Monsters, Magic, & Mayhem: Bubba the Monster Hunter Season 4

by John G. Hartness

  I pulled back and looked down into her eyes. “I guarantee it, Mama. Now let’s go blow some shit up.”

  I walked back to the horses and noticed that everybody else was on the ground, too. “What’s up, y’all? Did everybody have to pee all of a sudden?”

  “The horses won’t cross the border,” Joe said, pulling his saddlebags off and throwing them across one shoulder.

  “They are creatures of Summer, Robert,” Oberon said. “They cannot abide in Shadow.”

  “Nice of you to tell us that ahead of time, Gramps,” I grumbled. I looked over to Buttercup, but Skeeter waved me off.

  “We got your pack all set, Bubba. Let’s just get on the road,” he said.

  I started toward the border, but Oberon held up a hand. “Wait, there is something I must give you.”

  I turned back to him and looked at the ring he held in his outstretched palm. “Grandpa, I don’t know about how things work in Fairyland, but even the most progressive places ain’t gonna let me marry my own granddad. Besides, I’m not into dudes.”

  He looked at me for a long couple of heartbeats, then just sighed. “I don’t understand all of the things you said, but I believe you are somehow subtly mocking me. Regardless—”

  “Oh, it wasn’t subtle,” Skeeter interrupted.

  “Not even a little,” Amy agreed.

  Oberon sighed again. It must be rough being the powerful ruler of a Faerie Court, and your grandson and all his friends just not giving a single shit. I still wasn’t the least bit sympathetic. “Sorry, Gramps. You were saying?”

  “I was saying that if you wear this ring, you will be able to escape the Lands Without Season via a teleportation spell at a thought. Simply say ‘Tisa’ron’ and you will be returned to our castle, along with anyone within the immediate vicinity.”

  “What’s the immediate vicinity?” I asked. If I’d learned anything in my time in Fairyland, it’s that magic is some finicky shit. I didn’t want to pop out of trouble only to find that I left Skeeter, or worse, half of Skeeter, behind. “Do I have to be touching everyone who wants to come with me?”

  “That would be best. The spell has a range of several feet, but if they are in direct contact with you, there is no chance for confusion.”

  “Well, God knows we have enough confusion in our lives already,” Amy said. “Put on the ring, Bubba, and let’s get moving. We’re burning daylight, and we don’t know how long your sister has before being away from Summer drains her completely.”

  “Your companion is correct,” Oberon said. “We know that she still lives because Puck would certainly have delivered her corpse to her mother or me if she had died. But every day will see her grow weaker. You must proceed with haste.”

  “I got it,” I said, reaching out and taking the ring. It didn’t look big enough, but it slipped right on my finger, then the metal heated up, and it shrank down to fit my hand perfectly. I turned my hand over and tugged on it, but the ring was on there pretty good. “I hope you’ve got soap back at the castle, Gramps. This thing doesn’t want to come off.”

  “The ring will disappear once its magic is used. So be wise, it has only one charge.” With that, and not another word, Oberon turned and walked back over to his horse. He swung himself up into the saddle and turned his mount around. “Let us away. It pains me to be this close to the border with Shadow.”

  Mama glared at him but rushed through a quick goodbye to Joe and Amy, then gave Skeeter a fierce hug, holding him for several seconds before letting him go. She held him out at arm’s length and said, “You take care of my baby, Skeeter.”

  He nodded, solemn for once. “Yes, ma’am. I always do.”

  She hugged him again, then looked at me. “Try not to do anything stupid, Robbie.”

  “No promises, Mama. I’ll see you soon.”

  She nodded, then turned away, humming a tune from Les Miserables as she hopped up on her horse and they rode away, leading our mounts behind them.

  I watched them ride away, then turned back to Skeeter, Amy, and Joe. “Alright, gang. Let’s go to the dark side. I hear they have cookies.”

  2

  The Land Without Season looked a lot like the rest of Fairyland, only in a perpetual Southern November or February. It wasn’t cold, just kinda chilly. It didn’t snow, but there was persistent drizzle that soaked everything, but it wasn’t cold enough to break out any heavy traveling gear. It was cloudy, but not the heavy snow clouds of winter, just a general overcast.

