by Phil Morgan
*****
We didn’t speak as we trekked back to my car and headed towards the flatlands. We didn’t speak as the columns of trees surrounded us again. We didn’t talk as the stench of burning flesh slowly dissipated. There was nothing we could have said even if we had felt talkative. Some things were just too horrific, too real to discuss.
Draven had been a monster, a cruel man who delighted in the terror of his prey. Still, he had paid a price far too high for his many sins, a price I wouldn’t have wished on my worst enemy.
What sort of power could rip apart a man like Draven? What sort of being could hold his murderous soul in the broken, quivering mass we had seen? Was Draven the one responsible for the absence of wildlife near his home or had this mysterious Forest God been the cause? All I had were questions, no answers.
I pulled out my ever-present tablet and my fingers flashed over the screen of their own accord. I commanded it to find me every mention of the Forest God, every scrap of information about it, no matter how old, or obscure, or unreliable. Clara looked me over with eyes still weary from all they had seen.
“Texting while driving is illegal and dangerous at the best of times, much less doing it one-handed while barreling down a mountain” she chided gently. “You’re going to get us killed. Or worse, get us pulled over.”
“I pity the local yokel who pulls me over right now. I will burn his squad car to the ground. I need to find out about the Forest God and I need to do it fast.” I snarled. “And then I need to get some backup.”
“No, you don’t! I’m here!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, rookie. You are in way over your head. Trust me when I say, the next suspect on our list will require serious backup. Unless it has gotten free, then it will require all the backups there are.”
“What are we going after now?” she asked suspiciously.
“The Blood Beast of Bladenboro.”
“That’s a myth! A campfire story that people like us use to scare other people like us.” She cried.
“I wish that were true. I really do.”
At that moment, my tablet chimed. I glanced down and didn’t like what I saw one bit. I tossed the tablet onto Clara’s lap. She picked it up and started reading.
“The Forest God, also known as Herne the Hunter. Varying accounts on what he looks like but all of them agree he has a huge rack of antlers. Says here, he rides a ghostly stallion, is accompanied by Hellhounds, other hunters, and a giant owl. First mentioned to the general public by Shakespeare, though there is speculation that the ancient druids worshipped him in form or another. It may even be possible that he was a Neolithic God or maybe even further back, before mankind even existed.” She read aloud. “Supposedly, he leads the Wild hunt.”
“What in the Hell is a Wild hunt?” I demanded.
“Think of it as a foxhunt for supernatural forest beings.” She answered.
“So, that is what he needs. That’s why he is going after beings like the Scavenger and Draven.” I frowned. “He needs a foxhound.”
“I can’t think of a scarier foxhound than the Bloodbeast.” Clara shivered.
“Let’s just hope it’s still in chains.”
“You hope.” Clara murmured. “I intend to pray to whatever Gods happen to be listening.”
“Same thing.” I murmured dismissively.
“Maybe for you, tech-head but for the rest of us? Hoping and praying are two different things.” She shot back.
“Are you religious?” I asked.
“No, I just happen to have met several Gods and I find it better to stay on their good side.”
“You people in the Shadow are crazy. I don’t know how you can stand living there.” And I meant it. The Shadow was no place for a girl like me.
“You should try it, you might find out you like it.” She grinned.
“I doubt that.” I said and pulled my car into a gas station parking lot. Clara eyed me suspiciously as I rooted around in my pocket. Grinning at her paranoia, I dramatically drew out an ordinary cellphone.
“A flip phone?” she asked incredulously. “What is this? 2003? That thing looks older than me. I thought you secret monster-fighting agents had the best toys?”
“We do.” I said and flipped the phone open. Immediately, a grainy hologram shimmered into being. A black and white image appeared of Greg sitting in his van, his head in his hands. He looked up abruptly and frowned.
“Cassidy?” he asked, his voice as clear as it would be if he had been in my backseat. Not that a grown man could fit in the backseat of a mustang, there were limits to even what the Convention could do. “You look like Hell. What’s going on?”
“You’re a fine one to talk. Have you been wrestling with that report all night? I’ve seen smaller bags shopping with Eric.” Before he could answer, I continued. I didn’t want to waste my data. “But to answer your question, I’ve just been through Hell, or at least the suburbs. I did as Eric asked, I ‘ve tracked down all possible leads but one.”
“And what d’ya have to report?” he asked, his eyes red and lined from strain and lack of sleep.
“Something called the Forest God, or Herne, is searching for a hound so he can start some crazy Hunt and massacre a bunch of people.” I explained in a rush. “Artie the Stomach was a dead end, Draven the Stalker was an even deader end after I finished with him.”
“Wait. Stop right there.” Greg growled. “I just saw a report of two women, one claiming to be a Cerberus agent roughing up some fine upstanding members of the Borgia crime family. Are you saying it was you?”
“And me!” Clara said chirpily. ‘My name’s Clara Voyanich, the Temporal…”
“Yeah, yeah, Clara? Greg. Greg? Clara.” I snarled, interrupting her carefully planned soliloquy. “Anyway, there’s only one other possible name on my list and I need some backup to face it.”
“Who? I thought you hated backup?” he pressed.
“The Bloodbeast.”
“Oh God. Oh my God.” Greg moaned.
“My thoughts exactly. So, care to catch up with Eric and you two meet me in Bladenboro?” I asked with a mock sweetness.
“No, I really don’t but I will do it anyway.” He replied unsteadily. “Wait for us to get there before you do anything. And by wait, I mean stay in your car. I mean do not get out and investigate. I mean don’t even turn off the engine. I mean wait.”
“I make no promises.” I said and snapped the phone closed.
“Who was that?” Clara asked in a voice I didn’t like.
“Gregory Chant. He’s a Knight with the Order of Righteous Slaying and one of my teammates.” I replied slowly.
“He’s cute. All those scars and muscles.” She said wistfully.
“You really don’t want to go there.” I said with a hint of fire in my voice.
“Oh really? I will keep that in mind.” She answered with her own mocking sweetness.
“See that you do.”
