Montana Firestorm

by Aaron Crash

  Hooper was a wide spot on the road off the highway … basically a Shell station, a post office, three dead restaurants, and Torchy’s, which wasn’t really living, but wasn’t quite dead either. Undead. Clearly, it didn’t get a lot of foot traffic outside the local meth heads, bikers, and wild-eyed survivalists who still cared enough about modern civilization to drink its mass-produced whiskey. Oh, and Cassius Pine’s foot soldiers who stayed close to his Yellowstone Aerie. But not too close.

  Too bad the town was doomed. Mouse remembered what they’d done to the little hamlet of Ash Hollow in Nebraska. Every building had been destroyed. Hooper, Montana, might share the same fate.

  Mouse parked the truck and trailer on the far side of the parking lot. In front of the bar were a dozen Harleys, a rusted, beaten-down brown truck with a tattered camper on it, a mud-splattered Toyota Forerunner—mostly primer sitting on four bald tires—and a brand-new BMW sedan. Bingo. One of these things is not like the others.

  Aria sat next to Mouse in the passenger seat. Liam was in the back seat doing his best impression of a throw pillow. He was curled up under a blanket, out to the world.

  “Are you sure we’ll find Cassius Pine’s people here?” Aria asked.

  “It’s an outpost for the Rocky Mountain Plains Primacy,” Mouse answered with a nod. “Let’s get dressed up and go in there. I can’t drink. You have to.”

  Aria frowned. “Why?”

  “Just follow my lead. We need to figure out who is a civilian—those are the people we shouldn’t kill—and who is working for Cassius. Those we can kill all we want. But we have to save a couple for Liam so he can get his mojo back and get a damn portal spell up and running.”

  The Indian woman didn’t move. “American bars. I’ve played this game before when we needed money. I don’t like to drink. And I find such places distasteful.”

  Mouse laughed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and battlefields are just fine.”

  “They are,” Aria replied simply, no sarcasm in her voice. “There, the rules are clear. Kill or be killed. Inside a place like that? I must be careful who I murder. It’s such a pain.”

  Mouse raised her eyebrows and had to close her mouth. “Yeah, indiscriminate violence is far easier. Come on, Ms. Bloodthirsty. You’ll get a fight. And this is my chance to let Cassius Pine know that we don’t believe his bullshit.”

  “Steven might not approve,” Aria muttered, genuine concern seeping through.

  They weren’t going to revisit this teaming up with the enemy nonsense. “Aria, Steven promised me revenge. I mean to get it. And besides, he’s a man of his word. He’ll be alright with this.” She banged out of the Chevy and into the Jayco, going fast. Aria eventually joined her. They both got dressed up, hit the makeup, sprayed on perfume, and did the hairspray thing. Mouse thought about taking the Slayer Blade in with her but decided she wouldn’t need it, not against low-level mercenaries.

  Aria wore a slinky scarlet dress that accentuated her dark skin and dark hair. Thick mascara made her green eyes pop. Holy damn, she looked so hot it almost made Mouse rethink her sexuality. As for the petite blonde, she went classic black dress, tight enough to let men know what she looked like naked. Both dresses were going to be sacrificed though, once the shifting and fighting started.

  In stilettos, they maneuvered across the dirt. Mouse slammed her hand against the Chevy. “Liam, wake the fuck up. We’re going to bring out one of Cassius Pine’s scumbags so you can feed on him.”

  “I’m not a vampire,” the Yellow Ronin protested. “And don’t bring me the blood of the innocent. I’m not a demon either.”

  “Oh, there’s no innocence in a place like this.” Mouse hooked arms with Aria. “Do you like to drink?”

  “No, I don’t like to lose control,” Aria replied.

  Mouse rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you need to say that again in English. I have no idea what that even means.”

  They walked into the bar. It was an ode to taxidermy and the second amendment. Deer heads, antelope heads, elk heads, and bare antlers covered the cheap fake-wood paneling of the walls. Above the bar were rifles—every make, model, and flavor imaginable, from AR-15s to muskets complete with bayonets.

  To the right was the required pool table shining green like an unspoiled field. In front of them was the bar, lost in a murky yellow light, like all the light bulbs were wrapped in flypaper. A hazy cloud of cigarette smoke hung like the leftovers of a chemical spill from eye-level to the ceiling, which had dollar bills pinned there. The paper money hung like leper skin.

