“Come on, big guy,” I said to Sheepy, who managed to drool, fart, snort, and snore at the same time. “Let’s get you into your new home, so we can go back to ours.”
Gus wasn’t going to be much help hauling the creature out of the cage. I’d pulled the truck up so that the back end was right at the gate, meaning we didn’t have to lug Sheepy’s stinky ass far. I grabbed one leg, and Louie grabbed the other, and we pulled with all our might. Just when I was wishing for a winch, Sheepy’s dead weight shifted. He hit the ground with a thud, but that couldn’t be helped. Between the two of us, we hauled him a few feet inside the enclosure, and I figured it was only fair, since he’d dragged me around on my butt earlier.
“Keep an eye on him,” I said to Gus, who nodded and then gave me a joking salute. I thought having a purpose made Gus seem happier than he was when I’d met him. Being dead and depressed would suck. I was glad that Gus seemed to be enjoying his new role. I moved the truck, Louie made sure the gate was secure, and we checked that the system was on before we drove away.
“So I don’t want to sound ableist, but how does Gus work out as a security guard since he’s…corporeally challenged?” Louie asked.
I chuckled. “Surprisingly well. Gus can do some physical things, like make a bell ring or press an alarm button. It just takes the wind out of him for a while, so to speak. He can cross distances in the blink of an eye, so it’s not hard for him to patrol the area. There are some other ghosts hanging around who apparently like helping him keep tabs on the creatures. And we’ve recruited a couple of shifters and a recovering vamp to help out with any heavy lifting.”
“Recovering vamp? There’s a cure for that?”
I shook my head. “No. This particular vamp just changed his preferred food source to livestock and wild animals and prefers to be far away from people to reduce temptation. Helping out was part of his probation.”
Louie gave me a sidelong glance. “Glad I’m not his parole officer.”
We picked up food at a drive-through and kept up the chatter for the drive home. Although Louie’s one of my poker buddies, our group doesn’t meet as often over the summer, so we had some catching up to do. We agreed that we were overdue to go fishing, and I promised to buy raffle tickets for the police fundraiser. I dropped Louie off where he’d left his car and headed home, ready to relax a little before I fell asleep.
I intended to eat some junk food, drink some beer, watch a superhero movie, and pet my dog, Demon. A little downtime. I thought I’d watch someone else save the world for a change, put my feet up, and do some armchair quarterbacking.
So when my phone rang, I knew it couldn’t be anything good.
“Sorry, Demon,” I said, giving the big sap another scritch behind the ears. He gave me a wounded, soulful look—or maybe he was just eying my chips. I removed his head from my lap, took my snack with me, and headed out to the kitchen, where I’d left my phone.
“Sorry to bother you, Mark, but we’ve got a problem.” The caller was Father Leo Minnelli, the rector of Saint Gemma Galgani, and my boss/handler when it came to the monster business. He’s this area’s representative for the Occulatum, a secret Vatican branch of monster hunters, and, to make a long story short, I kinda work for them on the side, when I’m not fixing cars.
“We both know that’s not entirely true, Padre, and men of the cloth aren’t supposed to tell fibs,” I said over a mouthful of nacho goodness.
“I am sorry about calling so late on the weekend,” Father Leo said, sounding slightly aggrieved. “But the situation can’t wait.”
“It never can,” I replied with a sigh. I like Father Leo. I really do. For a priest, he’s almost a regular guy. Hell, he’s one of my poker buddies, and he frequently beats the pants off us—for charity, of course. But I’d put in my time today, and I felt like sulking a bit longer.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Our two new friends from Kecksburg are here,” Leo replied.
“You mean the creepy guy from the Occulatum and the d-bag from the CIA? I don’t think I’d have called them ‘friends.’”
Father Leo cleared his throat, letting me know that I was probably on speakerphone and both men were in hearing range. “Yes. And they’d like a word.”
“I just got in.”
“They say it’s important.”
“Everything’s important, except me getting time for a beer and a little downtime,” I muttered. “You know why they made you call me, don’t you?”
