Los Angeles made you soft when it came to cold weather. But even a sunny paradise can get a little boring, and Angelinos head out to the mountains to get a taste of real winter. Well, sort of. All the good parts of winter: snowboarding and skiing, peach schnapps and hot chocolate. We skip the whole shoveling of driveways and commuting on icy, treacherous roads bit. For the folks in my city, snow is a few days of fun away from the sun.
That’s why I was out here at Big Bear Lake. No, I wasn't hunting some monster in this popular resort location. There hadn’t been a sighting of the abominable snowman. On the contrary, I was trying to physically and emotionally refuel myself after my adventure with the nightmare priest. I know it's hard to believe, but even people in my unique line of work occasionally need a little bit of R & R.
"Told you this would be a nice break from the routine."
I turned toward my lovely assistant, Vesper, who'd joined me on this three-day escape from the daily grind. In fact, the long weekend trip had been her idea. The cabin we were staying at belonged to her uncle, who had graciously allowed us to borrow it for the weekend.
"Don't make that face," Vesper said with a playful grin.
"And what face would that be?"
"The 'I'd-rather-do-anything-else' face. Come on, Simon, you just got here and already you look bored to tears."
What can I say, I'm a bit of a workaholic. Recreational travel wasn't something I did, period. And why should I? My work already called for a fair bit of travel—just check my frequent flyer miles. The forces of darkness respected no borders, and my paranormal cases took me all over the globe. I must have visited ten countries over the last few months alone. Now, I don't do much sightseeing on my trips, but visiting the Louvre feels underwhelming when you’ve been busy hunting a monster in the Paris catacombs.
"You're just a little out of your element," Vesper said. "There's a ton of stuff to do out here. We can visit the lake or the zoo, the hiking trails are awesome, and I can even teach you how to snowboard."
“Quick newsflash—I know how to snowboard. I spent my teen years in Upstate New York."
Ignoring my comment, Vesper pressed on. "This cabin even has a hot tub."
Most men would have gladly risked pneumonia to share some time with my lovely assistant in a hot tub. Myself included, if I was honest. Vesper's pale skin and red-dyed hair contrasted with her silver one-piece ski jumpsuit. The form-fitting outfit came with matching gloves and a faux fur-lined hood. She looked like she was ready to hit the slopes in style.
Back in LA, Vesper's fashion sense was classic goth, consisting of black jeans, black T-shirts, and combat boots. But out here, she was going the for the opposite effect. It was almost like she was trying to express a different part of her personality. She looked pretty damn adorable in her winter gear, but I was struggling not to think about what she’d look like out of it.
Pull your mind out of the gutter, buddy.
Vesper was off-limits. She was a partner, a friend, and nothing more. I couldn't risk what we had for a night of passion. Over a year ago, I'd saved Vesper from becoming the next sacrifice of a devil-worshipping biker cult. At first, the plan was to let her crash at my mansion for a few days while she got back on her feet. She had no place to go, no tools to process the horror she'd lived through. To our mutual surprise, a few days turned into months, a period over which Vesper proved to me that she was the best damn assistant I could hope for. Even more important than her research abilities and computer skills, Vesper shared my sense of mission. There are many skilled researchers out there, but only a handful believe in the supernatural and are ready to face the forces of darkness.
Vesper had seen the enemy with her own eyes. She knew the monsters were real. And she was determined to stop them.
"Sounds like someone wants me to catch a cold," I grumbled, turning away from the tempting hot tub to look out over the frozen landscape.
Vesper gave me a long look. "Come on, let's get into the spirit of things."
"I'm tired. I spent the last five hours fighting my way up a snowy mountain…"
"Don't exaggerate. It still beat rush hour on the 405. And the view was to die for."
“No kidding. Dying is exactly what went through my mind when I almost failed to take that turn."
Vesper rolled her eyes.
"You’re such a party pooper, Kane. Let’s head out, grab a drink, and see what this town has to offer. Tomorrow, after a good night's sleep, we hit the slopes for some winter fun. What do you say?"
