Night Moves

by Gail Z. Martin

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. “He’s fine. Just give him your word that you won’t get him fixed.”

  “Fixed? Of course not. What the…heck?” Chiara must have remembered Father Leo was in hearing range. “Tell me later. I did some digging. ‘Abel Hendricks’ doesn’t exist. However, Adam Hawthorn does. And Hawthorn has a long rap sheet—disorderly conduct, breaking and entering, making terroristic threats, and a couple of assaults. He’s also a member of a bunch of online groups that go way beyond ‘questionable.’ The FBI probably has him on a watch list. Oh, and he’s gotten thrown off eBay and Craigslist because he was looking for Nazi stuff.”

  “Sounds like our guy,” I replied. “Any idea where to find him?”

  “He moves around a lot. My bet is he pisses off either his bosses or his landlords, or both. But a little creative hacking got me a GPS location. Near as I can tell, he’s squatting on a piece of land that’s in foreclosure, near the south end of Tamarack Lake.”

  Father Leo and I exchanged a glance. Bingo.

  I thanked Chiara, then had to end that call to answer Simon. “Find anything?” I asked.

  “Hello to you, too,” Simon replied. “I’m emailing you a file with what I found on the ‘Thule.’ In a nutshell, they were a group of occultists and mystics who tried to justify white supremacy in German folklore and myth.” I could hear the distaste in his voice.

  “They also collected whatever relics or items of power they could get their hands on—legally or not. As the Third Reich spread, they looted the conquered territory of magical items as well as art. They also worked with the Ahnenerbe SS to pilfer archeological sites. And a lot of those pieces ended up at Wewelsburg because Hitler wanted to create kind of an evil Hogwarts to study the items and train people to use them,” Simon told us.

  Father Leo leaned forward. “What happened to the books and items at Wewelsburg after the war ended?”

  “Well, that all depends on who you ask,” Simon replied. “There was chaos in the early days. Lots of things disappeared, from all kinds of places. Art. Gold. All we know for sure is that when the Allies finally secured Wewelsburg, they noted that the library and relic room looked as if it had been looted, but whether that was done by the Nazis or other groups, no one knows. Some items turned up years later on the black market. Now and then, someone stumbles on a hidden cache. Most scholars think the bulk of the pieces were snatched up by collectors or stashed by sympathizers. I also found a reference to an online auction a month ago that claimed they had a box of Nazi-era items from Wewelsburg.”

  “Anything on the tattoo and amulets?” I asked, trying to process all the information.

  “The tattoo is a ‘Wolfsangel.’ It’s Norse, but like a lot of the runes and symbols, it’s been co-opted by some shady groups. It’s a protective symbol. Supposed to ward off werewolves.” Simon took a deep breath, and I just knew I wasn’t going to like what he had to say next.

  “As for the amulets… The inscriptions were different, but they draw on dark energy, something the Nazis called ‘Vril.’ So not exactly witchcraft, not quite demons. But still bad stuff.”

  “Would the person who owned the amulets need to be anything special to use them?” I asked, feeling a chill through my whole body as I started to connect the dots.

  “No. That’s what the Nazis wanted—occult weapons. Assuming the runes could actually tap into the Vril energy, all it would take to flip the switch, so to speak, was knowing the activation word.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. I might have turned up some details about what was in that box of stuff from Wewelsburg,” Simon replied. “It was part of the listing from the online auction. There were four objects plus a book. The items were a charm, two necklaces, and a decorative top for a walking staff.”

  I snorted at “decorative.” “He’s already used three of the items, so that leaves the staff.”

  “Which I’d expect to be the most dangerous,” Simon cautioned. “The other three must have made it possible for him to control the creatures. But with the staff, he can concentrate energy. That is as bad as it sounds.”

  I was silent for a moment, overwhelmed. “Thanks, Simon. Send me your bill. That’s great intel.”

  “Mark, be careful,” Simon warned. “This Vril stuff is nastier than the usual monsters. Anyone dealing in it won’t be reasonable. Consider them possessed and act accordingly.”