“Because you’d answer the phone?”
“That, and they’re pretty sure I’ll swear less.” I had several choice words I’d like to use about having two feds want to show up on my doorstep, but I wasn’t going to take it out on Father Leo, and they knew that, dammit.
“I’m sure they appreciate your restraint,” Leo said, and I heard long-suffering humor in his voice. “We’re at the church. Come on over, and I’ll even put out the cookies left over from the Parish Committee meeting.”
“All right,” I conceded. I still didn’t like it, but I sure as hell didn’t want the feds coming to my cabin, and the cookies took the sting out of it, just a bit. The old ladies on Father Leo’s committees were hella good bakers.
“Keep my spot on the couch warm, Demon,” I said, and slipped him a couple of chips because I felt bad about leaving him alone. I glanced at the clock, did a double-take at how late it was, and figured that if I wanted to get any sleep, I’d call Pete, my shop manager, in the morning and let him know I’d be coming in closer to noon.
When I turned around, Demon gave me a mournful look, and I shared the sentiment. Of course, I thought he was sad that we weren’t going to be hanging out on the couch together, but maybe he just minded me putting the chips away.
“Sorry, buddy,” I told him. I switched off the TV, patted Demon on the head, and went to get my keys. Then with another self-pitying backward glance at the couch I wasn’t sitting on, I headed out the door to my truck.
2
St. Gemma Galgani was a small parish in Atlantic, named, ironically enough, for a mystic saint. Its congregation was well over retirement age. Under normal circumstances, the church probably would have been closed down long ago, but the Occulatum wanted cover for Father Leo, and his elderly parishioners adored him. I pulled into the gravel parking lot next to the sign touting the weekly bingo game, beside the big, black SUV with government plates, and headed around back, to the door to Leo’s office. It didn’t escape me that he didn’t want the feds at the rectory, either.
“Mr. Wojcik. Nice of you to join us,” the taller of the two men said with a smirk that indicated the opposite. I knew he was CIA. The shorter guy was Occulatum, and I judged him to be the more dangerous of the two. The spook was packing heat and could rendition my ass to Gitmo, but the Occulatum guy might be able to suck out my soul and send me to perdition.
I smiled, but it wasn’t warm and friendly. “You know, I didn’t catch your names last time. Do I call you Smith and Jones? Tweedledum and Tweedledee? Jagger and Richards?”
The Occulatum guy looked like he’d swallowed something unpleasant. “Smith and Jones will do,” he said. “I’ll be Smith.”
“Original. I like that.” Father Leo gave me an annoyed look, and I returned it.
“Let’s all have a seat and some cookies,” Leo said, motioning toward a piled-high plate on the desk. “There’s a fresh pot of decaf as well.”
We took our places, and I snagged a couple of cookies, since I figured they’d be the only good part of the meeting. Leo helped himself to one, perhaps to convince the feds that the pastries weren’t poisoned, and eventually, both of the other men took a cookie as well, though they passed on the coffee. I couldn’t blame them; decaf is the devil’s brew.
“The last time we met, we asked that you keep an eye out for unusual supernatural activity,” Jones said.
“I believe you suggested it could be worse than world-ending,” I replied. “Whatever that means.”
>
“We believe that outside actors are using supernatural means to cause unrest, eliminate rivals, and destabilize the status quo.”
“Outside like what? Are we talking Russians or UFOs?” It occurred to me that it should be odd that choice was even on the table. That it wasn’t strange at all speaks volumes about my life.
“We’re talking, Mr. Wojcik, about supernatural terrorists,” Jones replied. “People who are using magic, lore, objects with special powers, or creatures for their own ends.”
“Do you know what these ‘outside actors’ want?” Father Leo asked, offering the cookie plate again. The agents shook their heads, but I took another chocolate chip cookie. Life is short. Never pass up chocolate.
“I’m afraid we can’t share that,” Smith said.
