by Renée Jaggér
“Okay,” Bailey agreed. “But do me one favor. You first.” She motioned at the portal.
He looked at her for a split second, then said, “Very well,” and stepped through. Exhaling, the girl followed him. She hoped she was doing the right thing.
Agent Velasquez paused at the edge of the little town. Park, who was in excellent shape and tended to move fast, got three steps ahead of him before he noticed that his partner had fallen behind. He turned around.
“What’s the matter?” Park asked.
Velasquez pulled out his phone to double-check for messages or missed calls. Nothing.
“If Bailey isn’t answering us, it probably means she’s not currently located in the same plane of existence as we are. That poses certain problems, especially since last time I was here, the townsfolk had only the vaguest idea of where she might be or how the hell to get hold of her.”
Park shrugged. “Someone would have seen or heard something. There’s nothing else we can do, besides.”
“True enough,” Velasquez conceded. “We’ll start with the mechanic since he’s closer.”
They left their car at the sheriff’s station. Sheriff Browne didn’t know the girl’s whereabouts either, and he seemed hesitant to get too involved with whatever shenanigans a pair of federal agents might be here pursuing. A short walk through the community would turn up more opportunities to talk to people than driving would.
Only a small handful of pedestrians were out and about, though, and most of them gave the pair a wide berth. One woman seemed to recognize Velasquez and said hello, but she hadn’t seen Bailey in a while, nor heard anything about where she was.
When they arrived at Gunney’s auto shop, the proprietor noticed them approaching and wiped his hands off before coming out to greet them in the front lot.
“Hi,” he called. “Velasquez, I remember you, but I haven’t met the other gentleman. I’m Gunney.”
“Park,” the agent replied. “Nice to meet you. As you can imagine, we have some questions.”
The mechanic nodded in a sharp motion. “Right. Well, first of all, I haven’t seen Bailey since the night before last.”
Velasquez adjusted his glasses. “That answers our primary question. Have you heard from her, or do you have any idea where she might be? We’ve tried to call her several times but have not gotten a response.”
Gunny shook his head. “Afraid not. She comes and goes. Last I heard, you guys were aware that she has, uh, certain new responsibilities these days, so if she’s not in town, then I’d guess she’s off doing that kinda stuff.”
As the agents frowned, the older man flipped his cap off his head, allowing his shaggy hair to breathe in the heat before pulling back on. “Might want to check with her brothers. The previous guy, Townsend, knew where they lived, so I’d be shocked if you gentlemen don’t have access to that information.”
“Yes,” said Velasquez. “We’ll check it out. Thanks for cooperating.”
“No problem.” The mechanic waved to them as he turned back toward his shop. “If you’ll excuse me, I got some grease to monkey. Good luck.”
The agents strode back to their car at a fast clip. Velasquez fired up the engine immediately, while Park brought up the Nordin family’s address on his device. “Got it. That was easy.”
Velasquez pulled onto Main Street and headed west, then north down a side road. “Of course it was.”
The drive took only a few minutes. When they pulled into the front lot of the old farmhouse, the eldest of the brothers, Jacob, emerged to greet them before they could knock.
“Hi,” he called. “No offense, but we were kinda hoping things would stay quiet enough that you guys wouldn’t come a-calling again.”
“Yeah,” Velasquez remarked, “same.”
Park snorted. “Speak for yourself. I was bored as fuck.”
Jacob let them in and offered them drinks, which they declined. The younger siblings, Russell and Kurt, drifted over to watch as the two men stood in the small foyer area.
“Okay,” Velasquez began, “I won’t waste your time. Where’s Bailey? We need her help.”
Russell and Kurt grimaced as Jacob stepped closer. “Unfortunately, we were wondering the same thing. She disappeared last night. Based on her scent and some minor tracks, she got out of bed and walked out back sometime late at night or early in the morning. We lost the trail right at the edge of the woods out there.” He gestured with his chin in the appropriate direction. “My guess is that she went off on a divine errand or something, possibly with you-know-who. Marcus. You met him, right?”
