"Shut up, Nate," the senior Shackleford calmly ordered. "And watch your language around the womenfolk. That ain't polite."
"Sorry, Grandpa." He sat back down. Julie smiled in sisterly pride.
"Thank you, Mr. Pitt," the Boss said. "Is that all?"
"I'm afraid so, sir." I spread my hands in apology. The Hunters began to speak amongst themselves, team leads turning around and telling their troops to quiet down. "I'm sorry."
"No need for an apology, son. You've done your best." He pointed his hook at me. "That is all that any man can do."
"Yes, sir."
Harbinger stood back up. I started to return to my seat. "Stay right there, Owen. This is question-and-answer time. We have about five hundred years of collective monster-killing experience in this room, and I want to take advantage of it. We may be able to cobble together a couple semifunctioning brain cells out of this crew and figure out this puzzle."
Questions came from the crowd as the assembled Hunters picked my brain looking for a clue, something that we had missed. Something—anything—that could point us in the direction of the bad guys, and allow us to exercise our gifts for violence. Monster Hunters by nature tended to be a direct and straightforward bunch, similar to human claymore mines with big signs that warned front toward enemy. I uncomfortably tried to answer the questions as best as I could, but it was hard to recall every little thing from the heavily fragmented dreams. I could feel myself growing light-headed. It had been a long day.
Harbinger summed up our scant information. He stood in front of the map, back to the crowd. "So we know he's in Alabama, or at least he was a couple of days ago. Owen saw him underground, but we don't know if he's in a cave, a mine, or even a basement."
"The Elf Queen said that she saw him near water," Milo added.
"Now if we lived in the desert that might help," Sam said sardonically.
I leaned against the wall. I was not feeling very good. It was probably the stress. I closed my eyes. The pulse in my head was pounding, my heartbeat was elevating. My lungs constricted. I felt like I was going to be sick.
"Owen saw the Tattooed Man with Montgomery in the background. He's going to be looking for the Cursed One as well." Harbinger waved his hand over the area representing central Alabama. "But by now he could be anywhere . . . Owen, was he coming or going? And could you tell what direction? Owen?"
I could not answer. My mouth had suddenly dried up, leaving me unable to speak. My legs had gone numb, and I slid down the wall, flopping to the floor. My vision was fading.
"Owen!" Julie shouted.
"Aw hell." Harbinger hurried to my side. Squatting down, he grabbed my head. "Hey! Stay with me. That's an order." He shook me. "Owen!" Behind him I could see the blurry forms of the other Hunters rising to their feet in alarm.
I tried to apologize, but I was fast slipping into unconsciousness. I felt Julie's hands on my neck as she took my weakening pulse.
Chapter 25
"Sorry. Is best can do," the Old Man whispered.
"Where are we?" I looked around, but our surroundings were pitch-black and revealed nothing. I could feel his presence standing besides me.
"Shhh." His frail hand landed on my shoulder. "You want him to hear us?"
"Okay." Since I was not actually here, I could not really understand how whispering was supposed to help anything. "I think I'm dying."
"No, you be fine. Unless mess up I do. Then get dead for sure."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?" It was discomforting to be in the darkness. There was an absence of sensation not limited to just vision. I could not hear anything other than my companion. There were no scents, not even the feeling of the air on my skin. I missed the battle-damaged village. In comparison to the sensory deprivation, the shelled-out bunch of rubble might as well have been a plush resort.
"Where are we?"
"Same as before, town was just last thing I see, so is what have to show in your head. Takes effort to make like real. And Cursed One found it. So now we sneak in for look. I promise to show Cursed One's place. Other way not work now. Cursed One has shielded his mind. Blocked his memory. We try this way. I think might work perhaps . . . maybe."
"Mordechai, I swear that if you screw up and kill me, I'm going to be pissed. If I end up a ghost, I'm gonna be kicking your ghost ass for eternity."
"Ooh. Tough talk for alive person. Haunting is much hard work. Kids today not work hard enough to do such things. Now be ready. Is much danger . . . I try to show. Then we go away before catches us he does. He knows about me now. He is ready to stop me. Ready to fight you."
"What happens if he catches us?"
"You get stuck like me."
"And what if he catches you?"
