by M. D. Massey
I paused in midswing. “You agree to do as I command?”
The demon looked up at me, blood dripping from his ears, nose, and mouth. “Yes. Spare me and I’ll carry out your will on this earth.”
I sniffed. “Right, and by the time I die you’ll have found some way to get my soul under contract. No thanks.”
“What then would you have me do?” the now pathetic-looking demon asked.
I squatted down next to the circle and looked Snaketongue in his left eye, since the right was swollen shut. “I banish you, Snaketongue Spinebreaker. I command you to leave and never come back to this plane of existence. Ever.”
The demon hung his head and exhaled, his voice shaking as he replied. “I underestimated you, Mr. McCool—both your cunningness and your cruelty. Management will not be pleased, of that I can assure you. And they will send another to replace me. Of that you can be certain.”
“Well, then, feel free to tell them who sent you.”
Snaketongue grinned. “I will, Mr. McCool—I will.”
At that, the demon disappeared with a poof in a cloud of sulphur and ash. I watched the circle for a few moments, just to make sure he wasn’t coming back. Then I released my power, and the vines withered away before my eyes. Sinking to my knees, I breathed a sigh of relief.
“That was a mistake,” Finnegas said behind me. “You shouldn’t have told him your name. I wish you’d done the opposite, in fact. Now, his superior will send something much worse to replace him—and that thing will be looking for you.”
I palmed my forehead. “Now you tell me. Any chance we can start studying diabolical creatures during our lessons?”
Finn nodded. “Couldn’t hurt. By the way, we still have training to do.”
“What? You said if I used magic to get rid of the thing, it’d count as today’s lesson!”
“Druid magic, not conjuration. That’s wizard shit, son. And before you ask, no, the vines don’t count, and yes, I did get her phone number.”
“Well then,” I muttered, “at least I’m not the only one who’s getting screwed in this deal.”
Thirteen
Despite the tough talk, Finnegas cut our training session short so I could get back to looking for Derp. We briefly worked on connecting with nature, direct animal communication, that sort of thing. It was all stuff I was familiar with, but the old man said I couldn’t get too much practice with it, because they were such important skills for a druid to have. Considering that said skills had already saved my ass, I had to agree with him.
When the old man dropped me off at the junkyard for a shower and change of clothes, Lieutenant McCracken was waiting for me in the parking lot. He sat on the tailgate of a four-wheel-drive pickup in full view.
“Friend of yours?” the old druid asked.
“Hardly,” I replied. “He’s the liaison the Circle sent me.”
Finnegas chuckled. “You mean they didn’t assign a gorgeous female to assist you, like Maeve, Luther, and Samson did?”
I snorted. “Yeah, right.”
The old man clucked his tongue. “For a kid with a moderately high IQ, you sure are dense sometimes.” He started counting them off on his fingers. “Let’s see, first Maeve assigned Sabine to assist you—as if that wasn’t an obvious ploy, especially in light of your history with her. Samson assigned you his daughter, despite the fact that you’re not exactly tops on his list of future sons-in-law. And Luther hired some ex-KGB Victoria’s Secret model to be your sidekick for coven-related business. Are you starting to see a pattern here?”
Realization dawned on me as I put two and two together. “Ah—so they’re each hoping I hook up with their operative. Then they’ll gain a little extra influence over me.”
“Somebody give the kid a cookie,” Finnegas quipped.
Suddenly I felt like an idiot, which was becoming an all-too-common occurrence. Once again, the faction leaders had been manipulating me, and I’d been the last to pick up on it. Man, I really need to get my head out of my ass.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “How’d you know who the faction leaders picked to work with me?”
The old man scratched his arm, a sure sign he was jonesing for a cigarette. Despite having been mostly immune to illness and disease for two millennia, he’d been trying to cut back lately. He reached in his pocket for a piece of gum, unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth with a scowl.