Park snapped his fingers. “You mean Fenris. I read the file, and Velasquez was right there with him during the Aradia incident.”
“Fine,” Jacob responded. “Anyway, we haven’t heard from her, but we’re hoping someone has. Any minute, we’re expecting—”
Someone knocked on the door. Russell sprang up to answer it, and when he swung open the door, two slender blond men in their twenties stood side by side on the porch.
“—them,” the eldest brother finished. “We were expecting them.”
Roland waved. “Hi, everyone, including you guys.” He looked at the agents. “What terrible thing is happening now that you had no choice but to pay us a visit?”
Dante frowned. “Actually, I was hoping to see you two again. Were you able to dissipate the energy from that ghost-thing we captured?”
Velasquez let out a half-sigh, half-groan. “You’d better come in and sit down.”
The wizards did, accepting cups of coffee from the Nordin brothers and waiting for the inevitable bombshell, whatever it was.
“First,” Park inquired, “what were you guys off doing? You’re not in trouble, but we’d like to have an idea of what’s going on.”
Roland explained that Bailey had asked him to link up with Dante again and speak to the Northwestern witch community in case they needed backup if anything strange happened. Since she wasn’t here when he woke up, which was not unusual, he’d gone about his business. He did not offer any further details. Dante, sensing that it would be best to only reveal the full truth if they were pressed, kept his mouth shut as well.
At the end of their account, Velasquez smoothed his hair and scowled. “I see. You have piqued our curiosity, but we’ve got bigger fish to fry. We could use Bailey’s help, and yours.”
The dark-suited pair told the wizards about all that had happened concerning Callie and the army of eldritch crones she’d created. Roland and Dante went increasingly pale as the agents’ story progressed.
“So,” Velasquez concluded, “in saving the whole region from this fuckery, we stand a much better chance with skilled casters such as you on our side. You temporarily defeated her before, after all. You can defend against these things’ attacks and help disperse their magical energies while we mop them up with our new weapons and tools. It isn’t going to be easy or simple, no matter what.”
Roland pinched his nose, but it was Dante who said, “Oh, of course not. When is it ever?”
“Right,” Park concurred. “We don’t have the numbers or firepower to challenge the whole horde at once, so we’ll need to make repeated incursions against portions of it, wiping out swaths of Ms. McCluskey’s etheric doubles before she can break off even more of the goddamn things after feeding on witch-energy. We’ll need to stay on top of things, move fast, hit hard, and cut her off from any route of escape.”
“Sounds fun,” Roland grumbled. “But the thought of Callie taking over all of Washington and Oregon is too horrifying to consider. I heard that before she moved to Seattle, she used to torture her little brother by locking him in the bathroom and making him listen to Nicki Minaj at max volume for an hour or more at a time. We don’t want a person like that at the forefront of an undead apocalypse.”
Dante nodded. “Yeah, what he said. Can we scout them out first, though? Like, accompany you guys to their hiding place to get a clear idea of what we’re dealing with?�
��
The agents glanced at each other. Velasquez replied, “Yes. We’ll need a short time to convene every extra agent we can get for the operation. Let’s have a quick discussion of strategy, then we’ll need to get moving.”
As they discussed their plans, though, Velasquez could not stop wondering how they’d be able to manage without a certain newly-minted deity.
Chapter Four
“Don’t worry,” Roland reassured them, “we know how to open portals to the Other. It’s no big deal.”
Agent Park spread his hands. “Okay, but do you know exactly where we’re going? That’s where our equipment comes in handy.”
The wizard scowled. “I don’t, so good point. We’ll use you guys’ weird magical trampoline or collapsible closet or whatever the hell that is.”
Dante squinted at him. “Collapsible closet? It looks nothing like that. More like a parachute.”