  The place smelled like the Marlboro Man had thrown up in the corner after guzzling gallons of grain alcohol and pissing his pants.

  As expected, every eye turned on them. A collection of bearded bikers in black leather crowded tables to the left. Two old-timers, in jeans and fisherman plaid, sat at the bar. A threesome of scrawny tweakers—scruffy beards, bad teeth, bad skin, and long hair—were shredding napkins at a table near the pool table. Two guys in suit coats, no ties, stood with pool cues in their hands.

  The bartender was a giant with thinning hair and a Fu Manchu moustache. He frowned at them because two gorgeous women in a place like that meant trouble.

  Mouse could almost hear Aria’s heartbeat. She was as tense as a rattlesnake. A cold sweat broke across Mouse’s skin. It was unnerving, being the center of attention like that. And she knew a fight was coming.

  She pulled Aria up to the bar.

  Still, the place was quiet, and all those eyes, all that lust, made Mouse want to get her dragon on and really give them something to look at.

  “Shooters and beer, barkeep. Give us your very worst.” Mouse feigned an easy smile.

  She turned to the old-timers. They probably owned the camper truck outside. “You two seem like nice men. Are you fishermen?”

  One patted his stomach. “Does the gut give it away?” He was clean-shaven, while his partner had a big white beard. Both grinned like fools. Men, at any age, liked a conversation with a pretty girl.

  “We do like to keep at our fishin’ weight,” the bearded old-timer laughed. Clean-shaven echoed his laughter. No one else in the place said anything.

  The bartender set two mugs and two shot glasses in front of Mouse and Aria.

  Aria didn’t reach for the booze, which was a problem. They needed to playact drinking until they could figure out who was a civilian scumbag and who was working for Cassius Pine. Mouse had thought someone might recognize her and come over but that hadn’t happened.

  The men kept on staring at them. She was betting that the two BMW boys shooting pool were the mercenaries. But then the bikers might be a collection of baddies working for Cassius. As for the grandfather fishermen and the three tweakers, they were probably just passing through.

  Mouse elbowed Aria, who did what was expected. She tossed back the whiskey, choked, winced … Okay, Mouse thought she’d be done. But she wasn’t. Aria downed the beer in a long, single gulp. Everyone watched her do it. Then Aria did Mouse a big favor. The Indian woman took the second shot like a champ and drained half of her beer.

  The place erupted in celebration. No one had expected that. There were cheers, clapping, applause, from everyone except the two BMW boys. That seemed like a good sign—or a bad one, depending on your perspective.

  Aria didn’t say anything, but rapped her knuckles on the bar. The barkeep put down another combo of beer and whiskey.

  Tweaker One shot to his feet and came over. “Well, hells yeah! You girls know how to party. Y’all should come and sit with us, maybe drink a couple-two-three brewskis. On us ah-course!”

  Tweakers Two and Three waved them over, offering them smiles riddled with gaps.

  Mouse could smell his rotten teeth, or was that his breath? Or maybe it was his acne. He was a ball of ugly and stink. You could parade him through high schools as an anti-drug campaign.

  Clean-shaven fisherman waved him back. “These young ladies are fine, ya moose-knuckle.”

 
“Shut up, old-timer!” Tweaker One shrieked. He went to slap Clean-shaven, but Mouse triggered SerpentGrace and caught his hand. She used the force of her speed to send him back to the table, where he knocked over his methhead buddies like bowling pins. They all hit the floor.

  Of course, two pulled guns and one pulled a knife. “What da fuck, bitch?”

  Of course there was going to be barfight. It was just happening a little sooner than Mouse expected. She swept up Aria’s empty beer mug. It was a heavy, thick glass thing. She raced into the middle of the tweakers as they got to their feet. She smacked a snub-nosed revolver out of Tweaker Two’s hand with the mug. Good, the glass held. She smashed it into the face of Tweaker Three.

  Mug hit face. Nose sprayed blood.

  She rammed a fist into Tweaker Two’s crotch. When he bent over, she swept an uppercut into his face. She was slight, not that strong in her human form, but the speed did wonders for her attacks. Tweaker Two squealed and fell over, clutching at his boys.