  In short, it sucked. Walking through it sucked, making camp sucked, trying to get a fire started sucked, and after a morning riding and a pitiful attempt at cooking something for lunch, we were all pretty pissy.

  “How much do you like your sister, Bubba?” Skeeter asked from behind me. “‘Cause, this sucks enough that I don’t know if I’d tromp through this much longer to rescue you, and I like you.”

  “I’ve never even met my sister, Skeeter,” I called back over my shoulder. “I’m suffering through this shit on the off chance that I do like her.”

  “After slogging through this crap, she’d better pee rainbows and fart sparkles,” Amy muttered beside me. “This has got to be the worst meet your in-laws trip in history.”

  “That reminds me,” I said, looking over at her in a desperate attempt to change the subject and stem the tide of whining that I figured was about to bowl me over. “I still haven’t met either of your parents. You’ve met both of mine. I think it’s time we fixed that, just as soon as we get back to the right dimension.”

  “Bubba, the first time I met your father, he tried to kill me. And the first time I met your mother, your brother was trying to murder her, you, me, and most of Georgia. Meeting the parents hasn’t really gone well for us, historically,” Amy replied.

  “That’s why I was hoping you’d tell me your dad was a used car salesman in Scranton, or something nice and middle class like that. Is this the part where you tell me he’s a necromancer, or kidnapped by aliens, or something really terrifying?”

  “Like a hairstylist,” Skeeter chimed in. “I’m pretty sure a makeover is his biggest fear in life.”

  I flipped my best friend the bird, but there was some truth to his words. I haven’t shaved my beard since I got out of college, and I don’t have any idea what my chin looks like these days. That’s probably for the best, since I reckon it’s got a couple of little bonus chins hanging out down there with it ever since I got old and fat. I turned to Amy. “You ain’t said nothing. What’s the deal? I mean, I don’t even know if your parents are still alive, still married, divorced, nothing.”

  “It’s not something I like to talk about,” she said. “My dad is just an average guy. He likes to putter around in his little workshop, play around with some woodworking, make benches, turn old wooden doors into coffee tables, that kind of thing. He’s not great at it, but it makes him happy, so I pretend not to notice when the picnic table he made for me wobbles a little, or when the picture frame doesn’t sit quite flat on the mantel. But he’s great. I love my dad. He doesn’t love what I do, of course. I mean, what father wants his daughter hunting down and apprehending things that literally could rip her in half? But he’s resigned himself to it, and we’ve reached a kind of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ detente. I don’t tell work stories, and he doesn’t ask questions.”

  “That’s kinda cool,” I said. “Does he like football?”

  “He’s a Colts fan. He grew up in Indy, and he and my mom still have a place up there, almost halfway between the zoo and the speedway. We used to spend summers up there, he and I, to get away from the heat in D.C.” This was more talking about her childhood than she’d done in all the years we’d been together, so I was inclined to do anything I could to keep her talking.

  “So, you grew up in Washington?” Skeeter picked up his pace to walk on the other side of Amy along the wide road through Fairyland. Skeeter’s a nosy little shit on his best day, and when he’s bored or uncomfortable, he’s even
worse. Being bored and uncomfortable, he was the perfect storm of curious.

  Amy sighed. “I guess we’ve got nothing better to do than talk about my family, huh?”

  “You know all about mine, as screwed up as it is,” Skeeter said.

  “Hey!” Joe protested from where he brought up the rear.

  “Present company excluded, but even you have to admit, having somebody in your family you can literally call Uncle Father Joe is a little odd,” Skeeter said.

  I looked back at Joe, and we exchanged “what can you say?” shrugs. When my little buddy is right, he’s right.

  “And we ain’t even going to get into the mess that’s my family history, are we? I mean, my grandaddy Oberon, the friggin’ fairy king, just took my mother, the fairy princess, back to Titania’s castle while we trek through some kind of weird-ass Shadow Land looking for my long-lost half-sister, who would end up being my only living sibling, given the fact that I killed my brother for trying to take over the world. After he turned my daddy into a werewolf. Oh, and I killed him, too.”

  “You’re hell at family reunions, ain’t you, Bubba,” Skeeter said.