  Simon ended the call. Father Leo and I just looked at each other for a moment, over the cold pizza we’d all but forgotten.

  “So Fred and Barney were right about the ‘outside actors,’” I said, hating having to agree with the Occulatum guy and the fed.

  “Looks like,” Father Leo replied.

  My phone pinged with an email notice. Father Leo let me pull it up on his computer, and we both pored over what Simon had sent. The details confirmed that Adam Hawthorn was messing with some really fucked up shit, but didn’t give a lot of ideas on how to stop him.

  “Blowing him up would work,” I suggested, sitting back and crossing my arms.

  “I’m not against it,” Father Leo admitted. “But I don’t think we know everything yet. Why did he target the young people and the witches? They didn’t have the power to hurt him. And why did he pick that location?” He shook his head. “I think we’ve overlooked something.”

  I sat back and stared at the ceiling, thinking. “Suppose Hawthorn got his hands on a random box of occult stuff from the Thule. Nothing matches, there aren’t a lot of instructions, but he’s got enough to activate one item at a time. He somehow figured out about Phoebe’s friends and the coven, and maybe he thought he’d try out his new toys and take out any competition, anyone who could stop him.”

  Father Leo nodded. “Maybe. That would explain why he used different kinds of attacks each time. He could only use a relic once.”

  “Wanna bet that there was an amulet inside the hex bag on the sheepsquatch, too?”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “So what does he want?” I asked. That was the million-dollar question. “Chiara said he’s a member of a bunch of sketchy groups, but he doesn’t exactly seem like evil leader material. Nothing he’s done will get him money or glory. So…why?”

  Father Leo toyed with the spoon he used to stir his coffee. “For someone who feels like a nobody, being a somebody is worth more than gold.”

  I met his gaze. “You think that’s it? This guy wants a power trip?”

  He shrugged. “It’s been enough for plenty of mobsters and dictators.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “But what’s his endgame? Because the attacks have ramped up, gotten more violent. So what does he do for an encore?”

  Father Leo got up to grab a new container of cookies, dropped off earlier by one of the parish committees. Homemade peanut butter in one box, and butterscotch oatmeal in the other. I wasn’t ready to come back to the Church’s teachings, but if their cookies were always this good, I might swing by now and again for coffee hour.

  While Leo made a fresh pot of coffee, I checked in with Pete, but he’d already figured I would be out for the rest of the day and covered my customers. I really needed to go run my business. On the other hand, if some evil crackpot skinhead sorcerer ended the world, none of that would really matter.

  Father Leo and I spent the rest of the afternoon scouring Simon’s report, looking for anything we might have missed. I also called in a favor from Dixie James, a friend who’s a strong ghost whisperer. She rallied some helpful ghosts and sent them to spy on Adam Hawthorn’s trailer and the surrounding area.

  “The people trying to harness the Vril power used wizard staffs to direct it,” I noted, “and crystal orbs to focus power. So if Hawthorn thinks he’s Saruman, maybe we need to focus on snapping his staff and breaking his balls.” Geez, that sounded worse out loud.

  Father Leo almost snorted his coffee. “That’s a mental picture I can’t unsee. But, I agree. Adam Hawthorn doesn’t have any power
of his own. Destroy his tools, and he’s just an ordinary man.”

  I chewed my lip as I pondered my next question. “Do we need to call Ren and Stimpy in on this? Is it bigger than we can handle?” I hated the thought of involving two organizations I didn’t completely trust. “And if we do, what does that mean for the coven and the Meddling Kids? I don’t want them to end up in a black ops research lab somewhere.”

  Father Leo knows more about the Occulatum than I do, and he’s assured me that out of the various secret groups—governmental and religious—that deal with the supernatural, it’s the most honorable. Put another way, they’re the best of a bad bunch.

  My phone rang again, and I glanced at the display, expecting new information from Chiara or Simon. Instead, I recognized the number—Linda, the good witch.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Mark—something bad is going to happen. We’ve heard the tommyknockers.”

  I vaguely remembered a legend about gnomes that warned coal miners before cave-ins, and an old Twilight Zone episode about a gremlin on the wing of a plane. “What do you mean? Are you in a mine?”

