Gazillions of Reptilians: A humorous paranormal novel (Freaky Florida Book 7)

by Ward Parker

  Missy was shocked by Bill’s going off the deep end. He’d always been a kook, but a harmless one. He’d been very helpful to Agnes and Missy in previous adventures. But now, he was a lost cause.

  And it seemed peace was a lost cause, too. Missy dreaded what would come after Bill violated the sanctity of the parley by attacking the dragons. They had been humiliated and narrowly escaped with their lives.

  They would surely retaliate. But she didn’t know how to deescalate the situation. The dragons would never trust her again to negotiate. A whacked-out extremist named Bill ruined it for everyone.

  Her phone rang. It was her mother again.

  “Yes,” Missy said, making no effort to warm her icy tone.

  “Have you been tested yet?”

  “Only my patience has been tested. What are you talking about?”

  “To see if you’ll be a compatible kidney donor,” her mother said crossly. “I went over this already. The more compatible we are, the fewer anti-rejection drugs I’ll have to take and the less magic I’ll need to use afterwards.”

  “To be completely honest, I haven't decided yet if I want to donate. Things have been hectic here. We’re on the verge of a cataclysmic war that could end the world.”

  “Maybe if you weren’t so wrapped up in your little life, you’d feel some concern for your mother who has end-stage kidney disease. I could die if I don’t get a donation. Isn’t that more important than the world ending? I’ve had other donors lined up, but they didn’t work out. As a blood relative, you have the best chance of being compatible.”

  “Right,” Missy said, not fully listening.

  The television mounted on the wall of Matt’s room showed a news video of a house on fire. Was this the result of a dragon attack? She hoped it wasn’t.

  She waited for several agonizing moments for the scrolling chyron at the bottom of the screen to reveal the cause: a meth lab explosion.

  “Unless it was spontaneous human combustion,” Missy muttered.

  “What are you saying?” her mother asked. “I could die without your help.”

  “So, what does this testing entail?”

  “Don't you know? You were a nurse.”

  “I was in the ICU. I didn't work with organ transplantation.”

  “They need to know your blood type.”

  That was easy. Missy was AB-positive. Her vampire patients swore AB was the tastiest blood type. Which didn’t make her feel happy at all.

  “And they need to do tissue sampling. Some sort of anti . . . anti . . .”

  “Antigens?”

  "Yes. And maybe test your urine and run some dye through you. And some other stuff.”

  Was that too much work to save her mother's life? When you considered how evil the woman was, it just might be.

  “As my own flesh and blood, you're my best hope,” her mother said. “You can’t turn your back on me in the darkest moment of my life.”

  Missy was certain her mother had experienced darker moments, most of which were of her making and affected someone else.

  “I’ll see if I can find time for the testing. I’ll let you know. Bye.” Missy clicked off.

  She had a calling to help others. It was the reason she went into nursing in the first place and transitioned into home health. If she could find compassion for supernatural monsters, she could find it for just about anyone.

  For her black-hearted mother, too? That was a trickier question.

  Not only had her mother tried to kill her, but she might also have the blood of Missy’s father on her hands. Could she really give this woman one of her precious kidneys?

  Last time she had a near-fatal entanglement with her mother, Missy had vowed to find out who was responsible for her father’s death. If he had died from human hands, she wanted to know whose. If a demon did, in fact, kill him, then who summoned the demon?

  And if her mother was guilty, she could get her darn kidney from someone else.

  There was nothing to do but wait until the dragons retaliated. It was the perfect time to leave town.

  She announced this to Matt.

  “You’re going where?” He asked, lying on his stomach in his hospital bed. He would be released tomorrow.

  “San Marcos.”

  “Why?”

  “Long story.”

  6

  Freak Dishwasher Accident

  The San Marcos Record had digitalized its stories from the period when Missy’s father died. When Missy first learned she was adopted, and that her birth parents had died, she had found the brief article reporting the tragedy and kept a copy.

  “Theodore Lawthorne was declared dead at his home after the family’s brand-new dishwasher, in the middle of its rinse cycle, had sprung open, jettisoning its contents, and impaling the victim with salad tongs,” the news story read. “The whereabouts of his spouse, Ophelia Lawthorne, are unknown. The couple’s infant daughter was found sleeping in a bedroom by first responders. At press time, the appliance manufacturer has not replied to requests for comment, but no similar fatality caused by a residential dishwasher has ever been recorded.”

  That this was an accident was highly suspect. But the police had believed it, and so had the medical examiner.

  Afterwards, everyone thought her mother had died, too, from some mysterious cause. Missy didn’t find out she was still alive, and living in rural Central Florida, until recently.

  Decades later, Missy heard from Arch Mage Bob, the head of the San Marcos Magic Guild, informing her the incident involved a demon, and her mother may have been the summoner.

  Jellyfish Beach didn't have a magic guild, nor did most other places in Florida. It was only in the oldest cities, with the deepest traditions of other-worldly activity, that supernatural guilds held sway. The guilds regulated their members’ activities as well as provided safety. And the guilds ensured that humans never found out that witches, wizards, werewolves, and vampires lived in their midst.