“Quiet,” Velasquez snapped as he checked his tracking device and punched in the coordinates.
After comparing notes and agreeing upon a rough strategy for what they’d do during their reconnaissance mission, the four had gone out to the Nordin family’s pole barn in the backyard (which doubled as Roland’s bedroom) and set up the agents’ portable gateway device against the far wall. Roland was dubious as to whether it would actually work, but...
The machine hummed, and purplish light flowed down the cords toward the central oval portion. It lit up, disclosing a surface identical to the portals Roland had opened or seen Fenris and other beings open via traditional magic.
“Well, then,” he said, blinking. “The Agency’s research and development team is putting our tax dollars to good use, I see.”
Dante raised a finger. “That reminds me, what kind of benefits package do you guys get? Like healthcare, retirement, and all that shit.”
Velasquez smiled. “The best.”
“Figures,” the young wizard responded. “When all the scary monsters are dead, will we get our own?”
The agents shrugged, and Park answered, “Uh, that’s not our department. Sorry.”
The device stabilized and beeped to indicate that the portal was safe to use. Velasquez motioned them to move out but stepped through first. He had, of course, equipped his silver-chrome carbine with its accompanying mounted wrist tank and wore anti-magic body armor. Park was similarly equipped.
The junior agent remained behind to ensure the wizards complied. “Well,” Roland pointed out, “the portal looks right, anyway.” He went through, with Dante right behind him.
They emerged onto a cliff of dark red rock that loomed above a deep, broad gorge or canyon within a vast stony desert. Above, the sky was a dark and menacing purple.
Roland whistled. “Okay, I have to admit, I’ve never seen this place, and I would not have known how the hell to transport us here. Makes me wonder how big the Other truly is, given all the different parts of it we’ve been to.”
Velasquez held up a hand. “Keep your voice down. Move slowly and carefully to the edge of that cliff and have a look down into the canyon.”
The two wizards did as the agent suggested, hunching over and treading softly to avoid making noise. The cliffside fell away, revealing the huge gorge below, which was crawling with hideous, ragged forms—hundreds of them. Some were nearly transparent, but many had attained full solidity of form.
Roland’s jaw dropped as his face fell and his eyes widened. He glanced at Dante and saw the same expression on the other young man’s face. They backed up until the cliff blocked them from the sight of anything in the canyon, then turned to face the agents.
“Well,” Dante gasped, “this is, you know, really, really bad.”
Roland rubbed his right eye. “I concur. We need an army for this, not just a task force or whatever. I’m going to suggest that we pull out right away and rethink our whole strategy.”
Park made a grumbling sound, and Velasquez sighed. “Strategizing is exactly what we’re trying to do, but yes, let’s leave. We have to start gathering the other available agents, and if you guys can get your friends to volunteer, so much the better.”
Before they could stride back through the portal, though, dim shapes appeared above the rim of a crevasse right behind the gateway.
“Shit!” Park cursed. The four fell into fighting stances, then the agents raised their weapons as the casters readied spells.
A dozen of the ghostly witch-creatures streamed toward them, letting out soft yet eerie howls that were half-composed of sonic vibrations. The rest of the sound was a psionic effect. Their rags billowed around them despite the absence of a breeze, and their rotting, translucent arms reached out.
Roland conjured a quartet of shields that enveloped the mortals, leaving small spaces for the agents’ guns, while Dante summoned gouts of fire from the ground and shards of ice from the sky to strike at the crones from above and below.
They retaliated with flurries of plasma sparks, miniature earthquakes that threatened to shake the four off their feet, and psychic blasts of concentrated fear.
Roland focused on dealing with the subtle stuff—defense and emotional bolstering—while the other three handled offense. The agents deployed their anti-magic rifles and the bright green beams cut through the witches with ease, dissipating half of them into masses of swirling particles.