  “No. They’re knocking on our houses. Everyone in the coven’s heard them. A few of us caught sight of them. It’s a warning.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks for the heads up. We know who’s behind the attacks, and we’re working on a plan. Keep everyone calm and indoors, and I’ll be in touch.”

  Linda agreed reluctantly, and I couldn’t blame her. I was used to having to do things the hard way, but it must have been rough on the coven to have magic and still not be able to protect themselves.

  First, the woman in white, and now the tommyknockers. Warnings were nice, but only if there was some way to avoid the danger.

  “Why would the tommyknockers come out? I thought they only warned miners.”

  “Mark.”

  I looked up, and Father Leo pointed to a map he’d pulled up of the Tamarack area. A red dot near the southern end of the lake caught my attention. “It’s a gas well. Fracking. They pump fluid down to push the gas up, and it shifts all kinds of stuff around down there.”

  Fuck. A high-tech sort of mine. I’d heard about all kinds of things that could go wrong, from poisoned drinking water to earthquakes to big sinkholes swallowing up everything near them. Fracking messed with what was underground, where the tommyknockers lived.

  I reached for my phone and called Linda back. “Change of plans. We think the guy behind all this is going to blow the fracking station sky high. I need you to tell your phone tree that there’s been a natural gas leak and to evacuate, so we get the mundanes out of the way. Then can you convene your coven and think about how you might be able to back me up with what your magic can do, while my buddies and I go after the big bad?”

  “Yeah. We can do that,” Linda said, sounding shaky but resolved. “And Mark? Thanks. We’ll do our best to have your back.”

  While I was talking to Linda, Father Leo called Chiara and filled her in. Then he handed off the phone to me when I gestured for it. “Is Donny there?” I asked. “I need to talk to him—in human form.”

  I heard some background noise, and then Donny’s voice came through. “Hey, Mark. What do you need?”

  “A big favor,” I said. “Father Leo and I think the guy who’s been behind the attacks is going to blow a gas well sky high to release dark occult power from the bowels of the earth. We’re going to try to stop him, but I need some backup. I want you to ask the pack to help and bring them to where we hunted that batshit crazy doll.”

  “The pack doesn’t like me,” Donny said sullenly. “And they aren’t sure whether they like you, either.” He wasn’t wrong on either count.

  “They’re going to like it a lot less if the feds get involved and start hunting down or registering supes. Remember the movies we watched? X-Men? Captain America: Civil War? That could be real, Donny. If Leo and I can’t stop this asshole, a bunch of dickheads are going to get all up in our business about everything supernatural. The pack wouldn’t be happy with that, guaranteed.” I hated putting pressure on Donny, but he could be a real drama wolf at times.

  “My Alpha hates me.”

  “Donny—”

  “He thinks I’m useless.”

  “Think how useful you’ll be helping stop the apocalypse.” I was exaggerating a little, but not by much. “And…I’ll buy you ice cream. A whole month of ice cream. Whatever flavor you want. Er, except for chocolate. It’s bad for dogs.”

  “From the really good ice cream place out on the Conneaut Lake Road?” Donny bargained. I knew where he meant. That joint had been there for fifty years and their frozen custard was legendary.

  “Yes, from there.” I tried to keep the impatience out of my voice, even as Father Leo hid a snicker. “Please, Donny? I’ll even spring for sprinkles on top. But we don’t have much time. I need you to go to the pack now.”

  “Okay. I’ll do it,” Donny said, sounding like he was psyching himself up. “But I’m counting on that ice cream.”

  “Donny—”

  “Geez, Louise! Don’t get testy. I’m going! I’m going!” He ended the call, and I rubbed the spot between my eyes where I could feel a headache coming on.

  Another call came in, and I handed Father Leo back his phone. “What’s up, Dixie?” he asked the medium. Leo listened, and his expression grew grave. “Okay. Thanks. Let us know if you hear anything more.” He hung up and looked at me. “Dixie’s ghost spies said Hawthorn is gathering stuff and getting ready for something, loading his truck.”

