A Mongrel's Curse (Breed Matters Book 1)

by Paul C. Middleton

  "Ahuh. We both know that unless it's caused by science, there is almost no chance of a zombie apocalypse. And if it's caused by a disease, wouldn't maps of hospitals be more useful? And a marked map of military supply bases for that matter?" One of the crew was feverishly writing notes as I spoke.

  Marius blushed "Shit. I should have thought of the military bases being useful." He perked up "But it hasn't happened yet so after we get this sorted, I can fix that oversight."

  Planning is boring. Especially when you've got people talking over each other excitedly. So I'll just sum up.

  The crew's plan was to sweep through and clear the way for us. Great in theory, shitty idea in fact. If we needed help, it was gonna be on the 'run away' end of things. We could handle anything going in ourselves, as long as the exit was kept open. After some heated discussion, they eventually decided. Two of them would take Isolde and Fidelma to a pistol range in the morning to get them at least comfortable with the weapons.

  Fidelma was already comfortable around swords and had picked out a collapsible composite bow and a hip quiver as well as a short sword. That wasn't a bad choice, considering that arrows could usually punch through Kevlar and lighter anti-ballistic fabrics. They also had also a pair of ballistic shirts that covered the top of the legs that could fit the two ladies with minimal adjustment. It was too late to give Isolde any training with blades. That'd have to wait 'till we finished. At least with a gun you just needed the strength to pull a trigger.

  I finally got a plan accepted. Three of the crew would wait in a car near the entrance as a reserve and close support. Three would set up on nearby perches or rooftops with bows and rifles. Why bows? Bullets don't really hurt angels. Or demons. They needed to be hit old school. Better to have them and not need them and all that. Marius and I would lead, with Isolde and Fidelma following.

  I decided to rest, meditate and hoped to hell and back I didn't fall asleep. The last thing I needed was to have to adjust everything to fit again, and spend a half hour or so figuring out my reach. And getting new clothes to fit would be a pain. Sleeping in what I had could be a pain in the arse literally.

  Chapter 15

  I woke up in a bed upstairs. The last thing I remembered was accepting a drink from Marius. The bastard must have put a pureed Tequila worm in it. When he'd been my teacher, we'd discovered that was one of the few things that could knock me out. I looked down at my form and saw that I'd had my shirt and jacket taken off. It was late afternoon, and sunlight was streaming through the window.

  I went to the bathroom to take a look at the face. It was a serviceable, everyman kinda face, with muddy brown hair, and skin that spoke of a Mediterranean heritage. I still had some bulk but was more wiry than muscled for this wake up. The pants I had on were a bad fit. I went back into the room, looking for the suitcase. About the only good thing about my changes is that the new body was always clean if I'd fallen asleep in a clean bed. So at least I could skip showering and get on with the day.

  Rummaging through the suitcase, I found a few clothes that fit okay. The pants and underwear were fine, the shirt was a bit loose. I'd have to find something better. I'd have to find where they'd put the harness and my jacket. They were probably in the equipment room. Food first, then final gear check. Then we could actually get this shit done. And beat the crap, and whatever else out of anyone that got in our way. I was actually hoping for a nice clean fight. After the bullshit with the legal eagles, I really wanted to break someone. Preferably several someones.

  I went downstairs to the quiet of the Devil's Due during an early afternoon. Three men in the room stood up to approach me as if I was an invader until Marius waved them down. I rolled my eyes and said "Let 'em inspect the tattoo. If I get knocked out and they're part of the backup they might need to check. You owe me breakfast for that trick." I glared at him, and he just grinned back.

  "I had a backup plan if you woke up in an unsuitable body. Smaller doses. You needed to sleep and wouldn't have done so by yourself. So I took measures. You sometimes like a body too much, and I'll admit the last one was great for mayhem. But this one should be fine. We'll spar for a bit before you eat, though." The three men were clearing a space in the room "Just to make sure it's good enough. So, come on, come at me." Marius said as he moved into the ring. I hated sparring against Marius. There was a century of training and learning different styles in his muscle memory and mind. Against humans, it was a whitewash for both of us. They were comparatively fragile. But as often as not he was as strong or stronger than whatever body I had.

