Owen let himself sink the rest of the way to the floor. “Thanks.” His eyes slid shut. “Oh my God, I hate werewolves.”
“Earl will be so glad to hear that,” Julie said with a grin.
Owen looked up at her and croaked weakly, “You know what I meant.”
“Now that your vacation’s over, we have another mission.”
“A mission?” Owen whimpered. “No, I think I’m broken. I need Gretchen.”
Julie rolled her eyes as smoke from the burning cabin wreathed her head. “I swear you are such a lightweight. It was just a werewolf and a minotaur…”
“And an orc and a very angry gnome,” Owen added. Then their eyes met and she grinned. She was totally fucking with him.
“Let’s get out of here before the place burns down around our ears.” She leaned down and pulled his good arm over her shoulder. “Lean into me as you stand, okay?”
Trip Jones and Holly Newcastle appeared and grabbed Owen from her, Trip draping Owen’s arm over his shoulder and leaning into him as the two women wrapped arms around his waist and shoulders. They all helped him toward the helicopter where Skippy was waiting. Seeing another orc face sent shivers through Owen. Thank God this one was his friend.
“Don’t worry,” Julie whispered, as they helped him tenderly onto the helicopter and every cell in Owen’s broken body still cried out.”Skippy, take us to Gretchen,” she called.
Skippy nodded and grinned. “Gretchen, yes.”
The helicopter vibrated and lifted up as Owen watched the burning cabin recede into the distance. Owen realized he’d forgotten his things, then he turned his head and saw Abomination cradled in Holly’s hands. He sighed. Well, that was what was important. He hoped someone would come to put the fire out before it set the woods ablaze.
And then his eyes began fading, his vision hazy, as Julie cradled his head in her lap and Owen drifted off into the nether of sleep. Just another day at MHI.
Julie Shackleford practically runs MHI now, so it is hard to imagine that she was once an inexperienced kid. She’s currently compiling a more in-depth report which will be titled Monster Hunter Guardian, chronicling her experiences and a few recent events. —A.L.
Hunter Born
Sarah A. Hoyt
Some families volunteer at soup kitchens. Some families do arts and crafts together. My family kills monsters.
“Mooooooom,” I said, and despised the sound of my own voice, all whiney and annoying, like the way other kids talk to their parents. I tried very hard not to do that because my parents were both too awesome for sass. I’d seen them kill horrible things to save the world since I was about five.
But at sixteen, this was the first time I was going on a date to a school dance, and Mom was driving me insane.
My name is Julie Shackleford and my parents are Monster Hunters. The government…or sometimes other people…pay a bounty for every monster caught, and that’s the family business, started by my great-great-grandfather, and still carried on by my family today. I started by helping out with spotting and stuff before I was in school.
In first grade, when I had to do an essay about what we did on the weekend, I wrote about the family hunting vampires. The teacher called my mom and told her not to let me watch horror movies. Mom had told me not to talk about our business in school, but sometimes things slipped out.
I love my family and I love the business. It’s not just a way of making a living, but we’re doing good, too. Only sometimes I really wish I could be a normal girl. Like right then. Kyle Armistead had invited me to the senior prom, and all the girls in tenth grade were really jealous of me for the first time ever.
For one night, for just one night, I wanted to be the sixteen-year-old who got to go out with the kicker for the football team, okay? That’s all I wanted. Dance a little, maybe a kiss.
Which is probably why I was whining like a regular sixteen-year-old while Mom, who is really pretty and used to be a beauty queen, adjusted my dress. The dress had been a fight too, because I wanted this simple black dress that made me look grown-up but Mom said it wasn’t right for someone my age, so I had this white eyelet lace thing. Very pretty, but it didn’t feel like me.
“Now remember,” Mom said, “no drinking, and your dad has told Kyle he wants you home by eleven, tops. And why aren’t you wearing your glasses?”
I lifted my little purse, which was more like a purselet and made me nervous because I never carried anything but my school backpack and I lost that often enough. “They’re in here,” I said. “I can see enough to eat and dance without them, Mom.”