“You forget,” he said as he smacked on his Juicy Fruit, “that I set all this up—and for good reason, I might add.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I got to approve the people you’ll work with from each faction. That is, except for the Circle’s representative. Those assholes were a bit miffed about the entire deal, and have been avoiding communication with me since the Conclave. No loss there, certainly—but I think it goes without saying that you should watch yourself around their personnel.”
“I, uh, figured that one out on my own.”
Finn clucked his tongue. “I guess that explains the bruises—wasn’t going to say anything, unless you brought it up. Did you send them packing?”
“I left them tied up in a warehouse, actually.”
“Good man.” He looked out the windshield at McCracken. “You want me to stick around?”
I shook my head. “Naw, I got this.” I got out of the truck, poking my head back through the window after I shut the door. “I’ll let you know if I get any bites on the dating app thing.”
“Be careful,” the old druid admonished before driving away at a snail’s pace.
Feeling my temper rising again, I counted to ten and turned around to address the Circle’s representative. “McCracken, fancy seeing you here. I figured you’d be tied up for another day, at least.”
He held his hands up. “I’m not here to cause any trouble, and I’m not upset at how you handled things back at the warehouse. It’s not like Keane and his team left you with much choice.”
I crossed my arms and stared at him. “So, you’re the idiot they assigned to me, hmm?”
“Yes—I mean no. I’m not an idiot. I graduated Princeton at the top of my class, and was ranked third in my cohort at the cadet training academy.”
I snorted. “Meaning, you’re an entitled prick who knows how to kiss ass. Is that how you got your rank at such a young age—by brown-nosing?”
His cheeks reddened slightly. “I, uh, got promoted when they assigned me to you. They thought that if I had some weight on my lapels, it would make it easier to do my job.”
“Which is why Keane and his men showed you so little respect. It figures. Tell me, McCracken—why should I even consider letting you work with me?”
He stood and reached into his jacket, prompting me to go for the pistol holstered at the small of my back. McCracken wasn’t entirely stupid, apparently, because he knew enough to freeze when he saw me going for my gun.
“Whoa, whoa—hang on there,” I hissed. “What the hell are you reaching for? Pull your hand out of your jacket, very slowly.”
McCracken did as I asked, gingerly presenting a fancy parchment letter with a red wax seal that had already been broken. “Relax, it’s just a letter.” He extended it toward me. “Here, take a look.”
I kept my hand on my pistol as I snagged the paper with my other hand. After checking the letter for spells and traps, I snapped it open and scanned the contents. It was more or less a set of military orders that directed McCracken to act as liaison between the druid justiciar and the Circle, blah, blah, blah, assist him in any way, blah, until further notice, blah, on pain of death should he betray either faction or fail in his mission.
Admittedly, that last part got my attention.
At the bottom, the letter was signed with some arcane symbol that had been inked by hand, and yet another wax seal. Embossed into the wax were eight chalices, arranged in a circle around an all-seeing eye. How droll.
I folded it with one hand and tossed it back to him. “Are they serious about that ‘pain of dea
th’ thing?”
He caught the letter and gave a curt nod. “They are. It’s been more than a century since an operative has been executed for failure or betrayal, but it has happened.”
“Sucks for you. Since I don’t need your help, and since I’m not currently investigating any cases involving the Circle, you’re free to get lost as you see fit. If I need you, I’ll call.”
“It, uh, doesn’t work like that. I’m supposed to assist you with any case you’re working on, regardless of what it involves.”
So, they intended for him to be a spy. “Not exactly subtle, are they?”
“No, the High Council is not known for their subtlety.”
“And I assume if I just say no, you’re going to shadow me anyway so you don’t get in hot water with your superiors, correct?”
He tucked his orders back inside his jacket. “That’s right. I don’t intend to fail in my mission. And, just so you know, I really do want to help. I’m not like Gunnarson, after all. I’ve studied your case files, and I’ve seen the good you’ve accomplished.”
