kicked, hard, between the faerie’s legs. He crumbled, and the frogs swarmed.
“Nice,” Nick said, retrieving his gun. “I thought you couldn’t fight.”
“Well, not like you can,” Jack said.
The dark faerie writhed beneath the amphibian sea as Jack and Nick approached the street.
5.
Nick Hunter looked back twice, to be sure nothing—dark faerie, squid, frog, or other—followed them. They reached the street, out of sight of the path, without incident.
“They’re coming from far away,” Nick said. Some of those frogs had definitely not been indigenous.
“I’d rather not think about it,” Jack said.
They were silent for a moment, motionless. A possibility surfaced in the back of Nick’s mind, something he hadn’t considered before. If all these creatures were attracted to the watcher, regardless of the reason, they wouldn’t stop until he was dead. Sure, the beasts focused their attentions on Jack, but how many dozens, hundreds, or thousands of people would get in their way? How many innocents would die?
What if the only way to stop these things from coming was to kill the watcher?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
1.
Nick Hunter was prepared for almost anything he could imagine, and expected something well beyond his imagining. They took the stairs to Lisa’s floor, finding stairwells and hallways unoccupied but her apartment door open.
He led with his gun. He motioned for Jack to be silent, which was hopefully—and apparently—unnecessary. Easing along the wall, Nick peered into the apartment.
The front hallway was short, leading straight back to the bedroom; the living room/kitchen area was off to the right from there. The
hallway itself was empty, as was the visible part of the bedroom.
Nick heard a British accent. “Lovely tea, thank you.”
He glanced in the bathroom as he moved in; it was on the left, just before the living area. He saw nothing, but did not explore it. Jack was right behind him, displaying a decent amount of caution.
Nick peeked into the living area.
Lisa sat on the couch, back to the window and almost facing him. A blond man in leather sat beside her. They drank tea from ceramic mugs. The pot sat at the center of the glass coffee table.
“About bloody time,” the guy said, standing. “Jack, be a good boy and close the door.”
2.
The rest of the world ceased to exist. In that moment, hope returned to Jack Harlow. Here, alive and well, undamaged by the demon, Lisa hugged and kissed him. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”
“Weren’t you . . .”
She shushed him, kissed him, and kicked her apartment door shut. “Inside. Billy’s been wanting to speak with you.”
“Billy?” Nick asked.
Jack felt numb. His worse fears had been belied; it didn’t matter who else was there. His laptop was on the kitchen counter, connected to the Internet, the screen facing away.
“So, you’re a watcher, eh?” Billy asked.
Jack nodded. Lisa led him to the couch and had him sit. “He’s only been here a few minutes,” she said.
“And I only have a few.” Billy glanced at the clock on top of the stereo system. “Computer should be just about done uploading.”
“Uploading?” Jack asked. He was in a state of shock. He was confused.
“To the main database.” Billy’s grin seemed rather mischievous. “You didn’t think you were the only watcher, did you?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“You’re one?” Nick asked. “I never would’ve guessed.”
“You don’t listen much, do you?” Billy asked. The laptop beeped. “There, that’s about it. All I needed. Good luck, Jack.” He placed a disc on the countertop. “I shouldn’t be getting involved, but I was in the neighborhood. Noticed the . . . activity.”
He walked around Nick, toward the short hall that led out of the apartment. “Thanks, again, for the tea, Ms. Sparrow,” he said.
“Wait,” Jack said, standing.
“Yes?”
“There are other watchers?” Jack asked.
Billy nodded.
“And there’s a main database?”
“Yes, well, you can’t access that now,” Billy said. “Fix your problem, maybe we’ll send someone to talk.”
“We?” Jack asked. “What, is it a network?”
“Goodnight, Jack Harlow,” Billy said.
“Break a leg, Billy,” Lisa said.
He smiled. “That’s theatre, babe. But thanks.” Then he was gone.
“That,” Nick said, after a moment during which time seemed suspended, “was the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen.”
Jack went to his computer. Whatever files had been uploaded, and to where, he couldn’t be certain. He touched the disc Billy had left, and then looked at Lisa. “What happened?”
She closed her eyes. “It was awful.”
“I know,” Nick said. “I was there, too, but only for a moment. How’d . . . how did you make it back?”
“The demon sent me back,” Lisa said. “I . . . I didn’t say anything about anything. Just got out the tea. I’ve only been here a few minutes, myself. He showed up immediately, knocking, saying he was your friend.”
Nick shot Jack an inquisitive look. “We’ve never met,” Jack said.
“I didn’t tell him about the demon,” Lisa said, “or the vampire, or anything. He didn’t ask for anything except to see your files. I . . . I didn’t think I should stop him.”
“It’s okay,” Jack said. He’d scrolled through a few entries. “Nothing’s missing.”
“I wonder if there’s a network of hunters,” Nick said.
Jack inserted the disc. “Let’s see what he left us.”
“There’s more to tell,” Lisa said. “About the demon. About what I released.”
Jack closed his eyes. Arriving at the apartment, finding Lisa here . . . for a moment, he’d been able to trick himself into believing the nightmare was over. Chases were done. His world had been returned to what he wanted, hadn’t it? He and Lisa, together, alive and untouched, the promise of something.
