The Eville Protection Plan

by Holand Peterson

  The

  Eville

  Protection

  Plan

  By

  Holand Peterson

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s warped imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, human, goblin or otherwise, is entirely coincidental. Really.

  All text, the “Eville” logo, and front and back artwork are copyright 2012 Holand Peterson.

  WWW.HolandPeterson.Com

  Dear Friends,

  At the risk of ruining your inevitable reading experience, I’m going to get this out of the way right now: this is not the final Eville book. Hopefully you’ll be happy to hear that. But I suppose you won’t really know until you’ve read this one to the end, right?

  When I began the first book I honestly hadn’t thought of this being a series. However, the farther I got into it I realized that I loved this wacko world so much that I didn’t want to leave. Not just yet, anyway. And here we are, nearly three years down the road, with three full volumes completed. During this time Alex, Serene and Moody have taken on a life of their own and the world of Eville has carved a unique niche in my imagination. Hopefully some of you feel the same way as I do.

  As a bit of a primer, I consider book one to encompass the first story arc. “Protection Plan” is intended to complete the story arc that began in “Most Wanted”, a tale that was quite a bit different from book one. I hope you won’t mind spending a little more time with the characters and “chase” set up in book two. Of course, I’ve worked hard to bring in new characters, places and events that will hopefully surprise and entertain. So it’s not all familiar territory where you’ll be going.

  What’s next for Eville? With volume four I intend to veer off in yet another direction…but what that is I’m not telling. Ha! My aim is to always keep things fresh, to refrain from covering the same ground over and over again, while at the same time retaining the characters, dialogue, adventure and general oddity you’ve come to expect from the series. When I get to the point where things are no longer fresh, then that’s the time to let it all end. Don’t worry. While I honestly can’t say how many more books are in the cards, I do believe that there are numerous tales yet to be told in this nutty universe. I greatly look forward to sharing these with you and sincerely hope you love the ongoing journey.

  Thank you all for your continued support. My writing wouldn’t mean anything if there weren’t folks out there who enjoy it. And, as always, I have to mention the wonderful support of my wife, Cheri.

  Have a great time with “The Eville Protection Plan”. Fabio commands it…

  Holand, March 2013

  Chapter 1- No Rest for the Weary

  A stiff wind curled around his legs, the long tails of his weather-worn coat fluttering uneasily. Droplets of rain rolled down his face and dripped from the tips of his long hair, now clinging to his forehead and face like thin strands of seaweed. Thoughtful, unblinking eyes remained focused ahead, and the involuntary shiver that rumbled through his frame passed without notice. Two doors, at least ten windows–maybe more; there were plenty of exits in the single story home ahead, should their target make a run for it. He crept forward several paces, shoes emitting a gurgling noise as they pressed into the muddy ground, and leaning against a large rock, the man craned his head to the right. His three companions cautiously inched toward the home’s front door, sticking as low to the ground as possible, the leader among them, a Cyclops, nodding slightly in signal. It helped a great deal that the homesteads were spaced well apart in this outskirt community of New Brasov, and with nothing more than porch lights and the warm glow emanating from behind drawn curtains, it was easy to move undetected in the relative darkness. Leaving the rock’s slippery cover, the man darted across a bare stretch of earth with cat-like agility, stopping underneath a window at the house’s rear. Back pressed against the structure’s façade, he lifted himself up, inch by inch, until he could just barely peek through the window’s corner with his left eye. Distorted silhouettes moved about behind the drawn curtains, but how many people were inside he could not tell. The man turned away from the window, and keeping his back pressed against the house, shuffled toward the back door, finally coming to a halt next to it. An olive-toned hand dipped into the long coat he wore, and reappeared clutching a handgun. And then he waited, his face perfectly emotionless, patient, relaxed.