“Despite the fact that one asshole or another from the Circle has been dogging my footsteps since I arrived in Austin.”
McCracken licked his lips nervously. “Look, if you want me to leave, I’ll leave. But I’m just going to tail you anyway, so you may as well put me to work.”
I tapped my thumb on my chin as I considered how I might use McCracken to my advantage. It was clear that someone on the High Council didn’t like me—and possibly more than one of them, after Finnegas and Maeve had bullied them around at the Conclave. I figured they intended to use McCracken to gain intel on me, info they could use to justify having me removed as justiciar or taken off the board completely. For all I knew, the Circle could be behind the killings, and McCracken could be a part of it as well.
The thing I couldn’t figure, though, was why this mystery Council Member had such a hard-on for me. What the hell had I done to make them hate me? Was it because my Hyde-side posed such a threat? Or was there more going on here that I didn’t know about?
Regardless of their motives, if the Circle was going to spy on me I may as well control what information got back to them. Besides, McCracken might have skills and resources I could tap, keeping him busy and out of my hair while he helped me solve my case.
I gave him the evil eye for several seconds, just to put him on edge. “Tell me something, lieutenant—how good are you at doing investigative work?”
I sicced McCracken on figuring out where the goblin clan was holed up. Based on my initial search, I knew at least a few goblins had been through the alley where Derp had been taken. It was a weak lead, but one I hadn’t explored yet because I’d been hyper-focused on the spider creature—which made it the perfect snipe hunt to assign the Circle’s liaison.
I doubted McCracken would actually be able to track the goblin clan down, but if he did, I fully intended to nab one for questioning. Who knew? Maybe they could provide another lead on what the hell had taken Derp.
Poor Derp. I was holding out hope that he was still alive, but the longer it took to find him, the weaker that hope became. The only thing I could do was keep trying, so while McCracken was distracted chasing down the goblin clan, I began focusing on the serial killer angle. Thus, my next few days were spent setting up and going out on dates with various NipponMatch members.
I’d played the otaku angle pretty hard on my profile, and found that a surprising number of young Japanese women liked dating fan boys. Most of the girls I chatted with were foreign exchange students or traveling professionals who were curious, but also somewhat hesitant, to go out with an American. Once I made it clear I wasn’t just trying to mark “Asian girl” off on a list of sexual conquests, I found several members who were willing to meet over coffee or lunch.
However, none of my dates seemed to fit the “supernatural serial killer” profile. I got zero magical vibe from any of the young women I met, and for the most part they all turned out to be fairly harmless. Far from the kogal stereotype that fascinated American guys, the girls I met with wore contemporary Western fashions, and our conversations were generally focused on common, everyday topics like school, work, and popular culture. Not that I expected all my dates to show up in plaid miniskirts, loose socks, and pigtails—but I did suspect that a serial killer who was trying to nab a weeaboo or homesick Japanese college student would work that look.
In short, none of my dates gave me any reason to suspect they might be more than they let on. That was, until I met Mei.
Admittedly, all my dates had been the result of me reaching out to various female NipponMatch members, and none had been initiated by the women themselves. However, Mei contacted me first. The private messages she sent me were initially hesitant, then increasingly flirty as we got to know each other better. That alone would have put my spider-sense on edge—pun fully intended—but it was the way she grilled me that set me on edge.
She first asked me questions about South Africa, the answers to most of which I’d prepared in advance. We chatted about manga and anime, and again I played up the otaku angle, giving the impression that I was a huge geek about all things Japan. Admittedly, the role I played was not far from the mark. Not that I was a huge Japanophile, but the geeky part was hardly a stretch for me.
Mei also asked about my family; I said my parents had me late in life and recently passed. Thus, I was using my inheritance to travel and see the world. That’s when things got interesting. We’d been messaging back and forth all day long, then Mei abruptly left me hanging for a few hours before picking our conversation back up.
Let's MEt.
Whr? I asked.