I set down the cookie and met Smith’s gaze. “Neither the Padre nor I are expendable. Going into a fight against cryptids or people with powers and not knowing the score is suicide.” Not like that thought hadn’t crossed my mind, plenty of times—especially right after the wendigo, but if I went out, I’d do it on my own terms, not playing some cloak-and-dagger bullshit game. And lately, thanks to Sara and my friends, I had plenty of reasons to want to stick around. So I was in no hurry to be cannon fodder.
Smith and I stayed locked in a staring match until he finally looked away. I felt petty enough over my interrupted evening to do a mental fist pump over making him break first. Father Leo gave me a look like he knew what I was thinking, but he didn’t object.
“Have it your way,” Smith said. “We’re seeing a rise in supernatural extremism that parallels what’s going on in the normal world. People are angry, frustrated, looking for someone to blame, only instead of drinking too much or joining up with the tin hat crew on the Dark Web, they’re embracing forbidden magic. Some of the old truces with supernatural beings are starting to fray. And individuals who might have kept a low profile in the past are getting bolder because they sense a groundswell.”
“That stuff sounds way above my pay grade,” I said. “I just shoot at things sane people don’t think exist. So why tell us?”
Smith and Jones exchanged a look, and if Jones could, I’m sure he’d have enjoyed wiping our minds. Despite what the movies show, secret organizations don’t have those “flashy-thingies” yet. That leaves persuasion, casting doubt, or in dire cases, magic, to keep most people blissfully unaware that there are cryptids and creatures and long-leggedy beasties out there. But if they wanted Leo and me to hunt for them, they couldn’t very well retcon our memories.
“We need you to be our eyes and ears,” Smith said. “If something seems off about a hunt or a creature, we need to know. Small things that might not mean anything to you might actually be important in the grand scheme.”
“Do you intend to share that grand scheme, or is it on a need-to-know basis?” I did my best to keep the snark out of my voice, because I was sincerely curious. That didn’t stop Leo from kicking my shin under the table.
“As you said, it’s above your pay grade,” Jones replied with a smug expression.
“Enough.” We all turned to look at Father Leo, whose expression was positively wrathful. “Mark, quit poking the bear. Smith and Jones,” he added, and while he didn’t make air quotes with his fingers, I could hear them in his voice surrounding the aliases, “you can drop the games. Unless you’d rather that I get the full story from my boss.”
I didn’t think Leo meant the Almighty, but whoever it was must have been high enough up the food chain to make the Occulatum guy go pale.
“No need to be hasty,” Smith said, with a side glance that cut off whatever smart remark Jones intended to make. “We’re looking for connections between incidents that might not be as separate as they appear at first glance. Not everything will be related, of course, but we think that there’s more going on than we previously believed and that the groups may be building up to bigger things. There may even be larger forces manipulating or recruiting local agitators.”
“What kind of ‘groups’ are we talking about?” Leo asked. I took the chance to eat my cookie.
“There have always been factions within the werewolf, vampire, and dark magical communities that didn’t want to coexist with humans. They believe that superior abilities make them…superior. In other cases, there are certain individuals who have been on our radar for a long time who no longer seem content with keeping a low profile. They can be charismatic and dangerous, especially if they attract a following.” Jones hesitated. “Some people want to use magic for paybacks. And others who’ve found out about the supernatural want to hunt down anything that isn’t human.”
“Cue the pitchforks and torches. You think that these groups are organizing?” I asked.
“The most destructive groups have proven they don’t have to be large; they just need members who are extremely dedicated and a list of targets. As for their agenda, it could be so many things,” Smith replied. “Undercut a more moderate leader to allow a radical to take over. Create fear and suspicion among the humans; wipe out a rival faction. Stage mass carnage to sway public opinion their way. Those are just a few possibilities.”
“Some of the groups have deep pockets,” Jones warned. “After all, immortality is good for building wealth.”
Shit. “Why now?” I couldn’t help being curious. Smith and Jones sure as hell hated having to ask for help from guys like me and Father Leo. Something big had to be going on.