  Tweaker One stuck a semiauto pistol into her face. Mouse snatched it and twisted. His finger, caught in the trigger guard, broke like a twig snapping. She ended the whimper when she drove the pistol back into his face. She kneed him in the gut and down he went like a sack of rotten potatoes.

  Her dress had ridden up, showing her underwear, but Mouse didn’t care. She figured she’d be naked in a minute, covered in amber scales. The Animus from the fight buzzed through her. It felt good. Not as good as a kill but still pretty sweet.

  Aria watched from the bar. Her third shot was gone, and she was working down her third beer.

  “I thought you weren’t much of a drinker,” Mouse said to her.

  “Just because I don’t like to drink doesn’t mean I’m not good at it.” She smiled, dizzily. Uh oh, Aria was racing through buzzed and going straight for sloppy. A drunk Aria? It was hard to imagine. Terrifying too, considering how violent she could be in the right circumstances.

  The barkeep was big enough to hunch over the bar. His cold eyes took in Mouse and the three men on the ground. Mouse picked up their knives and guns and walked over to put them down on the bar. Her legs were showing from her heels to the curve of her ass cheeks. Let ’em look.

  The fishermen were silent. Eyes wide. Quite a show.

  Mouse turned. “Anyone else want to fuck with me?”

  A biker shambled forward. He was hair, beard, leather, and boots. Chains jingled with every step. He stank of beer and Old Spice. “I’d fuck you, little girl.”

  His buddies hooted and hollered. “Go get her, Dan!”

  The tweakers had backed away, but didn’t exit. They stayed, bleeding and bruised, to watch the next round of fighting. Mouse didn’t think such scum would work for Cassius Pine. Maybe the bartender? He wasn’t stopping the fight.

  Mouse put up her little fist. Biker Dan was nearly seven feet tall. His balled hands were the size of her head.

  “How is this fair?” she asked. “Are you really going to try and hit me?” Maybe this big bruiser worked for Cassius.

  Biker Dan grinned. “I saw how you took apart them skinny dudes. You can handle yourself. But I’ll go easy on you. Maybe if you let me hurt you a little, you’ll let me fuck you a lot.”

  “Ugh.” Mouse grimaced. “What a prince charming you are.”

  Aria laughed abruptly.

  Biker Dan swung and Mouse ducked it. She was still full of SerpentGrace. The biker went to grab her, and she drove a knee into his thigh. She accessed DragonStrength, cocked back, and drove a fist into his face. He was sent hurling backward. He hit the floor, on his back, and slid into his buddies. Out cold.

  The bikers all let out a cheer. “Fuck you, Dan!”

  Mouse whirled. It was time to end the charade. “I’m looking for someone who knows Cassius Pine. Are there any dragons in this shithole?”

  “Dragons?” The bartender blinked. “Like Smaug?”

  “Dragons,” Mouse repeated. “Or mercenaries who work for dragons. You all are going to have your minds wiped, so you won’t remember a thing. Might as well ask.”

  “But I was gonna jerk off and think about you later,” one of the bikers shouted, obviously not believing her.

  “And there’s another charmer from the motorcycle club contingent.” Mouse sighed. Men. “Hey, BMW boys, you are my prime suspects. You work for Cassius Pine or what?”

  Both exchanged surprised glances. As did the two old, fat fishermen.

  Then the unexpected happen. The bearded fisherman ripped through his clothes and shifted into a huge Dragonskin, a dark blue color. A fishy smell exuded from his skin. Clean-shaven followed suit, but he was a dark red color and smelled like sour milk. They lost their guts in the transformation and became two towering lizard men. Well, fuck. And those guys had seemed so nice.

  Aria stumbled backward. “Well, shit me,” she slurred. “Can you say that in English?” She giggled so hard, she fell on her butt.

  Well, that was just great.

  Mouse shifted into her partial form—dress ripping at the seams, though still in place for the time being—and breathed out a flash of lightning. It struck the dark-red Dragonskin at the bar and arced over to the dark-blue beast next to him. Both shivered and shook.

  Charged with supernatural strength and speed, Mouse rushed both Dragonskins headlong. She wished she’d brought in the Slayer Blade, but she had her claws. She latched onto the dark blue’s right arm, then put a taloned foot on the bar. Pulling, she ripped his arm out of his shoulder joint. Blood flowed, and the screams of both man and dragon filled the bar.