  There were so few witches in Jellyfish Beach and surrounding Crab County that there was no need for a guild and the requirement to pay dues to it. But Missy believed the area’s vampires would behave much better if they belonged to a guild of their own.

  To investigate her father’s death, Missy would need to work with the Magic Guild in San Marcos. She wasn’t looking forward to dealing with Arch Mage Bob again. They’d butted heads in the past, to put it mildly. But she didn’t have any choice. He seemed to have forgiven Ronnie, the dragon, for dropping him into a cesspool at the local sewage treatment plant.

  Matt was back home, recovering nicely from his burns. He agreed to cat-sit Missy's two gray tabbies, visiting them at least twice a day while she was gone.

  Before she left, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek. She hadn’t planned on doing so; she wasn't a kissy-huggy kind of person. It just seemed right to show him a little affection. Preventing him from hoping they could be more than friends wasn’t so critical now.

  She was a mile down the road before the tingle on her lips wore off.

  The five-hour drive to San Marcos was not kind to her ancient Toyota. It took two magick spells and a quart of oil to keep her trusty mare galloping at a steady pace up I-95. Missy was a more conservative driver in her midlife, but she still had the urge to speed now and then. Her car wouldn't allow it, though. She remained in the right lane with the RVs and the old folks driving cars almost as old as they were.

  Once she made it to San Marcos, came the difficult part. Who from the Magic Guild would be willing to help her? Magician protocol dictated that she begin by going through official channels.

  Which meant Arch Mage Bob. And Bob never answered phone calls or texts. So, she had to drive to the surf shop he owned by the beach.

  It was a giant store, with sunglasses and flip-flops for tourists in the front, clothing and swimsuits in the middle, and surfboards in the rear.

  She asked a clerk if Bob was in. He wasn’t. She went to the very back of the store where
the workshop-office was. It was for employees only, but she walked inside anyway.

  The air smelled of resin and cigars. A board being shaped by hand lay atop sawhorses.

  “You again?”

  “Hello, Florence,” Missy said to the bird on a wooden perch-stand by the desk. She was an African Grey parrot with magical talent and human intelligence. “Do you know where Bob is?”

  “He’s surfing up by the pier,” the bird said, punctuated by a squawk. “What do you want?”

  “I’m investigating something from long, long ago. My father’s death.”

  “Ah, I remember that.”

  Missy was shocked. “You do?”

  “Hey, I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m eighty-seven. I remember when he was murdered.”

  “You look great for your—wait. You said ‘murdered?’”

  “I did. We all knew it wasn’t an accident.”

  “A demon did it?” Missy asked.

  “That’s what I believe. A high-ranking demon, they say. At the level where only a top black-magic sorcerer could summon it.”

  “Was the summoner my mother?”

  The parrot gave a low whistle that ascended to a high note. “No one knows.”

  “Did the Guild do a full investigation?”

  “I’m sure they did, although they never ruled it was a death-by-demon,” said Florence.

  “Well, that’s why I’m here. I want to settle this question.”

  “It happened a long time ago. And black magic sorcerers are good at covering up their tracks. That's why no one knows the truth.”

  “Or maybe someone knows the truth, and they’re not talking.”

  The parrot squawked, and Missy said goodbye. She drove up Highway A1A toward the pier, because she needed Bob’s permission and guidance to get started.

  She found the Arch Mage a mile south of the pier. Missy didn’t know much about surfing, but the day must have offered good conditions, because many surfers were out. They clustered at various places up and down the beach. Bob was easy to spot, carving a big wave in his shaggy blond hair and middle-aged beer gut. A half dozen younger surfers were near him, all wearing wet suits because of the cool weather. Bob was the only person not wearing one. He probably intended to look macho, but Missy was certain he was using magic to stay warm.

  After standing on the beach while he rode the next wave, she finally caught his eye and waved to him. When he reached the shore, he carried his board out. Missy walked to the edge of the surf to greet him.

  “Thank you for sending me a copy of your grimoire,” he said, smiling with impossibly white teeth. “The wizard knew some very interesting spells. Now, what brings you up to San Marcos?”

  She explained her mission.

  “Ah, that won’t be easy. I was too young back then to be part of the investigation, you know, but I remember it was controversial.”

  “It was?”

  “Yeah, there was, like, some corruption in the Guild back then. Some say your mother wasn’t the only one messing around with black magic. You should speak with Wendall. He’d know more than me about those days.”

  “I hoped to speak with him, but I needed your permission to poke around on your turf.”

  Bob laughed. “You can poke around all you want, but I can’t promise you the results you want.”

  “Understood. So where can I find Wendall? Can I have his number or email?”

  “He doesn’t have either. He’s as off the grid as you can be without living in remote wilderness. You’ll have to find him wherever he’s fishing. I’d try looking for him at the pier today.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  “Keep me updated if you learn anything new,” Bob said as she turned to go.

  While she walked to the beach parking lot, she wondered how she could find anything the original investigation by the Guild hadn’t found.