"I think I liked you better when you never left the house."
For a moment, I thought I’d gone too far, but she grinned at me playfully. In the wake of Vesper's ordeal with the demonic biker gang, she’d developed a severe case of agoraphobia. For a long year, she'd rarely ventured beyond the electronic and metaphysical defenses of my warded mansion. My recent battle with the witch Asmadina changed all that. My assistant had faced her fears—and saved my ass.
Vesper was finally blossoming and coming into her own. Her willingness to visit Big Bear Lake was another giant step in her return to a normal life. So even though I would've rather spent the weekend cooped up in my library pouring over ancient tomes of black magic, I'd agreed to tag along for this trip. And if I was honest with myself, it was pretty nice up here. The snow, the trees, the cozy cabin, and lovely company—I mean, my weekend could have been a hell lot worse. So why were my guts churning? Why couldn't I just relax? Had I become so obsessed with my mission that I could never turn it off, that the thought of spending a weekend having fun was more anxiety-inducing than facing demons and ghosts?
It might be time to have a chat with a therapist. Unfortunately, shrinks get kind of nervous about patients who believe the boogeyman is real.
So that only left self-medicating. Suddenly, the idea of that drink didn't sound all that bad.
A short drive later, we arrived in nearby Big Bear Lake Village. It was around five o'clock when I parked. We hit up a local watering hole and grabbed some grub and drinks. All thoughts of the dark world I operated in disappeared, drowned away in a mug of strong beer.
Afterwards, we continued to explore the picturesque tourist town. Big Bear has a population of about six thousand, but that number can grow to a hundred thousand during the winter months. Not surprisingly, the snow-covered streets were busy but not too overcrowded. The wintry landscape combined with the cozy architecture gave the whole place a magical vibe. You could almost expect to find Santa’s workshop around the corner.
We were a little late in the season, the bitter cold keeping some of the vacationers at bay. I guess we picked the right weekend to head up here.
Looking around, I decided I liked this charming shopping and dining district nestled in the Sea Bernardino Mountains. Why had I never come up here before? Oh, that's right, I was too busy hunting nightmares.
Vesper and I passed boutiques and souvenir shops, not a worry in the world at least for this one brief moment. The conversation between us flowed smoothly with no lulls. I found myself wondering why I was so determined that this charming, gorgeous woman should be kept at a distance. Why couldn't we be more than just partners? The thought was still swirling through my mind when Vesper grabbed my arm and pulled me toward an art gallery.
"Mind if I check out the local talent?"
Vesper was an artist who'd painted her fair share of fantasy book covers over the years. Although she had started painting again recently, my assistant still wasn’t comfortable reaching out to the local art scene where we lived, let alone visiting galleries. This was a big step, and there was no way I’d say no or do anything to wipe the eager grin off her face.
I followed her into the carpeted gallery space. Art covered every square inch of the walls, recessed lights shining down on the canvases. Not surprisingly, many of the paintings showcased snowy mountain landscapes and the wide variety of animals found in this beautiful area. The gallery was geared toward well-heeled tourists looking to bring back
a little part of Big Bear Lake when they returned to their urban homes.
I like art, but I'm no artist. While Vesper spent minutes examining each painting, I quickly grew bored. There are only so many paintings of snow-capped mountains a man can look at.
My assistant struck up a conversation with a pretty brunette, who apparently had painted some of the work in the gallery, and the two of them began talking a mile a minute about line work and the effective use of color and light and shadow.
I took a few deep breaths and paced back and forth the length of the gallery, trying to overcome the tiredness that had suddenly overcome me. It had been a long day of driving, and all I wanted after that heavy meal and dark beer was a nap. But Vesper was so obviously enjoying herself. I was quickly losing count of how many times I'd yawned since setting foot in the gallery, so I decided to head for the coffee shop next door for a quick espresso.