  The door burst open. Liam stood there in his yellow shirt, jeans, and boots, as pale as a flu patient. He held the Slayer Blade, green fire crackling around the sword.

  “Magica Defensio!” Mouse slammed a shield spell behind the dark-red Dragonskin. Barstools went flying. She stepped to the side and moved the force field from the bar to the door. The dark-red Dragonskin was hurled toward Liam, who drove the sword into the lizard man’s chest.

  Mouse grabbed the bleeding dark-blue Dragonskin by his one remaining arm. She pivoted and sent him stumbling toward Liam, who cut off the Dragonskin’s head. Bright light filled the Yellow Ronin as he absorbed the Animus.

  Both of the fishermen turned back into fat, old-man corpses.

  Mouse hurried to help Aria off the floor. She was literally drunk on her ass.

  The bikers, the tweakers, the BMW boys, and the bartender all had shrunk back, fear painting their faces. Not one of them moved. Mouths were open, eyes blinked, and most of them were the color of scratch paper.

  Mouse was still in her Homo Draconis form. “So, yeah, we’re dragon chicks. But you won’t remember that. I don’t know what kind of story you’re going to come up with to explain the old guys, but it doesn’t much matter. See you around, gentlemen.”

  “Thanks for the drinks!” Aria said happily. She sagged against Mouse. “You’re so pretty, Mel. I mean so pretty and cool and strong. I think we should call you Mel. You’re not a Mouse. You’re a lion. Rawr.”

  Ugh, drunk women.

  Liam exited the bar and took the broadsword with him.

  “Magica Defensio!” Mouse wiped the minds of the men inside Torchy’s.

  Back in the truck, Liam was quiet and strong again. He’d be able to cast another portal spell. It would leave him exhausted, sure, but that was okay. They’d just taken out two of Cassius Pine’s Dragonskins. The Prime would strike back. And without the hurricane circle, he’d be able to find Mouse easily. Good. Mouse would eat his heart and his Animus.

  Aria held Mouse’s hand. She kissed it. “So, can I call you Mel? And can I kiss you for real?”

  “Aria, you’re sweet. But I’m fine being Mouse and being straight.” She widened her eyes in annoyance, though she couldn’t be too upset.

  Now they had to find a quiet place off the road where they could park the trailer and build a bonfire. Then Liam could cast his portal spell and they’d get Steven back. Finally!
<
br />   SEVENTEEN

  Steven, Sabina, and Tessa approached the spinning circle of light on the sands in front of Saint-Malo. It was 6:30 a.m. The beach was deserted. Tessa had the satchel with the three volumes of the Drokharis Grimoire inside. Steven lugged the coffer still full of gold pieces. Each gold coin was worth about a thousand dollars, so even with their splurging in France, they’d hardly made a dent.

  Tessa helped Sabina through, and Steven followed them. They stepped from the chill of the ocean into the cold of a Rocky Mountain night. Around them were pine trees, greenery, and the scent of a river. The others had built a bonfire on its sandy banks. Stars filled the sky. The truck and trailer were parked in an open field. The Jayco’s porch light lit up the grasses around it.

  Liam swiveled his arms in a circle, and the portal closed behind them.

  Mouse tackled Steven, and he wound up on his back on pine needles. She was kissing him, his neck, his cheeks, his lips. “We are never going to be separated again! That was awful.”

  Aria stumbled against Tessa. She said a bunch of stuff in Hindi and then burst out laughing. What was wrong with her? Steven had no idea. He’d never seen Aria act so silly.

  Sabina stood alone, arms around herself.

  “Mouse, it’s okay!” Steven managed to catch her head and end her kissing attack. “We’re back!”

  Liam sank to the ground. He was breathing hard, barely conscious. Where had he gotten the mojo for another portal spell?

  Not from anyone around. They were alone except for trees and mountains.

  “Magica Divinatio!” Sabina glanced around. “We’re in Montana. That’s Pine Creek. There’s a small town nearby with police around a bar.” She waved to the southwest. “And we’ll be separated again. Some of us will be wounded. Mouse will end up alone.”

  The blind woman went and helped Liam to his feet.