  After about fifteen minutes of getting thrown around and generally feeling like a fool, I finally got a blow through. For the next five or so minutes we traded blows, and I finally got a lock hold on him. It felt good actually. I'd only managed to do that a handful of times. Marius called it.

  "You got a lot of speed in that one, son. Make sure you use it when we have to fight." I shrugged. It was also stronger than it looked or I wouldn't have been able to hold him like that.

  I sat down to a breakfast of sausages, mushrooms, bacon, steak, hash browns with a side of some kind of vegetarian pasta. It had been a long couple of days, and I did need the fuel.

  As I ate the group slowly filtered in. Isolde came in with a cheerful look on her face, Fidelma was scowling, and the two blokes with her looked down.

  "So how'd the pistol range go?" I asked

  "I suck. I can't hit a target at twenty meters. I'm okay with a bow, but guns don't seem to be my thing." Fidelma said, dispirited.

  Isolde was grinning "I think she also doesn't like that it was my first time using guns and after the first half hour I was scoring perfectly." I was tempted to tell Isolde not to rub it in, but it was so rare to see her excited about anything.

  I looked at Fidelma and said. "We all have our talents, so what if guns aren't one of yours." I shifted my gaze to Isolde. "You're gonna have to cover her while she fights close in, y'know. You can't fight for shit with a blade." I locked my eyes with hers until she nodded.

  The two who trained with them had already gone down into the weapons room to get ready. We followed suit. Dusk wasn't far off.

  When I entered Marius threw a long sleeved t-shirt at me. "Put that on. Your habit of wearing dress shirts is gonna get you killed one day."

  I shrugged and shucked the shirt I was wearing off up over my head, replacing it with the black t-shirt he'd he'd thrown at me. It fit snugly. Maybe a little too snug, I thought to myself as I strapped the pair of throwing knives on under it. But it was what I had, so best to stay with it.

  I adjusted the harness as the room bustled around me. The four who had been shooting were swapping their guns for matching pieces instead of cleaning them. Everyone else was getting their equipment positioned and settled, making sure the ceramic inserts in their vests were solidly in place. I made sure the Wyvern hide lining my jacket was secured right.

  They put coats over everything and we all headed up to the vans. They'd leave five minutes before we did and park out the front. When we arrived and headed through the gates, the three designated would find the higher ground.

  Chapter 16

  We walked into the cemetery and checked the area near the entrance. There was no-one there. As we approached the crypt, I thought that this was a nice change. Then I immediately swore at myself. I'd just invoked Murphy. Sure enough, a six foot plus man in plate armor wielding a No-Dachi (a big fucking Katana, ok?) opened the crypt door.

  "You shall not pass," He said as he walked up the steps.

  "Covered enough cliches there mate?" I asked as I signaled the others to spread out. "A bit over the top. I mean a crypt that's guarded, a man in plate armor saying 'you shall not pass' and wielding a big Katana? Sheesh. You are just one big cliche." I'd need to get in close. He probably had enhanced plate armor, so wasn't worth wasting bullets on.

  "You know what, I'll fight you for entry," I continued, "As long as you show me your face."

  He rai
sed the visor and spoke clearly, "I am Sir Anslem. Buried in this crypt are those who are struck from the list of the Righteous. I will not let you free them from their accursed rest."

  Shrugging, I drew my swords and put them both on the ground. I then buttoned up my leather jacket. It was as good as anything he had for protection from bullets. Wyvern hide is resilient and flexible. As I finished, there was a boom from a shotgun, and I heard a spent slug hit the ground behind me after I felt a bit of pressure on my back.

  "I thought you guys believed in honor and that. Guess not." I grabbed one of my throwing knives and threw it at his face. It grazed above his eye, leaving a dripping wound.

