by Lija Fisher
“Coops—” Clivo protested.
“Last one. Come on!” Jerry pleaded, bouncing up and down.
Clivo held the can a safe distance from his face and slowly opened it. Nothing happened, so he brought the can closer and peered inside. Instantly, the most horrible smell he had ever encountered washed over him, and he was sure he was going to get sick. It smelled like a dirty gym sock stuffed with a very dead hamster tucked into a sweaty armpit. “Geez, Coops! We’re trying to catch it, not overwhelm it with grossness!”
Jerry laughed hysterically again and quickly put the lid back on the can. “A stink bomb is the best weapon out there. You don’t want to go to war without one of these bad boys in your pocket.”
“I’ll just have to trust you on that one,” Clivo said, waving the lingering stench away from his face.
Jerry picked up a small bag and tossed it to Clivo. “Here, I made a trick pack for you, too.”
“A fanny pack?” Clivo asked, clipping the small zippered bag around his waist. “You couldn’t find something better to keep the tricks in? Like a magician’s trunk?”
Jerry clipped his pack on, as well. “Trust me, fanny packs are the best for weapon storage. They’re discreet, and they can hold a ton of stuff.”
Clivo unzipped his pack and pulled out a handful of plastic objects in all different colors. “There’s just a bunch of yo-yos in here.”
“That’s right,” Jerry said, picking one out of Clivo’s hands and wrapping the string around his finger. “These may seem like innocent toys, but they’re extremely versatile. Watch.”
Jerry began flinging the yo-yo up and down, making it spin faster and faster. Once it was up to speed, Jerry flung it sideways and knocked a gold trophy off his bookshelf with a thwack. The yo-yo came back to him and he flung it under one leg, knocking a football cleanly off the windowsill. With a final flick of his wrist, he wrapped the yo-yo string around Clivo’s ankles and toppled him to the floor.
“Whoa! That is impressive!” Clivo said from where he was lying on his back.
Jerry unwound the string and helped Clivo up. “I figure that with all your martial arts training, picking up the ancient art of yo-yo attack should be a cinch.”
Clivo picked up a yo-yo and spent the better part of an hour learning how to use it. Jerry was right—his jujitsu training made picking up the skill easy. Before he knew it, he could fling one of the toys with one hand while wrapping Jerry’s wrists together with another. It had seemed silly at first, but he had to admit, there really was an art to the yo-yo attack.
A knock sounded on the door and Jerry opened it to find Stephanie wringing her hands. “Guys, we have a— Blah! What’s that smell?”
Clivo pocketed the yo-yos and pointed his thumb at Jerry. “Jerry’s been busy working on his stink bombs.”
Stephanie covered her nose with her sleeve. “It’s horrible! Perfect, but horrible!”
Jerry gave her a bow. “Thank you, m’lady.”
“Anyway, can you guys come downstairs?” Stephanie asked, her voice muffled by her sleeve. “We’ve got a problem. A big one.”
Clivo’s heart sank. “I didn’t realize it was possible to have more problems.”
The three of them ran to the basement, where the rest of the Blasters were huddled around Amelia and the laptop. By the looks on everyone’s faces, whatever the problem was, it was really bad. “What’s going on?” Clivo asked.
Amelia furiously spun her nose ring between two fingers. “Douglas has logged into every crypto chat room and is posting GPS coordinates for a transponder, claiming that if anyone follows it, they’ll find what Nostradamus predicted.”
“How do you know it’s Douglas?” Clivo asked, his blood beginning to boil at the old man’s continuous meddling.
Amelia pointed to the computer. “His screen name is GotchaClivoYouAnnoyingTwit.”
“That’s Douglas all right,” Clivo said, clenching his jaw in anger.
Adam shook his head. “He’s gone off his rocker. He’s basically telegraphing to everyone in the evil resistance how to find us!”
“Wait, what do you mean ‘us’?” Clivo asked. “Where are the coordinates that he’s leading everyone to?”
Amelia’s face was a mixture of worry and fear. “Right here. To this house.”