  A startling crack echoed through the house as the front door was kicked open. The voices of his partners boomed within as they rushed inside. Yells, angry and surprised, bounced off the interior walls. The high-pitched scream of a frightened woman rose above the racket like a siren. All of this aural information bombarded his senses simultaneously, signaling the time to act. A fierce blow with the bottom of his right foot handily forced the back door inward, and as the light from inside streamed out into the wet night, the man leapt into the home.

  In the living room, two of his companions wrestled with a hysterical woman who was kicking her legs, swinging her arms, screaming in protest. His other companion, the Cyclops, chased after another resident of the house as he ran toward the back door. But Rafael Vega didn’t even flinch, didn’t hesitate the slightest. Charging forward, the Spaniard met the fleeing man head on, plowing his wet arm directly into the other man’s chest. Vega felt the sharp gasp of air brush against his cheek as the running man had the wind knocked out of him, then crashed flat onto his back, eyes bulging in shock.

  As the Cyclops leapt onto the fallen, handcuffs at the ready, a new, distinct sound came from a behind a closed door, in one of the bedrooms. A window had been shattered. Leaving his companions to wrap things up inside, Vega spun around and ran through the back door and into the drizzling night once more. The Spaniard spotted him immediately: a new figure charging through the storm, mud and rain splashing at his feet, fleeing from the house in desperation. This new target was fast and sure-footed, obviously fit and strong. Deeper, deeper into the dark Vega chased, his legs strained to their limit in an attempt to close the gap. Grime splashed onto the Spaniard’s coat and face, his clothes becoming heavier with each passing moment, soaked in rain. Slowly, inch by inch, Vega’s long legs brought him closer to the man. He could feel the sharp, cold droplets roll off his prey and into his face, could hear the other man’s sporadic, labored breathing. At last Vega reached forward, sure hands clamping onto his target’s soaked torso, and tackled the man from behind.

  The two drenched figures slammed into the muddy ground. Vega was the first to rise to his knees, but the other man proved no less quick to act, swiftly kicking the Spaniard in the shoulder. Vega grunted, knees wobbling, as a searing pain spiked through his body. A lucky shot. The man he pursued couldn’t have possibly known about Vega’s recently healed injury, the lacerations caused from the harpy attack. A swift jab to the jaw and Vega found himself lying on his back, the sounds of splashing feet fading away once more. Maybe because of the exhaustion, the wear finally taking its toll after everything he had gone through to finally catch Necrosia, or maybe the reminder of the pain from the battles fought to obtain the inventor, but for a split second a wave of uncharacteristic emotion swept through Vega. He felt … he felt … genuinely pissed off. Remembering the weapon still clutched in his hand, he took aim and squeezed the trigger, and then once more. The fleeing man’s legs gave way, and he tumbled forward with a cry.

  Vega took his time getting back on his feet, before shuffling to the writhing figure ahead. He was exhausted, yes, but also knew his target wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. Hands wrapped around a profusely bleeding leg, the injured man alternated between groans of
pain and loud obscenities. Vega returned his weapon to its place in his coat, wiped a swath of mud from his face, and looked down at his catch with his typical calm, cool eyes. The Spaniard shook his head and made a face as if to say, “Well, it’s your own fault. You asked for it.”

  “Stupid sons of harpies always try and make a run for it!” a voice boomed. Daniel Hammett jogged to Vega’s side, sidearm still in his hand, breathing heavily. “That was a half-decent shot, by the way,” he added with a wink to his partner. Vega smiled, and all the while the wounded man continued to curse and groan. The Cyclops then knelt down and stared into the injured man’s eyes, his singular, large pupil dilating intensely. So intense was the Cyclops’ stare that the man became still, mesmerized, as though even the pain of his gunshot wound had suddenly faded away. Finally, Hammett smirked, shaking his head slightly, and removed his gaze. “We have our man. I’m positive. And this goblin-licking, gorgon-loving traitor is going to tell us everything he knows about his Cosa Nosferatu friends before I have him thrown into the deepest, darkest pit of hell known to mortal kind. Everything.”