  “My family reunions involve a lot of solitaire, Skeet.”

  “All that’s fair. I mean, given that, I guess my family is pretty normal. My parents are still married after forty-two years. Dad retired early, about ten years ago. He had a little money when he was young, invested well, and is doing pretty well for himself. I’m no big heiress or anything, but he’s got enough socked away that he doesn’t have to punch a clock. Mom still works, and probably will as long as…”

  She looked away, and I cleared my throat. “Go ahead,” I said.

  Amy opened her mouth to answer, but then her eyes lit up. “What’s that up ahead?” she asked, pointing down the road. Sure enough, peeking out of the gloom before us was a yellow light that looked like a lantern, but it bobbed and weaved through the air higher off the road than it should.

  “Amy, you and Joe get off to the side of the road. Set up a flanking position, and shoot anything threatening. Me and Skeeter will wait here and see what it is.” I reached under my left arm and popped open the snap on Bertha’s shoulder holster. I had cold iron rounds loaded, designed to kill anything Fae that I hit.

  “Why do I have to stand out here in the open like a sitting duck?” Skeeter protested. “I know you’re an idiot, Bubba, but I’m not. I’m way better at the run and hide part than I am at the punch things part.”

  “Yeah, but nobody would walk through this shadowy shithole alone, and Joe’s got the rifle. Amy’s good with her pistol out to thirty yards, and you can’t shoot worth a shit past ten. They can get off the road and back into cover while still being useful, something you don’t have a chance at.”

  He looked pissed but didn’t argue. Joe and Amy split off and took cover while Skeeter and I stood in the middle of the road, watching the light bob along toward us. After a few minutes, the fuzzy yellow light resolved into a golden glow, and I could see that it was a lantern mounted on a stick hanging beside the seat of a covered wagon.

  “Ho there, travelers!” came a jolly voice from the mist.

  “Howdy,” I called back.

  “Do ye mean to rob me, or are ye just afraid of an old man and his cart full of wares?” As the wagon rolled closer, I could see that it was indeed an old faerie man sitting on the buckboard. He had a blade at his side, but there wasn’t any real evidence that he intended to use it.

  “I ain’t so much afraid of you, but I might have some concerns about who’s riding with you,” I said.

  “Nobody here but me, friend. Why don’t you tell your friends to come out of the woods, and I’ll give you some idea the mess you’re walking into about ten miles back that way.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the direction he was riding from. Which, naturally, was the direction we were heading. Because we couldn’t just walk to Puck’s place, knock on his door, beat his ass, and rescue Nitalia. Oh no, we had to walk into some kind of damn revolution or some such bullshit.

  I waved Joe and Amy in from the trees, and they walked over, their weapons down but still ready. They stood in front of the wagon with me and Skeeter, but off to each side, in case somebody tried to sneak in behind the cart and jump us. I’m not usually paranoid, but I have learned that if I assume everybody’s out to get me and there really is a monster around every corner, my life is just a lot easier. Okay, so maybe that’s the literal definition of paranoid. Whatever, don’t judge.

  “What’s going on down the road, old-timer?” I asked, trying to look as pleasant and relaxed as I knew how. I figured I still probably looked like a mass murderer, but maybe I looked like, I dunno, a pleasant mass murderer. Like a clown. That kills people. Wait, that shtick’s been done.

  He stood up on the seat, and a transformation came over the little man. Instead of just a wizened little carter, he pranced across the narrow buckboard like a gymnast. He bowed deeply from the waist, popped back up with a top hat in his hands that I have no idea where he pulled it from, and tossed it high into the air. I watched it flip over and over as it rose up, up, and up, finally to drop back onto his head.

  “Please allow me to introduce myself,” he started.

  I leaned over to Skeeter and said, “If he says he’s a man of wealth and taste, start shooting.” Skeeter, a lifelong Rolling Stones fan, nodded sagely.