Clivo didn’t waste a second. He grabbed Hernando and frantically began patting him down. “He must have put a tracking device on one of you guys when you jumped him. Hurry! You’re all wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Look for something attached to you! He’s calling a whole army down on us!”
Everyone began to furiously pat down themselves, checking for some kind of tracking device. Stephanie rummaged through Charles’s thick hair while Hernando emptied all his pockets and Adam checked the insides of his socks.
“Nothing, Clivo!” Stephanie said, her voice rising with hysteria. “We can’t find anything!”
Clivo forced himself not to panic. He stood with his hands on his hips, slowing his breath and letting his mind remember the events in Douglas’s lair. He went through everything—what had happened, anything Clivo might have touched, any contact any of them had had with Douglas …
Clivo’s blood froze. His hand slowly reached for the spot on his shoulder where Douglas had shot him. He spoke, but his voice sounded faraway. “It’s me. He shot me with a tranquilizer dart. There’s a tracking device in me.”
Stephanie’s hands flew to her mouth, but she quickly recovered. “Okay, that’s okay. Let’s think about this. Maybe I can somehow block the transmitter in you from responding to a signal.”
“Can we cut it out?” Adam asked. “I’m not trying to go all crazy, but we gotta get that thing out of you and destroy it!”
“Yeah, dude!” Charles agreed. “Wherever you go, the evil resistance will now be able to follow you. And we don’t even know what these creeps are capable of. You’re in serious danger, man!”
“Which is why I need to get away from you,” Clivo said, knowing without a doubt that it was the right choice.
Jerry grabbed Clivo’s arm. “This is no time to be alone, Wren.”
“Actually, it’s the perfect time,” Clivo said. “I’m now a target. I can’t be anywhere close to any of you.” He looked at Jerry. “This isn’t what I wanted, but it’s the way things are going to go down. I need to leave, immediately.”
“And there’s no way that’s happening, you hear me?” Jerry insisted. “I’m definitely going with you. I’m not letting you face the evil resistance and the aswang all at the same time. Are you kidding me?”
“I’m coming, too,” Stephanie said. “I can be a good set of eyes and ears.”
“I’m coming too, dude,” Adam said. “And count me in for the fighting part. I think.”
Charles took a ridiculous fighting stance. “You know how good I am at karate. I’m in.”
Hernando shifted from side to side nervously. “I can be eyes and ears. Fighting makes me faint.”
Amelia nodded. “I can help look for the aswang. It can’t be that hard to pick an immortal human out of a crowd. Speaking of which, I printed out a map of the island that has the most aswang sightings. The guy should be there.”
Clivo accepted the paper from Amelia and glanced at the island’s name. “Okay, team, if you really want to do this, let’s get busy.”
Stephanie’s face relaxed. “I’m glad you’re okay with us coming. I was worried you’d put up a fight to try to protect us or something.”
Clivo shook his head and smiled. But then he thought of something and his smile faded. “Wait! None of you have passports. You won’t be able to go on an international flight or get through Customs in the Philippines.”
One by one, the Blasters pulled passports out of their pockets. Adam smiled. “We got them in order to fly out here. None of us have driver’s licenses, so we figured we should have some kind of ID. And we can’t always have Serge helping grease the wheels.”
“We’re a team to
the end, remember?” Hernando said.
“Blasters! Prepare!” Adam yelled, raising an arm in the air. “We travel to victory!”
“Give me a minute. I just need to grab my passport and come up with a good reason to tell my parents why I’m going to the other side of the planet for a few days,” Jerry said, running upstairs.
Clivo headed out of the basement, too. “I’m going to pack up some stuff. I’ll meet you upstairs in half an hour.”
Clivo ran up to Jerry’s room and threw his clothes and Jerry’s fanny pack of tricks into his backpack. He snuck downstairs and noticed Jerry huddling with his parents in the living room, his arms waving around as he came up with a believable lie. Aunt Pearl was in a recliner, her fingers gently stroking her cats.