As I turned toward away the exit, I froze. A tall, powerfully built man stood outlined in the entrance, blocking the way.
And he was pointing a hunting rifle at me.
Chapter Three
Reality slowed as the man raised his rifle and leveled it at someone standing about four feet to my right. Guess I wasn't the target after all.
I was still reeling when the world exploded with gunfire, and the first bullet spun the man beside me off his feet. Blood spattered the painting of a beautiful forest scene. The artist Vesper had been talking to screamed.
As the shooter drew a bead on the screaming woman, my right hand instinctively reached for my Glock. No matter where I go, even when I'm taking a vacation, I'm armed. You never know when the forces of darkness might launch a surprise attack. The Glock was loaded with rune-engraved silver bullets designed to stop the undead, but they were equally effective against the living. Before the shooter had a chance to snuff out another life, I returned fire.
I'd aimed at the leg, and the bullet tore into the fleshy part of the man's thigh.
The impact flung him backward, and he crashed to the floor.
I generally reserved lethal force for supernatural enemies. Unfortunately, that meant the shooter was still a problem. He had dropped his rifle when he went down, but the pain wasn't weakening his determination to murder the woman, too. Already he reached out for the rifle, oblivious of the blood spurting from his ruined leg.
As he crawled toward his gun, he dragged his leg behind him, leaving a long trail of red on the carpet. Any second now, his fingers would close around his weapon and the shooting would resume. I couldn't allow that to happen.
Determined to avoid further bloodshed, I sprinted toward the man's rifle. I did my best to block out the shocked woman's screams, Vesper’s shouts for everyone to get back, focusing only on my objective.
I reached the killer's rifle seconds before he did. Running on sheer adrenaline, I kicked the weapon aside with so much force that it slid across the room.
I spun toward the shooter who was still crawling in my direction.
He glared up at me, his eyes blazing with an unearthly fury. I say unearthly, as there was something not quite human about his gaze. Those hate-filled orbs had becoming moving spirals, hypnotic in their surreal intensity.
And that's when I noticed the strange symbols tattooed across his neck, hands, and forearms. It looked like the markings were alive, squirming, and undulating across his skin. Strange geometric patterns—triangles, circles and spirals—that made me think of Escherian optical illusions. The disturbing tattoos created the appearance that many different levels existed beneath the skin. One could almost imagine crawling into those three-dimensional designs.
If that wasn't enough to convince me I was dealing with an enemy that wasn't quite human anymore, a sharp pain tore through my Ouroboros snake tattoo.
It only does that if dark forces are at work, in case you wondered.
The man staggered back to his feet, blood oozing. The hatred previously reserved for the couple he’d been so desperate to gun down now shifted towards me.
He unleashed a bloodcurdling cry as he barreled toward me with surprising speed and strength, as if the bullet hole in his leg didn't bother him at all. A force far more potent than any drug fueled his violent movements. It didn’t strike me as infernal; the markings were all wrong. Possibly it was some other form of supernatural possession, an obscure rite that I hadn’t yet encountered in my work.
And then all thoughts ceased as my attacker slammed into me and sent me flying across the length of the art gallery.
I hit the ground hard. Now it was my turn to drop my weapon. The Glock skittered across the floor. No time to reach for it, not with the madman leaning over me, gnashing his teeth as if the bastard wanted to rip out my throat. I brought my head up with as much power as I could muster. His nose exploded, the impact sending him reeling.
Never slowing down, I scanned the carpet for my Glock while my right hand reached for the athame, my father's sacrificial blade and one of my most powerful weapons in the battle against the forces of darkness.
The tattooed shooter regarded me for a beat, apparently intrigued by the knife in my hand.
"Who are you?" he demanded to know, a guttural note in his voice, almost as if his lips were still learning human language. That wasn’t normal. Most of the things I dealt with had been human once. What sort of entity was I up against here?
The man—or the thing pretending to be a man, I still wasn’t sure on that count—studied me for a beat and then moved closer. I tensed, waiting for him to make his next move, wishing I had my Glock in my other hand.