  Chapter 2- Keep Up the Good Fight

  “Emerging from the shadows, an otherworldly evil. Two orbs of malice, burning with the hatred of hellfire, her eyes were. Nails more akin to dragon’s claws, teeth so sharp and terrifying most mortal men would faint at the sight. Altogether the absolute embodiment of evil. Death, sorrow, incomprehensible hatred … they came together into physical form, an aberration of all living things. And there it stood ... but a few feet before me. Words cannot fully describe the abject horror of it all. Yes, I … even I felt afraid. And then … then the little trollop stepped forward, drawing up to her full height, rising like a cobra. Those eyes … those eyes … they bore into me … directly to the core of my soul, as though I could feel her decaying fingers exploring my vitals, reaching in to tear and mutilate. I braced myself, but a small wall set before an unstoppable tsunami. “You’ll never take me alive!” I roared in defiance, my voice crackling of thunder! But she … oh, ho, ho … she merely smiled. Smiled this cruel, sadistic smirk, licking her lips as though she already tasted my blood. But behold! From my scabbard a light burst forth into the impenetrable darkness! Spleen Cleaver! Bane of evil, hammer of righteousness! “Be gone you demon slut! Go back to the vile pit from whence you were spawned! Hell, hell hath no fury like a Necrosia pissed!”

  “And at which point in this tall tale do we get to the part where I found you lying unconscious on the forest floor? Drooling, I might add.” Alex leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a profoundly amused expression on his face.

  “I most certainly was not.” Serene protested. At the moment she stood aloft, one foot set in a chair, the other atop a table, a plastic fork in her right hand held high, while her left clutched a glass containing a bubbling pink liquid.

  “Drooling … like a drunken goblin,” Alex repeated. “And we have witnesses to back up my story.”

  “Well … after a vigorous and mighty scuffle, an epic worthy of song, I fell prey to her evil spell … some inescapable manner of black magic, unholy, spawned from those demon banshee eyes,” Serene explained to her audience. A handful of New Brasov’s finest sat around a table in the break room, sipping coffee, munching their snacks, some with wide eyes, most trying to hold back the laughter. All of them appeared thoroughly entertained by the woman’s theatrics. “The drooling, you see, was part of her evil curse. Under such a hex even the mightiest lose control of their faculties.”

  “Freaking drooling spells. I hate those things. Seriously, aren’t you supposed to be in your room?” Alex asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “You know, Hammett’s going to freaking explode when he sees you wandering around the station like this.” He waved his coffee stirrer through the air wildly for added effect.

  “Pah! One-eyed tyrant. He’s not the boss of me.”

  “As a matter of fact, he is the boss of you until we get your little “situation” cleared up with the UEL bigwigs. So you’d best learn to accept it.”

  “Never mind that insufferable man. Besides, no one has seen him since yesterday morning. Most likely off on official business. They cannot expect me to lie about in that dismal office indefinitely, hour after hour. The environment is dull beyond description. It’s as though I can literally feel my intellect atrophy in that miserable den.”

  “You know, this ‘tyrant’ could have locked you up in a cell, instead of making space in an empty office … with a Visi-Screen, and papers, and books, and pretty much everything else you’ve asked for since we got here,” Alex retorted, sitting down at the long table. “I’d say you have it really damn good right now.”

  “Whose side are you on anyway? I’m restless, dear boy. Trapped. Like a graceful bird of flight locked in a cage, I long to spread my wings and fly!” Serene raised her arms out expressively, the plastic fork darting out of her hand and over the head of a female officer. The onlookers in the room burst into laughter, no longer able to keep their composure.

  “Will you sit down before you fall and break something? Jeez. How much have you had to drink, by the way?”

  “This swill hardly counts as ‘drink’,” she grunted, sitting herself down. “Tastes as though it were made in a chamber pot.”

  “Hasn’t stopped you from downing it like there’s no tomorrow.”