Clivo hesitated for just a moment before opening the front door and sneaking away into the night alone, the way his father often had when he didn’t want Clivo to know that he was disappearing on another trip. The Blasters would be mad, the way that Clivo always had been when his dad snuck away, but they’d be alive, and that was all that mattered.
XV
A little more than twenty-four hours later, a small propeller plane was carrying Clivo over Batan Island in the Philippines. He looked out the window at a tropical island covered in rolling green hills, lighthouses, and white-sand beaches. It looked like paradise.
Clivo smiled to himself. He’d been asking the Blasters all year to send him to a tropical island where he could wait for a cryptid while lounging beneath a palm tree. He supposed it was only fitting that his last catch (hopefully) would be in such a place.
The plane landed with barely a bounce, and he and the few other passengers exited into a warm breeze that smelled deliciously like the salty sea. It was morning, and Clivo closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun, hoping the light would help him overcome his jet lag.
He kept his eyes closed for just a moment before quickly opening them. His hand reached up to his shoulder where the tranquilizer dart had pierced him, leaving him with no ability to hide. He had to stay alert for anyone tracking him.
Clivo walked through the airport terminal, which was just a small stone building with wooden doors. There weren’t that many people around, but he studied each and every one of them, making sure they weren’t studying him. He had no idea how many people in the evil resistance were spread across the globe, so he decided to act as if everybody on this island was part of it. That way he’d never let his guard down.
Clivo walked to town along an empty road, his senses heightened for any sign that someone was watching him. But the place was quiet save for the ruffling of palm fronds in the warm breeze.
The town was small and the architecture was a mash-up of many different styles—Spanish colonial, Japanese, and American. Small homes that looked like slope-roofed pagodas stood next to a magnificent redbrick church. Other buildings were painted in bright pastels. The whole place had a slightly worn feeling about it, like nothing new had been built since the 1950s.
Clivo wished he’d had more time to learn about the history of the area—all he knew was that the island was part of what was known as the Ring of Fire, because of all the earthquakes and volcanic eruptions that took place. That must have been why all of the buildings were so low, Clivo figured—in case an earthquake hit.
Clivo wandered through the town for an hour. He knew where he wanted to stay, but he also wanted to get a feel for the place and make sure nobody was following him as he checked in to the hotel. He didn’t need a repeat of Egypt and having someone ransack his room while he was away—not that he had anything of importance to steal. He’d be sure to keep his passport and the blood sampler on him at all times, as well as Jerry’s fanny pack of tricks.
Once he was sure he wasn’t being followed, Clivo checked in to the hotel and was relieved that everyone spoke English, so at least he didn’t stand out too much by not knowing the language.
The two-story hotel was made of stone, and Clivo’s room on the top floor had polished wood floors and shutters that overlooked the backyard. It was a very pleasant space, but Clivo didn’t intend to spend much time in his room. He had an immortal man to catch.
The thought made him pause. Was the aswang a man? For some reason he had pictured the aswang as being someone like Dracula, a distinguished person who walked in the shadows all day and then fed on blood at night. But perhaps it was more like a witch? Clivo reminded himself to remain open to all the possibilities.
He put on a loose-fitting long-sleeved shirt and long pants like the typical dress of the area. If he put on a pair of shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, he knew he’d stick out as a tourist for sure, and perhaps catch the attention of the evil resistance.
Clivo chuckled ruefully to himself, because he supposed it didn’t matter what he wore since he had a tracking chip floating through his blood.
He stepped out of his air-conditioned hotel into the heat and humidity, his eyes flitting up and down the street. He relaxed for a moment, thinking that even if people were following him, they probably wouldn’t arrive for a while. With any luck, he’d have a day or so to get to know the town and narrow down who the immortal person walking among them might be.
Feeling alert, he began his exploration. There were corner grocery stores with fresh fruit carts out front, tiny clothing stores with their doors thrown wide open to the air, and a butcher shop that must have sold beef from the cows that grazed in the nearby fields.