But the tattooed monster did nothing. At least nothing that I could perceive with my human senses.
Then the knife in my hand ignited with a burst of power. I looked down, taking my eyes from the threat in front of me, to see a surreal three-dimensional pattern materialized on the blade's surface. A quick glance back up confirmed what I already suspected. The geometric design that had appeared on my knife matched the preternatural tattoos swirling across the madman's skin.
As I watched, I saw the etchings on the shooter’s neck grow duller as the same symbols appeared on my athame. And then his lips curled up in a triumphant grin. His neck tattoo had completely vanished. I still had no idea what was happening here, but the freak seemed to be delighted by this latest turn in events. That was not likely to be good news for me, Vesper, or the civilians who were trapped in the art gallery.
I would have plenty of time to crack this puzzle later. Right now, priority one was stopping this freak before he could hurt anyone else. Unfortunately, the bastard didn't appear all that impressed by the defensive capabilities of my knife.
Even though there was no doubt to my mind that some paranormal power controlled the body in front of me, he still looked like a man. And that made me hesitate. I didn't make it a habit to stab humans.
The man unleashed a bestial snarl and leaped at me.
And that's when a renewed burst of gunfire bashed my ears.
This time a red hole opened in the man's chest. He took one, two weak steps before his nervous system shut down and he collapsed right in front of me.
I whirled, and my stunned gaze found the man who had shot him. A local cop, given the uniform, who must've been alerted by the earlier gunfire. He stood at the gallery's entrance, legs spread in a shooting stance, pistol still pointed in my direction. His shocked expression mirrored that of everyone else in the gallery. I guess he hadn't expected to fire his weapon today, and perhaps this was the first time the officer had to resort to lethal force.
My eyes ticked to my athame. The two strange markings slithered over the blade as if alive, but they were growing fainter and finally vanished.
I sucked in a sharp breath, tasting smoke and blood.
“Simon?” Vesper asked. When I turned to look at her, she was staring at me with a mixture of shock and concern.
I nodded at my assistant to let her know I was okay but kept my hands still so the cop could see them.
You could never be too careful.
Vesper gave me a shaky smile, and then her attention turned toward the sobbing woman the shooter had tried to kill. She'd crumpled to the floor, physically unharmed but emotionally shattered. Her gaze kept flicking back and forth between the two dead men, her features twisted into a mask of incomprehension. Vesper went over to her, talking softy. The cop and I followed, crouching down in front of the woman.
"Are you alright, miss?" the officer asked her, and Vesper snorted in contempt. The woman was obviously not all right.
"Are you hurt?" I clarified.
The woman shook her head, eyes glassy and distant. She was in shock. I’d seen it often enough to know the symptoms.
"Do you know the shooter?” I asked.
Her response came haltingly. "Y-yes." Tears welled up, and she began to shake all over. "He's my husband."
As the officer palmed his mic and called for back-up, I swapped a long look with Vesper. We both knew this vacation was officially over.
Chapter Four
Sheriff Michael Delgado observed me from across his meticulously organized desk. We were seated inside his spartan office, while Vesper waited in the other room.
My little three-day vacation had taken a sharp turn into the Twilight Zone. I sure as hell hadn't expected to spend my evening at the Big Bear Patrol station. Honestly, I don’t know why I was surprised. The paranormal seemed to follow me wherever I went. If Vesper ever dragged me on a cruise, it would probably be haunted.
The sheriff was in his mid-fifties, fit and deeply tanned, and wore the khaki shirt and olive green trousers favored by members of the Californian Sheriff's departments. Life in Big Bear seemed to agree with the man. His eyes remained fixed on me as he wrapped up a call, regarding me with a mixture of suspicion and begrudging respect. I get that reaction a lot from law enforcement. Some of them appreciate the expertise I bring to unusual cases; others have a hard time wrapping their head around the idea of working with someone like me.
The Paranormalist 4: The Unearthly Page 2