  "Now we're even." I could hear pops from my allies' silenced weapons. The whining of bullets hitting stone. A thrum from Fidelma's bowstring. The louder cracks of rifles. More booms from shotguns. As well as shouts, screams, and other mayhem. I grabbed my swords and slowly walked forward. "Yeah, always thought most church hunters were bullies. Look brave and all that, have some of the best equipment of any hunter, and you still need to shoot someone in the back."

  "I am the Guardian of this crypt. Do not hold me responsible for the acts of others. Your Balance was fair. En garde."

  I let my sword tips track near the ground. With a sword that large he'd be slower than I would normally be. According to Marius, I was faster than my average body today. I had an advantage.

  Please note I'm not saying his armor would slow him. Yes, Plate looks awkward as hell, but people can move fast and free in it. I wished we were near a lake. The one thing no-one can do is swim in it. The pauldrons get in the way. It was designed to be free moving to fight in, after all. But a sword that large was somewhat unwieldy.

  So we started to circle each other. More to the point, he slid his visor off the helmet as I spiraled closer into him as he moved. Once he picked up on what I was doing, he swung his sword at my legs. I blocked, crossing the shorter blades for extra leverage. It wasn't, quite enough. He scored a nick across my thigh. I tried to get in close by sliding my block up his blade, but he took a hand off his hilt and punched a gauntleted fist into my face, breaking my nose.

  I was stunned but responded automatically with the counter-move. After having been it drilled into me by more than a year's training with Marius. 'Roll with the punches boy, it's a saying for a reason.' So I automatically went into a backward roll that saved me from a decapitating follow-up blow. If I'd stayed stunned, I won't say I'd have been dead. I've never tested losing my head and plan to keep it that way. It would, at the very least, hurt like hell.

  Once I'd cleared my vision, I seemed to fight like an idiot for a bit. After all, the world's best swordsman doesn't fear the second best. He fears the worst because he'll never know what the fool will do next. He can predict what the second best is likely to do. Sometimes the best thing you can do is improvise.

  For several minutes he was testing my skill. By using amateurish moves, I kept him guessing. Finally, he swung a cross body stroke that was slightly overextended at the start. I rolled under it and stabbed the leaf blade up under his armpit while placing the silver gladius at his throat.

  Putting as much force into my voice as I could, I said to him "Yield. Your life on the tip of my blade."

  "I cannot. I guard this tomb with my life." He replied.

  "Oh well," I said as I pulled the sword from his throat, grabbed it by the blade and swung the pommel at his temple. There was a shocked expression on his face as a muffled bell tone sounded from his helmet. I didn't really want to kill him. He seemed to be an okay guy, apart from the cliches and trying to kill me. I didn't hold that against him. Tomb guardians were usually bound by magic. His eyes glazed, and a trickle of blood came from his nose. He collapsed to the ground, unconscious with my leaf blade still in his shoulder.

  Damn. If I removed that, he would bleed out. Oh well, it wasn't like I didn't have a few knives. The buckle under his shoulder hadn't been cut, so I tightened it as a substitute tourniquet. Between the sword still being in place and that he should pull through.

  The others had taken care of the rest of the Church's men here. I went over to the supplies and picked them up, and we headed down to the crypt.

  There were more bodies down there than I'd hoped for. I'd been hoping for one, but then I'd stupidly invoked Murphy earlier. There were two dozen or more crypts. Not to mention the urns for ashes. Wasn't this a craptacular shit sandwich for me? I sighed while Fidelma wandered around looking for something. I fired up a camp lamp. No point in looking in the dark.

  "Here," she said as she as she walked up to one of the urns.

  "Okay, I know your intuition is good but..." She held out a ring. There was a matching symbol on the ring and the urn.

  "Let's make sure it's not on any of the others first. Marius, Isolde, go back to the entrance and make sure we aren't interrupted." They nodded and headed up the stairs. Marius would keep Isolde safe.

  For the next half hour we went around checking, and while there were several that were similar to the design on the ring, the urn was the only one that matched it. The only reliable feature of churches is their obsession with records and order. They wouldn't have knowingly changed a symbol representing someone. My greatest worry was raising the wrong ghost. I wish Fidelma had told me about the ring earlier. My Grandmother might have been able to do something more for her and her ancestors with that. Then again, even as happy as she had been, she might have chosen not to do anything.

