by Phil Morgan
Chapter Three
Bladenboro is a small town, and I mean small, less than two thousand people and only about two square miles in size. Its size was irrelevant, what it contained wasn’t.
The Bloodbeast of Bladenboro was so powerful, so well-known, its existence had drawn the attention of the national media. Some cable channel had shown up a few years ago to find the beast and a couple of Cerberus agents had a little chat with the crew. The channel decided it was in the best interests of everybody involved if they “found” evidence of a cougar as opposed to finding the Beast itself. Cerberus knew where to find the beast, we just didn’t want to.
I couldn’t blame the Convention for that, the Bloodbeast was a grade-A threat, a real monster in a world full of them, the kind of monster that eats your standard werewolf of vampyre for breakfast. It was supposedly savage, bloodthirsty, powerful, and unkillable.
Normally, I would say the last one was impossible. Everything could be killed, in my opinion. If there were ever an exception to that rule? This was it. I had no idea how to kill the beast and I hoped I would never have to worry about finding a way.
I rocketed through the small town until I came to an empty field. There was nothing spectacular about the field except the height of the wild grass and a small, dense, stand of trees in its middle. Clara looked at me expectantly but I was in no mood to play tour guide.
I got out of my car and walked around to the trunk. Opening it, I began rummaging around while Clara got out and walked back to join me. I had just gotten my hands on the equipment I was looking for when she spoke.
“I won’t use guns. I’m the daughter of a superhero. We have a code.” She said simply.
“Codes get you killed but have it your way.” I replied, dropping the powerful handgun I had been about to hand her. My fingers closed on a familiar object of their own accord and I drew it out with a flourish. “Will you use this?”
In my hands was a long, wicked sword, a falchion. Its blade was heavy and sharp, combining the power of an axe with the sharpness and maneuverability of a sword. Clara looked at it dubiously and then eyed me suspiciously.
“Now, where would a pyrokinetic hacker get her hands on an old, rare, sword like that?” she asked, not quite innocently.
“You shouldn’t ask questions that I don’t want to answer.” I said pointedly. “It’s bad for your health.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” She replied as she hefted the heavy blade. “This will work, I suppose.”
I was about to reply when two vehicles whipped to a halt beside us. One was a beaten up, blue, conversion van. It had not even stopped rocking on its suspension from the sudden stop when Greg bounded out of the driver’s side.
His eyes found mine quickly and a look of relief showed in them. Greg, always so overprotective of me. Kinda makes a girl wonder, if you know what I am saying.
The other car was a purple Prius, Eric’s ride. Clara gave a little triumphant squeal of pleasure and tossed me an “I told you so” look as Eric and a young man in his late teens or early twenties climbed out. Eric gave a brisk nod in my direction and the three men walked over to join us.
“Cassidy. I see you did your job with the usual amount of chaos and fire that I have come to expect from you. There are already reports filtering in of the Raleigh chapter of La Ghosta Nostra filing formal complaints. Seems some redheaded rogue agent and her accomplice put several of their people in the emergency room with some severe burns and at least one case of bruised testicles.” Eric said in his best bossy voice. “And somehow, a forest fire started deep in the mountains near Blowing Rock. Now, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Me? No sir, boss! I’ve been on vacation!” I said innocently.
“Who’s your friend?” Greg asked as Clara eyed him appreciatively.
“This is Clara Voyanich. Somehow, she ended up tagging long.” I answered. “Don’t blame me, she insisted. Speaking of friends, who do you have with you?”
“Name’s Dwayne Parsons.” The young man growled, his canines longer and sharper than they should have been.
“The kid that got attacked?” I asked. “Seems he did catch something after all.”
“A fact he is still having a hard time adjusting to.” Eric said with a hint of warning in his voice. Dewayne growled under his breath and it was everything I could do not to laugh. He was like a puppy with a new toy, cute, unassuming, and essentially harmless.
“Why are there two rookies with us? Triads work alone.” Greg asked in a stern voice.
“Obviously they both insisted.” Eric answered.
“Well, don’t look to me to hold their hands. I have a hard enough time taking care of you two, much less a couple of kids still wet behind the ears.” Greg sniffed.
“Hopefully, there won’t be any trouble. Hopefully, the Bloodbeast is still safely chained away.” I replied.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Eric said commandingly. He pointed off across the field of tall grass towards the small copse of trees. We set off, Greg in the lead as usual. Greg took his job very seriously. He was the muscle, the protection, the first into battle, even if that only meant protecting us from sharp grass and the occasional rock in our path.
It only took a few minutes to reach the trees. Greg looked back at Eric, who gave a curt nod. With a shrug, Greg pushed his way through the thick underbrush, clearing a path for the rest of us. We all followed, sticking close to the big man. Suddenly, we stepped into an empty clearing.
“Oh god. It’s free.” Clara said breathlessly.
“No. It’s not.” Eric replied, opening his grimoire. He uttered a string of Words and the air around us shimmered. “See for yourself.”
The shimmer faded and the empty clearing was no longer empty. In the middle, anchored down by dozens of glowing mystical chains was a monster.
At first all I could see was a malevolent shadow, a blackness darker than black. Then, details began to emerge. Wicked fangs, slavering jaws, glowing red eyes, a tail that whipped and curled sinuously, raggedly sharp claws that gouged great rifts in the dirt.
And hate, pure hate for us in its gaze. It hated us for the chains holding it down, for the indignity our freedom showed its confinement, for the simple fact we were alive.
I shivered in spite of myself, in spite of my training and my experience. This was the dark side of nature, the slavering jaw, the ripping claw, and it wanted nothing more than to tear and rend until we were no more.
“On the bright side, it’s still chained up.” Clara said in a hushed voice. “The Forest God hasn’t freed it.”
“And he won’t. The protections around this glade, the avoidance spells, the glamour will hide it from any mad God’s prying eyes.” Eric replied.
“You mean the protections you just stripped away?” Greg asked.
“And I cannot thank you enough for the favor” rumbled a voice from the trees.