I hav an idea. U knO whr d rec sports cNtR is?
yS. I replied. The Rec Sports Center was where most of the athletic clubs on campus met. In fact, I’d worked out with the MMA club at the RSC for a short time during my freshman year.
You'll find me n r%m 138 @ 6:00 pm. Wear workout clothes, & don't b l8.
Then, radio silence. Mei was definitely setting off all sorts of alarms for me, and not just due to the suspicious questions she’d asked. This date had all the signs of a manufactured meet-cute, which was pretty much every player’s nightmare and every nerdy guy’s dream. For a guy who was just looking to get laid, the less complicated the date, the better. No player wanted to risk being taken out of their element, which was why planned meet-cutes definitely fell in “here be monsters” territory.
On the other hand, a lot of nerdy guys were secret romantics. Not that I knew anything about that, ahem, but it was the truth. For that reason, I thought it interesting that Mei was apparently choosing to set up an atypical first date. It was almost like she was playing a game, toying with me in order to draw me into her trap. That is, if she actually was the killer. But if I was a supernatural serial killer who liked to prey on geeky, lonely guys, I’d definitely want to take advantage of their weaknesses.
Looks like I’m going on a date tonight. I guess I should prepare, just in case Mei turns out to be “the one.”
After packing my Craneskin Bag with a few goodies that could come in handy, I threw on some sweats, a hoodie, and a loud-ass One Piece shirt I’d picked up at a comic store on Guadalupe. Then, I hopped in the Gremlin and headed for campus.
Room 138 at the RSC was easy enough to find, although I asked for directions at the front desk just to play up the geeky guy angle. While it was remotely possible that an otaku could be familiar with the rec center, I decided it was best to play my part to the hilt in case Mei was watching. The appointed spot for our “date” was a multi-purpose room used by a variety of martial arts clubs. On this specific night, it was where the university judo club was meeting for practice.
I’d trained in judo for about a year while I was in high school, just long enough to learn the basic throws and enter a couple of competitions. Once I’d had a firm grasp of the fundamentals, my magically-enhanced strength, speed, and balance made up for any la
ck of experience on my part, and soon I found that no one wanted to engage me in randori, free-sparring. So, I’d quit and started taking Brazilian jiu-jitsu instead, finding that the throws I’d learned in judo came in handy during rolls with the more experienced students.
Like jiu-jitsu and MMA, judo was a rather rough and tumble sport—one that didn’t exactly lend itself to casual first dates. Even in the small club I’d trained at as a teen, sprains and bruises were a common result of training, and broken or dislocated bones were a frequent occurrence in competition. I thought it rather strange that a girl would ask a guy to judo class on a first date, but it was just quirky enough to be something a Japanophile would like. A lot of Westerners who were obsessed with Japanese culture were into budo—modern Japanese martial arts.
I took off my shoes before entering the room, bowing onto the mat in full dork style like a true shinnichi. I glanced around, taking in the scenery while I searched for my “date.” On one side of the room, several advanced students were practicing throws on a crash pad, while on the other side a green belt led the beginners through rolls and break-falls. All the students looked to be Westerners, and I didn’t see anyone who even remotely resembled Mei’s profile pic.
Miffed at being stood up, I was about to take a seat along the wall when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Looking for someone?” a lilting female voice asked.
I turned and found a young, slender, attractive Japanese girl in a spotless-white judo uniform and worn black belt, holding a tattered loaner gi and white belt out to me. The sight of her took me aback for a second, because the girl was an anime character come to life. She had smooth, porcelain skin with the barest hint of color on her high cheekbones, a fine, perfectly-straight nose that had just the slightest upturn at the tip, and light-brown eyes that sparkled with mischief.
“Mei, I presume?” I said with a shaky voice in a really bad Kiwi accent. I avoided eye contact as much as possible, both to look the part of a shy nerd, and because it was considered rude in Japan… something a Japanophile would know.