Mom started to open her mouth, then snapped it shut. Probably going to tell me I couldn’t shoot without them. She didn’t ask if I was armed, either.
The school had gotten all funny about weapons on school grounds. One of my friends had gotten in trouble because she had a knife and was stupid enough to let someone see it.
I had a knife, too. Two, actually, concealed. And I had a Semmerling LM4 in the purselet, which probably made the purselet a fairly good flail, since the thing weighed a pound and a quarter.
The Semmerling wasn’t my weapon of choice, but it was small. My brother Ray is a massive fan of F. Paul Wilson’s Repairman Jack books, and had gotten Dad to give him the pistol just to be like the guy in the books. He left it behind in his desk drawer, because Dad had told him he could only have it if he promised not to try to use it to Monster Hunt. Though it was a five-shot .45 ACP, and no peashooter, it required you to work the action manually between shots. So it was great for one shot, but cumbersome after that, particularly in a rapid-fire situation. Ray had plenty of other weapons he could use. So I grabbed the Semmerling from his room with no problems.
As to why I wanted the Semmerling…well, my imaginary friend had appeared in my dreams and told me I was running into danger.
* * *
Other kids have cool imaginary friends—kids, actors, cartoon characters—and in the case of my younger brother, an imaginary llama whom he took everywhere and fed imaginary oats.
My imaginary friend when I was four was called Mr. Trash Bags. He was a big blob, with a lot of eyes, and a bit dumb. I mean, I offered him my stuffed bunny, so he called me Cuddle Bunny. There were mice and small rocks who were brighter than Mr. Trash Bags.
But I was kind of a lonely kid, and he was very real to me. He was kind and sweet and we used to play hide and seek and catch and stuff. I’d been devastated when he disappeared, which was also weird, since I don’t think imaginary friends are supposed to move away. I guess I was a weird kid.
But what was really weird was that he had showed up in my dream the night before I was supposed to go to the prom with Kyle, and he’d said, “CUDDLE BUNNY, beware. What seems isn’t. Beware. PLEASURE EATER DANGEROUS BEWARE.”
Now, I know it seems stupid that I should pay attention to the warnings of something that didn’t even exist outside my imagination, but I’d woken up with a bad feeling and I’d decided I needed a gun in addition to my knives. No, I’m not sure what I expected, but it wouldn’t be the first time that a high school prom got attacked. Monsters don’t mind at all being clichéd and they don’t watch slasher movies. Well, most of them don’t. So they’ll do the same hokey things you’ve seen in movies forever.
* * *
Kyle knocked at the door for a couple of minutes after Mom had stopped fussing with my dress and my hair.
He was not one of the best-looking guys in the school. What I mean is, there were guys who were bigger, more broad-shouldered, definitely more handsome than Kyle, but he had something. He was tall, but not the tallest in the class, dark-haired with a handsome face, dark eyes, and a way of smiling that made all the girls melt. You could look at him and say he was nothing special, but once you put it all together, he was more than the sum of his looks.
When he came in, in his dark tux, and bowed over Mom’s hand, murmuring, “Mrs. Shackleford,” even Mom seemed to be affected. At least I’d never heard her
giggle like that before. She watched as he bowed to me and said, “Julie,” before kissing the back of my hand. I swear an electrical tingle ran all the way up to my shoulder.
“If you permit me,” he said. He brought out a little box, all tied with silver ribbon, and opened it, to show me a white-rose-and-pearls corsage, which he helped put over my wrist. It felt very warm there, as if it were a living thing.
Kyle led me down the steps, with my hand resting on his arm and feeling all grown up, and opened the door to me and helped me into my seat.
The car was a convertible—I didn’t recognize the make—white and sleek, with white leather seats, walnut dashboard, and way more lights and blinking things than I’d ever seen in a car, even in the vehicles we used on monster hunts.
He smiled as he got behind the wheel. “Do you like it?” he asked.