  The little man glared at me, then went on. “I am Terlindor the Splendiferous, the finest purveyor in Faerie. I have ointments, liniments, ligaments, testaments, testifies, fireflies, and flyswatters. I have gumdrops and gemstones, pendants and ink pens. I have weapons of war and instruments of seduction. I have the finest selection of goods in Winter, Summer, or The Grey. My prices cannot be matched, and my quality cannot be paralleled. I offer satisfaction guaranteed and a full money-back policy, no questions asked. Now, gents and gals, what can I interest you in this fine, albeit dreary, afternoon?”

  I drew Bertha and pointed her at his nose. “Information. No magic, no splendiferousness. No selling, no buying, no snappy patter, no witty repartee. You tell us what we’re walking into on the road ahead, then you move along. You give me any trouble, and I punch a hole in your chest with this cold iron slug, and I turn your insides to outsides, I turn your outsides to bloody mist, and I turn your wagon into your coffin. I’m a long way from home for a very long time, and I am tired of fast-talking faeries pulling hats out of their butts and baffling me with bullshit. So sit down, take off your hat, and spill your guts. Figuratively. Or I’ll spill them for you. Literally.”

  Terlindor looked from me to Skeeter but found himself staring down the barrel of Skeeter’s Mossberg. He turned to Amy and found a Smith & Wesson conversation ender trained on him. He didn’t even bother looking over to Joe, but the priest had him covered, too. “Fine,” he said, slumping down to the seat, all hint of glamour and showmanship gone. “But you can’t blame a guy for trying to bring a little magic into your boring human lives.”

  “I might not blame you,” I said. “But I’ll damn well shoot you. I’ve had about as much magic as I can stand these past few months. Now get to talking, or I’ll get to shooting.”

  “Okay, okay!” He held up both hands as if to ward off bullets with them. “Well, I reckon the first thing you’re going to want to hear about is the zombies.”

  3

  I wanted to say, “No, I don’t want to hear about any goddamn zombies. I want to hear about unicorns and puppies and kittens and fluffy bunnies that poop jellybeans.” But I didn’t. I’m not Bubba the Kitten Cuddler. I’m Bubba the damn Monster Hunter, and zombies definitely fall into the “monster” category, in Fairyland or in the real world. So I sighed the sigh of a man who knows he’s heading into a shitshow and sees no way to get out of it, and said, “Tell me about the zombies.”

  “Well, my large and extremely surly friend, ahead of you on the road, about three hours of easy walking, lies the village of Dun Sheene. It’s not much of a t
own, just a dozen or so homes, a smith who mostly fixes plows and makes horseshoes, and several hundred acres of farmland centered around a tavern and a church in the center of town. There can’t be more than a hundred people living there at any given time. Most of the traffic comes from nearby farmers who bring in their grain to the mill and traders buying flour and taking it to larger towns or villages over in the Summerlands.”

  “Sounds nice, actually,” Amy said. I looked over, and she had a little smile on her lips, like she was remembering something pleasant.

  “It is, my lady, if your tastes run to the prosaic. Or it was, the last time I came through. This time, however, there was a very different feeling in Dun Sheene. The entire area felt as though a blanket of sadness and fear lay over the town. The feeling started several miles before I reached town, a general unease that grew oppressive the closer to Dun Sheene I drew. Finally, I entered the town, but none of the normal children rushed out to greet me. I carry a few bags of sweets, you see, to toss out to the children when I arrive in a new town, or one I haven’t visited in a while. I find a little treat helps endear me to the young ones, and getting them out from underfoot endears me to their mothers.”

  “And if you have the love of the mothers, you have the coin of the fathers,” Joe said with a nod. “It’s another reason a strong Woman’s Auxiliary is the lifeblood of a healthy church. If Mother goes to church on Sunday morning, the entire family goes to church.”

  “That’s the damn truth,” Skeeter said, rubbing his backside. “I remember how Mama used to lay into my hide if I didn’t behave in Sunday School. But I’m sorry, Mr. Terlindor. Please go on.”

  The garishly clad merchant nodded, then said, “The town felt deserted, and yet I had the peculiar sensation of being watched with every step. I felt as if the farther I went into town, the less likely that I would be able to leave. Finally, as I reached the center of the village, I saw a figure waving to me from the church. I climbed down from my wagon and went over to the door, but found it barred against my entry. I didn’t even know the church at Dun Sheene had a lock on the door.”