  “Shit. We don’t have time to call in the Wonder Twins, even if we wanted to,” I said. “I don’t think we’ve got much time at all.”

  Father Leo nodded. “I agree. But—I’ve got a plan.”

  8

  “He’s staying fairly close to the camper he’s using as his base,” I told Father Leo, putting the last of our supplies in my truck. “According to what the ghosts told Dixie, it looks like he’s preparing for a ritual.”

  “All right, at least we know where to find him,” Leo said. “Any other updates?”

  Chiara had rallied Phoebe and Carl to help from a safe distance. Phoebe had a vision of a white and red metal tower with green lightning running up and down it and then shooting a beacon into the sky. Carl’s latest dream had shown him a similar image. That told me that Hawthorn intended to turn his last Thule trophy on the nearby fracking tower, to unlock the Vril power he thought lay underground.

  Dumbass would find out there was “power” underground all right—natural gas that was likely to go up in a fireball. If that happened, acres of forest would burn, and the wildfire would claim hundreds of houses and maybe some lives. We couldn’t let that happen.

  Donny texted right before he shifted to let me know that the pack was in place. If Hawthorn feared werewolves enough to get a tat, we’d use that to our advantage. Linda called to say that her coven was tired of being afraid, and that even if their magic couldn’t directly stop Hawthorn’s Thule-relic monsters, they wanted in on whatever we were going to do, and they’d help however they could.

  Father Leo and I had rustled up some extra equipment and made special modifications that I hoped would work. We were short-handed, so Blair agreed to join the hunt. Since we had no real idea what the last Thule item could do, we all wore plenty of protective silver and medallions, filled our pockets with salt, and accepted Father Leo’s blessing and warding of protection. Then we rode into battle in my black Silverado and hoped for the best.

  The witches and the shifters had stealth on their side, as did the ghosts. We weren’t going to be able to sneak up, so our only choice was to go big or go home. Blair rode in the back with the special equipment, Father Leo rode shotgun, and I sat behind the wheel. I patted the dash and told Elvira what a great truck she was, and that I was counting on her. Father Leo gave me the side-eye, but he’s seen me do stranger things than give a pep talk to my pickup.

  Then I gunned the engine
, and we roared up the dirt road toward Hawthorn’s camp at full throttle. Just like Bo and Luke in the General Lee, if their Dodge Charger had been a ton heavier and a big-ass truck.

  “Hold on!” I yelled, but I figured they’d already worked that out for themselves. We lofted for a few seconds on a small rise, then crashed down with enough force to rattle our teeth and challenge Elvira’s shocks and suspension.

  We skidded to a stop in a clearing, only feet away from where Adam Hawthorn stood in a large circle. Candles, runes, and blood outlined his warding, and he stood in the center, holding a wooden walking stick with what looked like the head of a gargoyle on the end. Hawthorn had gone full Indy, wearing an SS officer’s hat, a uniform that looked like he’d pieced it together from eBay and Party City, and a long bathrobe that failed to look wizardly.

  Blair opened fire with our jerry-rigged water cannon, sending a high-pressure stream of salted holy water at Hawthorn, dousing his candles and knocking him backward. Leo and I threw open our doors and ran toward him, me with an animal control pole to try to snatch away the staff without getting too close, and Father Leo with a shotgun full of shells filled with rock salt and iron filings.

  Hawthorn was down, but not out. If the salt and holy water weakened him, it sure didn’t short out his mojo altogether. He yelled something in German and pointed his staff at me, lifting me into the air and tossing me across the clearing hard enough to knock the breath out of me. A second later, I saw Father Leo thrown in the other direction.

  I was winded, but not out of the fight. I scrambled back up, running toward Hawthorn with my pole held like a javelin. I heard Leo rack the shotgun and fire. Hawthorn angled his staff, deflecting the buckshot.

  The tank on the pressure washer water cannon had already run dry. I knew that Blair had bailed from the truck bed and was probably circling around, looking for a good shot with her Glock. She and I both had rubber bullets, since Hawthorn was still human. But until we got that damn staff away from him, it didn’t look like we’d get far.