I have no idea what I answered. Since I’d put that corsage on my wrist and walked out of the house on his arm, I felt as though I were in a dream, or as if I were a little drunk. Not that I had any idea what getting drunk felt like, but I’d heard a girl at school talk about getting tipsy on champagne and how it felt like a lot of little bubbles rising up inside you, making you happy. That’s what I felt like. Like there were little bubbles of happiness and joy bursting all around me, and like I was so lucky to be out with Kyle. After all, he could have picked any other girl. There were tons of seniors who’d be delighted to go out with him, yet here he was, taking little sophomore me.
Whatever I said made him smile. “It’s my dad’s car,” he said. “But he let me borrow it because I told him I’d invited a special girl to the prom.”
I couldn’t believe he’d said that and, for that matter, couldn’t believe I was out with a boy old enough to drive at night on his own. Last thing like a date I’d gone on was back in ninth grade, and my mom had driven me and Bobby Jones down to the ice cream store for waffle cones. Sure, very exciting for a ninth grader, but not a real date, like this was.
We drove down the tree-lined roads, and after a while I realized something was wrong. “Aren’t we supposed to go to the school?” I said.
He gave me a little sideways glance and smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have asked. If you don’t mind, I’d like to drive you by my place and introduce you to my parents? It’s just a few minutes away.”
I felt myself frown before I realized I was doing it. After all, he was right. I knew he lived in a nearby development north of Cazador because last year we’d come home on the same bus and got out there. Which meant he couldn’t take me more than a few minutes out of my way. Half an hour, tops. But something bothered me. I said slowly, trying to reason through my feelings, “Well, you’re right, you should have asked.”
He smiled more. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I really should have.” He reached over and just touched the petals on the corsage. “Sorry.”
Golden bubbles of happiness exploded in me and around me. After all, I was making a big fuss out of nothing. So he hadn’t asked. But that he wanted to show me to his family was good, right? I mean, not that I was serious, as in wanting to date much less marry. For one, I was way too young; for another, when I met someone I thought I wanted to marry, it better be someone who would get along with and work with my family.
But if Kyle liked me, that would mean that all the normal kids at school, the average kids who’d never beheaded a vampire on the weekend, would like me. Or at least they’d be envious of me. I might still be the weird and spooky girl, but if Kyle liked me, that would mean I was the cool weird and spooky girl. And he wouldn’t take me home to introduce me to his parents if he didn’t like me, right?
I nodded and smiled.
For a moment, for just a moment, it seemed to me I heard Mr. Trash Bags’ voice, “NO, CUDDLE BUNNY.”
I mean, I didn’t see him or hear him as such. I wasn’t given to seeing what wasn’t there. Things that were there were often bad enough, but I kind of felt like I remembered seeing him and hearing him, which was weird and sort of put a dent on the warm glow of happiness. I wondered why I was thinking of Mr. Trash Bags all of a sudden.
I suspected my teachers would say that it was all about leaving childhood behind and being a young woman, but I didn’t think so. I mean, adults make up all sorts of stuff to explain things, but I thought that, yeah, I knew adult life could be difficult and dangerous, and that I was a little nervous about it. But I wasn’t that nervous about the date with Kyle. Excited, sure. Nervous, no.
Or at least I hadn’t been before the dream last night.
* * *
“Can’t I wait in the car,” I asked, “and have them come out to meet me?” I knew it sounded terribly rude, but for some reason, I really didn’t want to get out of the car. The Armistead house was big and white, a pretend antebellum mansion that looked like it had come from a movie set.
Kyle had pulled into the circular driveway, shaded by trees, and we were now parked in the part of the driveway directly facing the house. I could hear the sound of music from inside, and laughter and—I swear, even though it was kind of far away—the clink of glasses.
Kyle leaned over a little. “Oh, come on,” he said. “They’ll want to take pictures of us together and all. It’s much easier if you come inside.” And then he leaned over and kissed me, just a soft touch of lips to my cheek.
Then he walked around the car and gave me his arm.
And all the while I was caught in this strange cycle. The kiss had sent more golden bubbles of happiness through me but then there was, not seeing or hearing Mr. Trash Bags, but remembering seeing and hearing Mr. Trash Bags. And my memory of the voice I hadn’t heard was “PLEASURE EATER!!!! CUDDLE BUNNY DON’T GO!” at an almost hysterical pitch, while the Mr. Trash Bags I hadn’t seen was trying to keep me in the car.