“Haven’t you read the news?” Jones asked, with his smirk back in place. “Democracy is wobbly. Strongmen are making a comeback. It’s already a toxic stew of dirty money, fundamentalism, and class warfare, but you add the supernatural element—for and against—and it could put us back to the Dark Ages.” Despite his smugness, I thought I saw a glimpse of fear in his eyes.
“All right,” Father Leo said, speaking for both of us. “We’ll let you know when we find oddities. But if we do, I need your assurance that you’ll tell us how our piece fits into the bigger scheme of things. And if you see a pattern that involves our area, we want to know about it. We protect the people who live in our territory. That’s a vow I take as seriously as any other.”
Father Leo isn’t a big guy, but he’s no pushover, and he’s tough in a fight. Most of the time, he plays the mild-mannered local priest angle. The only other time I’d seen him look so determined was in the middle of an exorcism.
Smith looked like he’d sucked on a lemon, but he finally nodded. Jones might have intended to say something, but seemed to reconsider. Smith definitely held the power, which I filed away as interesting and a little scary. “Okay. We will tell you what we know, as it affects your area.”
I had the feeling there was plenty of wiggle room in that statement, but we’d won what we wanted—for now. “Anything else we need to know?” Father Leo asked.
Smith and Jones got up. “Not at the moment. We’ll be in touch,” Smith said. They headed out the door, leaving their untouched cookies on the table.
“I don’t trust them,” I said, as soon as their SUV pulled out of the parking lot.
“Shocking.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Sarcasm does not behoove a man of the cloth.”
“Did you actually use the word ‘behoove’?”
I eyed the left-behind cookies, decided I didn’t want CIA cooties, and reluctantly let Father Leo toss them into the trash. “I need to grab something from my truck. I’ll be right back.”
When I returned, I had the bits of cloth and fiber I’d pulled from Sheepy’s wool, stored in a lead keeping box. “Father forgive me, for I have sinned.”
“Technically, withholding evidence is a legal matter, not a sin,” Father Leo replied without missing a beat. “What did you find?”
I filled him in on the sheepsquatch problem and how we took care of it. The take-down and rehoming was standard procedure. “I found this when I put the ankle bracelet on him.”
Father Leo peered into the open lead box but didn’
t touch. Then he looked up. “Tell me what you’re thinking. If it’s in a lead box, you obviously don’t think he just picked up some random fuzz.”
I shook my head. “It looks to me like what’s left of a hex bag. That would mean witches. But is it just a local pissing match, or part of something bigger?”
“That’s why you didn’t bring it up to the men in black.”
“Yep. I’d hate to get some local witch Gitmo’d for a neighborhood spat.”
Leo leaned back, considering. “The sheepsquatch didn’t actually hurt anyone. It just destroyed a lot of expensive landscaping, but so do the deer.”
“That’s the other thing that baffles me,” I admitted, wishing for more cookies. The take-out Louie and I had eaten seemed like forever ago. “Putting a hex on a cryptid to take out your neighborhood rival’s rose bushes seems like overkill.”
“I agree,” Leo said. “We’re missing something, but it doesn’t necessarily mean this is the kind of thing Smith and Jones are looking for.” His expression of distaste over the aliases told me everything I needed to know.
“So how about this? I leave these bits with you, and you put them in your vault for now,” I said, gesturing to the ruined hex bag. “I’ll make a few inquiries and see what I can find out. And in the meantime, we’ll keep our eyes open when we get called out for anything hinky, in case we do find ties to bigger things.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Father Leo carefully carried the box to a bigger lead safe we used for temporarily stashing dangerous items and came back with an empty container that I felt certain had already been blessed and aspurged with holy water.
When he handed the box back, he hesitated. “Mark, I believe the threat is real, even if I don’t trust the messengers. There are plenty of occult objects that could do a lot of damage in the wrong hands—far more dangerous than regular terrorists with exploding pressure cookers. And if the crazy is coming from the human side and they blow the cover on the cryptids, we could be looking at registration or extermination for everything supernatural, dangerous or not. Hunters like us might be the only chance we’ve got to keep that from happening.”
Night Moves Page 2