  “Yes … well … in times of trial and hardship one must make do with what little one has. I know how to ‘rough it’.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re a real inspiration, Serene. Listen, we need to get back to your room. I’m serious. Come on. I’ll even go with you. We’ll hang out. Do the bonding thing. But you can’t be out like this. It’s for your own safety.”

  “Very well. Slings and bloody arrows. A plague on all this nonsense. My good men and women, I bid you a pleasant afternoon.” Serene stood up and bowed. “Keep up the good fight and all that. May my own tales of valor inspire you as you continue your civic duties.”

  Shaking his head with a resigned smile, Alex slipped his arm into Serene’s and dragged her out of the break room, wondering himself just how much longer they would remain in the New Brasov station, and what lay for them beyond that.

  Chapter 3- Bored

  “I’m serious, Serene,” Alex repeated, closing the door behind them. “You keep sticking your neck out and Hammett will lock your ass up for good. I know you don’t like the guy, but you at least need to show a bit more cooperation, here.”

  “Hammett, Hammett, Hammett. I’m sick of hearing that accursed name,” the inventor huffed, flopping onto a cot. “I’d like to remind you that you are under my employ, not his. You take orders from me, remember?”

  “Speaking of which, I haven’t been paid since we left your mansion … way back when ... so I’m not sure that argument holds much water.” Alex grabbed an office chair, slipped the dirty clothes strung over the back onto the floor, and rolled it adjacent to Serene’s cot. He nodded hello to Moody, currently sitting on the floor in a corner of the office. The hunchback busied herself with a needle and thread, making small repairs to her felt goblin hat, allowing a silent nod in return. “And I do believe that orders from government officials hold a bit more weight than your whims,” Alex continued, facing Serene.

  “Not to worry, dear boy, I shall ensure that you are more than adequately compensated as soon as possible. Damned goblins absconded with our traveling money, and the bloody UEL have frozen all of my banking accounts. Rotten lot of thieves, all of them. There will be an accounting for every 'soul’ and ‘breath’when this is all over.”

  “Well … at least Snotwaddle went home,” Alex added, searching for something positive to say.

  “Thank heaven for small mercies. If I were forced to listen to his inane prattling for one more day I would have strangled him before the entire New Brasov police force. I’d rather be imprisoned in isolation for the remainder of my years for murder than spend another hour in his putrid presence.”

  Alex
laughed. “See, things are getting better already.”

  “I don’t know about that, but your mood has notably improved leaps and bounds. I haven’t seen you this jovial since we first met.”

  “It’s amazing what regular hot meals, a decent place to sleep in and a relative sense of stability can do for a guy’s mental outlook. Not to mention the fact that there haven’t been any freaking bullets whizzing past my head. That’s a really nice change of pace. Oh yeah, and no dive-bombing harpies, squid monsters or deadly explosions going off every five minutes. Shoot, even my eye is back to normal, thank god.”

  “Pity that. I truly believed it would remain red for at least a month. Tiberius must have made a miscalculation on his end when we developed the formula.”

  “Yeah, well … anyway … believe it or not I really appreciate these little things.”

  “I’m so bored out of my wits that I feel like tearing my hair out.” Serene sprawled out on her cot, fingers gripping her scalp, staring at the ceiling with a look of profound woe. “I even stooped so low as to offer my services, to lend my brilliance to these UEL dimwits. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I desperately need something, anything, to preoccupy my idle mind. If I could but acquire a modest laboratory and some peace and quiet to get to work.”

  “And how did that go?” Alex asked, while Moody snorted loudly.

  “One-Eye,” the inventor growled, “had the gall to smirk and tell me he’d ‘keep it under consideration.’ From his condescending tone of his voice it was abundantly clear that he had no intention of giving even a passing thought to my generous offer.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Alex replied, rolling his eyes, forcing his lips downward as they instinctively reached up in a wide smile.