  She reached her car in the sandy lot. An SUV was idling behind it, waiting for another spot to become available. She got the attention of the two men inside and signaled she was going to back out of her spot.

  She unlocked her car, opened the door, and a beefy hand on a muscular arm grabbed the edge.

  “You need to come with us,” the man said close to her ear.

  He put an arm around her and practically carried her back the way she had come to the waiting SUV. A second man stood by the open rear door. He searched her pockets and took her phone.

  Missy filled her lungs before she screamed, but the first man pushed a folded beach towel into her face, muffling her. The two men lifted her and pushed her into the SUV’s backseat. The first man slid into the seat next to her. Soon afterward, the other guy jumped into the driver’s seat. Their SUV rolled slowly out of the lot in no particular hurry.

  She began reciting a sleep spell to disable the men, but the one beside her pushed the towel so hard into her mouth, she tasted blood. Soon, the SUV was speeding down the road, so she didn’t try again and risk putting the driver to sleep.

  She wracked her brain for another spell to use. The problem was, her magick was benevolent. She didn’t have an arsenal of offensive spells to take down enemies. She wasn’t that kind of witch.

  There was a protection spell she often used for defensive purposes. Now that she was already a captive, it wasn’t much help. And the big guy was sitting right up against her. He’d probably end up inside the protection bubble with her.

  What else was there?

  She knew a good itching spell. It came in handy for distracting aggressive dogs, but she didn’t see the utility in this situation. There was also the tickling spell. It would disable the guy guarding her, but she couldn’t use it on the driver, or he would crash. And she couldn’t jump out of the vehicle at this speed.

  Maybe it would be best to try something at their destination.

  “You were as easy to find as the lady said you would be,” said the man guarding her.

  Missy had a bad feeling about who this “lady” might be.

  They were on the road a long time. After exiting the interstate, they headed west and south, on state and county roads, past farms and forests, warehouses, and Baptist churches. She saw a town name she recognized on a water tower and realized what part of Central Florida this was.

  It was near where her mother lived.

  When the SUV pulled into the dirt parking lot of an abandoned orange-packing facility, Missy was surprised. She had expected to be taken to her mother’s dingy old house in the woods, not this barn-like structure in the middle of orange groves.

  She had remained quiet, even after they’d removed the towel from her mouth. Not anymore.

  “Where are we, and why did you bring me here?”

  “You’re in bumble-puck, Florida, and you’re here because we were paid to bring you here,” said the big guy who had ridden beside her. “And this is where we will part ways.”

  The driver got out, opened the door on her left, and pulled her while the big guy to her right pushed. She fell out of the car. They dragged her to the side entrance of the building and unlocked a padlock. They opened the door and threw her inside into the darkness.

  The door slammed behind her. The padlock clicked shut. And all she could see were slivers of light seeping in through cracks in the corrugated-steel panels that were the building’s walls.

  It was taking forever for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. In the meantime, something scraped across the floor nearby.

  7

  Unwilling Donors

  Okay, now was the time to get her magick on.

  The first thing she did was cast a protection spell upon herself. Over the years, she’d learned how to do this quickly, but it required a great deal of energy.

  She blocked out the noise from the darkness, controlled her panic, and dove deep into her innermost core to gather all the energy within herself and concentrate it, like packing snow into a snowball (on the one occasion in her life that she encountered snow). She also gathered what energy s
he could from the earth beneath the concrete floor and from the air itself.

  That's all she had time for. She intoned the words of the spell while grasping her power amulet, the small pouch she kept in her pocket the kidnappers missed when they took her phone.

  Soon, she sensed the invisible wall form around her. Right now, it would stop a lunging body, human, animal, or monster. But she would need to pump more energy into it to stop bullets and other projectiles.

  Instead, she created an illumination orb, which was easy for her to do. The little floating ball of modest light was handy at night while camping or when searching for something in the back of a cabinet.

  Now, it had a much different urgency.

  The light rose seven feet in the air. It illuminated a small section of the floor and revealed a man standing there. He had a mullet haircut, a dirty tank top that rose on his flabby stomach to reveal his bellybutton, and torn jeans.

  “Lookie here,” he said. “We got us some company.”

  Instead of being relieved the guy wasn't a ghoul or something, she tensed even more at the last thing he said. Was she going to be attacked by a gang of depraved redneck men?

  “I hope she's more intelligent than you,” said a woman with a Spanish accent. A short, middle-aged woman moved into the pool of light. “Welcome to our prison.”

  “Yeah, welcome,” several voices murmured behind them.

  Missy moved the light orb toward the voices. Five adults, men and women ranging from their late-twenties to sixties, sat on the concrete floor, leaning back against the wall.

  “How the heck are you doing that with the light?” the guy with the mullet asked.

  “It’s a little flashlight drone,” Missy lied. “Why are we all here?”

  “We call this the kidney farm,” the Hispanic woman said.

  “What do you mean?” Missy asked, though she had an inkling of the answer. With her mother, always assume the worst. Then make it a few notches worse than that.