The others hesitated, and Roland joined Dante in hitting them with powerful lightning bolts that burned away most of their mass. The crones managed another wave of attacks, which the wizards blocked before the agents cut them down and sucked the remaining arcane matter into their wrist-mounted tanks.
Velasquez motioned toward the portal. “Come on. The others probably noticed all that commotion. We don’t need to deal with any more at the moment.”
They ran through the portal, stumbling awkwardly into Bailey’s pole barn on the other side, panting.
Velasquez turned and shut off the gateway device immediately. The purple light died, leaving the building dim.
The four spent a moment looking at each other. The combat had been brief but intense, and the mere squad they’d faced was nothing compared to the entire horde.
“So,” Park remarked, “the boys in R&D said that the new model tanks,” he tapped the object attached to his wrist, “will come with a current you can run through it that purges the damn things on the spot without us having to bring them back to HQ, but they haven’t distributed them yet.”
“Right,” Velasquez confirmed. “For now, we’ll have to head back to base to deal with it. But we need to go there anyway.”
Roland shook his head. “No shit. Like I said, an army. And even then, we’re probably going to have to make a bunch of small guerilla raids or harrying strikes to reduce their numbers. We won’t have the firepower to steamroll the entire agglomeration of those things.”
Park gave him an appreciative nod. “You know a thing or two about tactics. Not bad.”
Dante added, “I’ll start rallying the witch community. They know what happened before when the original Callie killed people to revive herself, so most of them won’t deny the reality of what’s happening.”
Roland chimed in, “I’ll see if I can get the were-shamans to help us, but it would be good to have Bailey around. I don’t know what she’s dealing with, but this crone army could overrun us before she’s halfway done with it.”
Velasquez thanked them. “All right, we need to leave. Keep your phones on, and be ready for action. Soon.”
The four went their separate ways, their minds were heavy with plans, concerns, determination, and, whether they admitted it or not, gut-wrenching fear.
Bailey stepped out of the dizzying cold of the gateway into a realm that was equally cold but clear and bright. She paused to catch her breath, the chill of the air making her breath rasp in her throat as she inhaled. Fenris closed the portal.
“We are here,” he said. “This mountain pass lies at the edge of the frost trolls’ realm. Beyond it, behind
us, is the path that leads to Asgard, where my family dwells.”
The girl looked around. The pass was at least half a mile wide, and steep cliffs of sheer stone rose to either side before rambling off into long lines of peaks in either direction. Ahead of them was a vast snowy plain dotted with evergreen trees, which thickened to a Nordic-style forest farther out.
Snow fell from the sky, not as in a blizzard, but as a gentle shower of thick, soft, white flakes. The sky, oddly enough, was bright blue and cloudless. There was no visible sun but plenty of light. The scene reminded Bailey of an idealized winter day as depicted in a Christmas painting or a photograph of a skiing vacation.
She glanced over her shoulder. The pass rose and narrowed behind them, trailing off into a mass of white-golden light as it neared the home of the Norse gods.
“Wait,” she commented. “Asgard? I thought you said we were here to protect Earth?”
“Yes,” replied the wolf-father. “Both. If the trolls break through in sufficient numbers and are able to invade Asgard, they will have access to your realm via the hub of gateways within mine. We cannot allow that.”
She nodded. It made sense, but on some level, she wondered if she was being talked into doing the deities’ dirty work rather than defending her home and people.
Before she could ponder how this might fit in with Loki’s accusations, something happened.
The ground began to shake. Subtly at first, but then the effect became stronger and more noticeable. It was accompanied by a shuffling rumble: the sound of many huge and heavy feet running through snow.
“Be ready,” Fenris urged. “We don’t know how many of them there will be, or what they might throw at us. Remember, they fight via direct assault and brute force, relying upon their size and resistance to magic.”
The werewitch steeled herself. She assumed that her mentor referred to magically-conjured attacks, but she wondered if they would be able to resist parts of their domain being used against them via telekinesis?