Clivo considered what kind of job the aswang might hold. Did an immortal creature need a job? It must, unless it somehow had a stash of riches to last infinite lifetimes. Whoever the aswang was, Clivo thought, it didn’t seem to flaunt any wealth—there were no gaudy palaces or fancy cars around.
Clivo spent the day wandering and observing people. He noticed if people looked directly at him, or if they averted their gaze, perhaps to avoid revealing the telltale sign of an upside-down reflection in their eyes. He took note of the people who wore sunglasses possibly for the same reason.
Most of the townspeople were very friendly, greeting him with nods or smiles as he—obviously a tourist—walked past. He pictured the aswang as shy and reserved, more of an observer of the world than anything. But these were just guesses and, as the Blasters always said, anything is possible until proven otherwise.
Clivo wished for a moment that he hadn’t left the Blasters back home. It was so beautiful on this tropical island, and having their company would have made it even better. And he could really have used their help in identifying who the aswang might be. But he reminded himself that this idyllic town was likely about to be invaded by the evil resistance, not to mention, come the full moon, also by a people-eating bat creature. As lonely as Clivo felt halfway across the world by himself, he was glad that everyone he cared about was safe, far away from this place. And from him.
He wandered down a dirt road out of town and to a stone church that stood among the picturesque rolling green hills. He wasn’t sure why he was drawn to the church, although pictures of an immortal creature living in a candlelit catacomb did flash through his mind. Maybe it was something about the church being the oldest thing around; the plaque on its thick wall dated it to the seventeenth century.
Clivo poked his head inside and gasped in awe. Rows of dark brown pews sat on a colorfully tiled floor, and a large stained-glass window cast an otherworldly glow over the room. Even though the space was cavernous, it felt welcoming, and its silence was serene.
Clivo noticed a few people quietly sitting in the pews, so out of respect he took a seat in the back, the wooden bench squeaking beneath his weight.
He watched the other people, trying to sense something from them. Was the immortal religious? Having lived for centuries, it must have seen religions come and go, gods rise and fall. What did it believe in, if anything?
Clivo was so lost in thought that it took him a moment to realize that a man had turned around and was staring directly at him. The man was old, althoug
h not exactly ancient, and he had a mess of curly white hair that stood out against his dark skin.
Clivo jumped a bit at the man’s gaze, not just because it was trained on him, but also because he was wearing dark glasses even though the church was bathed in low light.
Clivo returned the man’s stare, not quite sure what to do. Was it possible that he had stumbled upon the aswang as easily as that?
The man slowly stood up, his long black robe reaching to the floor. He was a priest! Of course! It was genius! Nobody would accuse a priest of being a demon! Living inside a church, which was a sacred, protected site, was the perfect hiding place.
Clivo was practically shaking with adrenaline as the man walked up to him. The cryptid catcher was tempted to grab the man and take a blood sample right there, but the other people in the church probably wouldn’t take too kindly to their minister being tackled by a tourist. And if he was the aswang, what then? Clivo hadn’t even made a plan as to what to do if he found the creature. That was supposed to be Douglas’s job.
The man approached Clivo with a slow gait, his robe swishing on the mosaic floor. He was so tall that he looked down at Clivo like a leaning tower, his face holding a knowing smile. “Have you found what you are looking for?”
Clivo gulped. Did this man know who he was? “Um, I’m not sure. I think I’m still looking.”
The man nodded. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
“I do. Wouldn’t you?” Clivo asked. He wasn’t sure if they were talking about the same thing, but figured he should continue the conversation.
The man chuckled. “I had questions many, many, many years ago, but I’ve come to accept what is, and, once I did, my life became quite amazing.”
Clivo tried to see his reflection in the man’s eyes, but they were shrouded by the dark spectacles. “I’d like to learn more, if you don’t mind sharing.”
The man stopped smiling and he leaned over, whispering in Clivo’s ear, his breath smelling like dust. “I’m sure you’d like to learn about the secret, wouldn’t you?”