It made no sense, and again, what could I say? My dumb imaginary friend that disappeared years ago is warning me against you? The year before, my family had had to fight someone who thought they had a guardian angel. It wasn’t really an angel…and it had ended badly. But at least what they’d seen was this big creature with white wings. What kind of guardian angel looked like a bunch of stuffed trash bags, with a lot of creepy eyes? What sense did that even make?
So I let Kyle lead me by the arm, out of the car and along this little path to his front door. The path, between the driveway and the door, was flanked with all these little trees supported by metal stakes. I thought they must have been planted recently, and the stakes were to steady them until they rooted properly. It seemed weird to plant that many trees that close to the house, but who was I to say.
At the door, Kyle took his arm from mine, and opened it. I expected him to push it open and then to hold my arm again and lead me in. But instead, he pushed it open and stood aside a little.
Inside, the house looked much better done than ours, the floors gleaming, the furniture antiques. Facing the door, on the wall inside, was this big, polished mirror with a golden frame, like something out of a palace.
And on the mirror, for just a moment, I saw Mr. Trash Bags shaking his head, that is to say, the lump with the most eyes and mouths on it, and saying “NO. CUDDLE BUNNY. No go in. PLEASURE EATER. BAD.”
I froze…and now all I could see in the mirror was my own reflection and the reflection of the door. Something felt wrong.
“Please do go in,” Kyle said.
And then I realized it. Though he’d stepped slightly to the side, he should still be visible in the mirror. But he wasn’t. All I could see in the mirror was my own reflection, in my little white dress, with the purselet at my shoulder, and the corsage on my arm.
And I swear the sounds of a party were all from inside the mirror. The rest of the house was deadly silent, which I supposed explained why his family hadn’t come out to meet us.
The corsage was radiating this bubbly warmth, and I wanted to feel the golden bubbles of happiness, but I couldn’t stop thinking.
I’d done enough fighting to know what they sai
d about vampires was true. You couldn’t see them in the mirror. But there was more to it. Mirrors are weird things. All sorts of creatures don’t show up in mirrors. And mirrors often serve as portals to other places…or ways of seeing into other places and times. If Kyle and his family were vampires, why would they have a mirror on their front hall?
I took a step back, then another. “No,” I said. “I don’t think so. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go in.”
He smiled, and for sure it must just be my lack of glasses because his smile looked weird and…pointy. It wasn’t like a boy smiling at a girl. It was like a boy smiling at a steak. I took three steps back, very fast. His expression changed. “In,” he said. “You’ll go in. They’re all waiting. You have to go in.”
He came down the path towards me. He moved very fast. I reached for one of my thigh sheathes, pulled out a knife. “Don’t come any nearer,” I said. Which was stupid. And not. You can’t really kill a vampire with a knife, but you can delay him long enough so you can cut his head off…maybe. Only I wasn’t sure he was a vampire. Vampires had to be invited over the threshold. They didn’t invite you over the threshold. And if his family were vampires, why weren’t they coming out after me?
He reached for me. I slashed at him with the knife, but I wasn’t willing to let him get close enough to me, or to get close enough to him, for the knife to be effective. If he got close and I didn’t kill him with the knife, I’d be done. So I shoved the knife into the little eyelet belt on my dress, which was totally not ideal, and turned and ran. He ran after me, down the curving driveway. I heard a sound of wings…and turned. It looked like Kyle had wings. Big brown bat wings that had somehow ripped through his tux, over the shoulders. He grinned at me. All his attractiveness had turned into this concentrated hunger, and he was salivating like a dog. The effect was yuck.
I got into the purselet and got the gun. “Don’t come closer or I’ll shoot.” Look, it was a sure thing he wasn’t a vampire. Vampires don’t act like that. I was sure if I checked the archives at Monster Hunter International, they could tell me exactly what kind of a creature this was, but what I really wanted to know was how to kill it. While there are many ways to kill many different monsters, a .45 might not do it, though it would put a dent in this one’s attitude.
The Monster Hunter Files - eARC Page 32