  That was why I relied on myself. I had yet to find someone I could depend on. Everyone else I'd tried to work with over the past decade had jobs I'd take and they wouldn't. Marius, for example, would rarely hunt down a devil.

  I unpacked supplies, first those to summon the ghost, then the Erinyes. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fidelma kneel before the urn that held her ancestor's remains. It looked about a twelfth century in design and was of beaten brass or bronze, the verdigris clearly showing its age. There was no rubbing or sign of disturbance, so it was likely that it was the original.

  I didn't have time to waste. For all I knew some cop was on the way. The SSC knew something was going down, but in a case like this, they were not even neutral. They were observers. They'd try to prevent police involvement because police were innocent bystanders. All it took was one hot dog, convinced it was key to his promotion, though.

  This whole mess predated European settlement of Australia. If this had been Europe, the local authorities might have intervened to help Fidelma. In the US some of the shamans might have helped her. But the SSC tried to steer clear of old problems. They were shorthanded as it was.

  As I started preparing the Angel summoning circle, I noticed that there was blood slowly dripping down Fidelma's arm. "Fidelma, back away from the urn, slowly." I was too late. A relatives blood could, occasionally, catch the attention of a ghost from wherever they were. This was apparently one of those times. I just hoped he wasn't angry. No-one likes an angry ghost.

  It formed slowly, so I waited, pulling Fidelma back from it. She started to say something, but I put a finger over her lips. He formed quickly and looked from me to Fidelma and back again.

  "Whom disturbs my rest? Though I am in torment for my deeds, it is ill you do so without great cause."

  I took my finger from her lips and nodded to her. She'd summoned him, accidentally or otherwise. Until I was introduced, there was no point in me interrupting. It would just confuse the issue.

  "I, Fidelma, child of your line, disturb your peace so I may lift the curse unjustly levied against it," she said, with unconscious formality.

  "Ahh. That is a worthy goal, though I do not know if I can aid in what you seek."

  "Perhaps if the worthy one who has supported me so far, who allowed me to find your remains, is given leave to question you, together we three can find the answers we seek."

  "As you wish, daughter of my line." The ghost turned to me and said. "Speak. I wish to remain here no longer than is necessary. O
thers, with darker souls than mine, grow restless in their slumber." I shuddered to think what he meant by that.

  "Through means, I have discovered an Angelic agent is responsible for your curse. An Erinyes, an Angel of Reward. I would seek to know the name of any such you may have encountered, who may have placed this curse on you."

  There was a deep silence. Then he spoke with pain in his voice "I worked to rid the world of Darkness. Why would such a being seek to curse me? I was naught but Heaven's loyal soldier, a strong arm against evil."

  I sighed and glanced at Fidelma who suddenly spoke in her trance voice. "Hell hath no bus like a woman scorned." I blinked. How did she keep coming up with answers that made sense from so little information? I'd need to find that out, eventually. The ghost's face was shocked. Then he nodded as if what she said had penetrated his insubstantial brain.

  "I only met one female angel in my service against devils and demons." Boy, sending Marius up to guard the entranceway had been a stroke of genius. If he'd been here, I doubt this ghost would speak to us. "She called herself Cassandra and offered herself to me as 'Heaven's reward' for my deeds. I refused, as a happily married man." Geez, she must have been new to her job. I can't see an Erinyes enjoying the deed if they'd been at it long. And even if they did, a simple refusal? Nah, sounded like one of Megaera's get, with newly shifted allegiances. They were the jealous sort. Nothing could really change a supernatural that quickly. When they moved to another faction, they still held traits from their previous life, for a century or so.

  "Her name..." I asked.

  "Cassandra." Hmm. Named after the prophetess of Troy, who'd been cursed, to tell the truth, and never be believed. That lent credence to the whole thing. Maybe he just hadn't thought that she was sent to him as a reward for his deeds. No point in upsetting the old man now, though.