One glance out the window confirmed it wasn’t to be that way. True, the storm had eased, but the night was neither ended nor empty. Flies were gathering on Lisa’s window, spiders in the corners of the room. Watching the watcher. Threatening. Hinting at the greater dangers still waiting.
“Tell me,” Jack said.
3.
Lisa told her story, of demons and hellish realms, and the winged Kaz’azeal that threatened to unleash the Red Death. While she spoke, the rain finally stopped. It didn’t give Jack any relief.
“I don’t like it,” Nick said. “It’s lying.”
“What for?” Lisa asked.
“It wants you to summon it here,” Nick said, “so it can recapture its prisoner? Sounds a little far-fetched to me. Maybe he wants to escape himself.”
“I don’t think so,” Lisa said.
“Doesn’t make sense,” Jack said. “He was already here once. Why would he need Lisa?”
“The so-called fucking key,” Nick said. “If she’s got it, if she’s it, he needs her.”
“What do you think will happen?” Jack asked.
Nick blinked. “I think she’ll summon it, it’ll kill her and take back this key thing, and then it’ll kill you, too. For the same reason it tried to kill you before.”
“It could have killed me there,” Lisa said, “and taken the key just as easily. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe it only works in one direction,” Nick said.
“You and I both went there,” Lisa said. “And back. Both directions.”
“We’re not demons,” Nick said.
“You’re afraid,” Lisa said. “You don’t know what it is, so you’re afraid of it.”
“I know exactly what it is,” Nick said, looking at Jack. “A demon. It matches the description on your computer.”
“Has everyone been in my computer?” Jack asked.
“Anyhow,” Nick said, “what’s to stop it from punishing you the way it punished that . . . that other guy, whoever he was. Throwing you in that river. I saw that. Felt it. Damned hot, if you ask me, and the residents looked none too pleasant.”
Jack tried to ignore their argument, and instead opened the document—the only file—on the disc Billy had left. The file name: Imps.
4.
Imps.
HIGH CAUTION ALERT
Summary.
First recorded sighting: 1123 AD.
Physical characteristics: Tends to move on four limbs, and quickly, though it can walk erect. Sharp claws. Sharp teeth. Carnivore. Prefers fresh meat—doesn’t need to be human. Unthreatening in appearance. Extraordinarily fast. Climbs well. Regenerative properties are rather slow; they don’t regrow limbs, but can reattach and heal severed fingers and toes. Larger limbs untested. Yellow eyes. Hairless.
Mental characteristics: Mischievous. Single-minded. Love to play pranks, especially with other supernatural entities. Cunning, but not especially intelligent. Basic grasp of simple mathematics and language, but continually devises traps even without potential victims.
Emotional characteristics: Driven by instincts: eat, sleep, procreate. Apparently, its trickster quality is also instinctual. Specimen 183 (Captive) in 1782 AD escaped by devising a plot whereby it faked its own death. Killed all employees (no watchers wounded or directly involved). Specimen 219 (Wild) in 1943 AD killed itself in an elaborate, multi-layered scheme, the exact workings of which remain unknown, that killed three employees and left one deformed (Cross-Reference ROD 353).
Special Note: (C
ross-Reference MIL 92 and WAS 219) On two known occasions, watchers have been adversely affected by contact with imps. Case Study MIL 92 was struck by Specimen 138 (Wild) in London, 1523 AD. Blood drawn. Contact caused MIL 92 to lose immunity, and to attract other supernatural entities. Numerous apparitions sighted. See file (MIL 92) for details. MIL 92 died 18 hours after contact (killed by K’uei Specimen 19 (Wild); see file MIL 92 for details).
WAS 219 was wounded by Specimen 211 (Captive) in 1929 AD. Contact caused WAS 219 to lose immunity, and to attract other supernatural entities. Numerous apparitions sighted. See file (WAS 219) for details. Immunity restored when Specimen 211 was destroyed 6 hours later.
5.
The file contained nothing else. But it told Jack Harlow everything he needed to know.
He looked up. Nick and Lisa had stopped arguing, and were staring out the window.
A skull with yellow eyes under a black hood floated there. The rest of its cloak fluttered in the wind. It tapped on the window with a bony finger, and then beckoned.
“Ghoul,” Jack said, shutting his computer. “I’ve seen one before.”
“How do we kill it?” Nick asked.
The ghoul tapped the window again, then scratched it, leaving a line in the glass.
“We don’t,” Jack said. “We run.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
1.
Before any of them were out of the apartment, Jack devised a plan. He paused in the hallway. “Split up.”
“What?” Nick said.
“No,” Lisa said.
“You’re both safer without me,” Jack said. “I know what I have to do.”
“No,” Lisa said again.
He grabbed her, kissed her—too quickly—and said, “You stay here. Hide. When the ghoul is gone, go back inside and stay there.”
“But . . .”
He lowered his voice so only she would hear. “Do what you have to do.” He didn’t want to leave her in harm’s way, but there was no escaping it now. He hoped this would be the lesser evil.
“We don’t have time,” Nick said.
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