The Old Man did not answer. I felt his hand tighten on my shoulder.
"What happens if the Cursed One catches you?"
"Not know. But must try." There was a slight trembling in his raspy voice.
"What are you going to do?"
"Like first time I show. You leave body. Go quick so nothing comes and lives in you. We take look. We get out. Hard to explain. If something bad happens, you go. Go away fast. Go back to self. Just wake up. Should be safe when wake."
"We don't need to get so close. Can't we just float overhead or something? That's all I need. No need to get all up in his face, or tentacles, or whatever."
"Not work like that again. Shielded. No. We go right in. Take you right to artifact I can. Then out. Out fast. No try to fight. Without body, you not have chance this time."
"I did okay last time," I lied. Even though I could not see him, I knew that he was shaking his head disapprovingly. Luckily he did not whack me with his cane.
"No, Boy. Not like that. You still not understand what you have done." He sighed. "Here, take these things." I felt something bump against my arm. I fumbled around in the dark until I found his waiting hand. He placed several small objects into my palm and then squeezed my fingers shut. "Maybe you can use."
"What are they?"
"I promised more toys to you. I keep promise. If we not die in next few minutes, still very strong vampires to face you have. Sorry I not can give more, is best can do."
"Thanks." I put the little objects away. "I don't know how they work, but they do a number on vampires." I remembered the look of shock on Susan Shackleford's undead face after she had burst into flames. I would be glad to have more of the little killer toys.
"I not know really, but think maybe have idea. Long time ago, before I got calling, like you got short straw . . . before I hunt monsters. I was—how you say?—craftsman. I build . . . I build things with hands." He sighed again, sounding very sad. "I think now, the memory I have left, is all I have. I make things again. I know are rough, but has been long time for me. I send you back with them. I send back to real world with these things I create. Back you go to the world, with these little bits of me. Bits of who I was. Maybe even who I am still now."
"I don't know if I understand."
"Holy things when used by faithful person is much powerful. Why? Not because of little metal star or little wooden cross. No, because of belief. Belief that good beats evil, because of strength that is inside people. For me, not believe—know. These little things, they are all I have left to give."
"Thank you," I said, and I meant it. The toys were physical manifestations of the Old Man, created from his memory and translated into the real world through unknown means. The little objects were like bottled faith.
"Boy . . . glad I have been to be stuck in your head last little while. Gives me hope for future . . . if world not get destroyed of course. Then short future that would be. You are good boy. Proud. Stubborn. Sometimes stupid. But always try to be good. Heart means to be good. Makes me glad that other one chosen is good man. No matter what happens. Promise . . . promise you finish this. Even if I not there to help."
"Of course. But don't talk like that. You aren't going anywhere."
"Bah
. . . is much danger in this thing. Promise me."
"I promise I'll finish this."
"Good. Now remember things you have seen. Remember things I have show you. Is up to you, many things which I not could tell, I have show you. Remember them, and all will be fine." He patted me on the shoulder.
A grim feeling of dread hovered around us. I tried to steel myself in preparation for our raid. The odds were not in our favor.
"It's been an honor," I stated solemnly.
"Me too, Boy. Me too. . . . Now let us go and look. Make no sound. Try not to think so loud. As you say, let's do this thing."
A sensation of sudden movement. An abrupt stop.
Dark. Cool. Damp. Musty.
I could sense the spirit that was the Old Man near at hand. There were other things in the dark as well. Not quite living, but refusing to be dead. The presence of the ancient and powerful vampires was thick in the cavern, as well as the oily taint of the Cursed One.
There was no light, but since I was not seeing through eyes, it did not matter. We were in a cave. A mammoth opening in the earth. Pillars of rock stretched from floor and ceiling, most of the stalactites and stalagmites far longer than I was tall. Banks of harsh artificial lights had been smashed and kicked over, leaving only shadow and broken glass.
I could feel the seven Masters. Not all were in the cave itself, but rather they were hunting or feeding in the night above. A few remained on guard, hanging suspended, invisible in the tangled rock overhead. The sense of their power was overwhelming. Susan Shackleford was there. Far younger than the others, but in my current state I could perceive just how dangerous she was—strong beyond all expectations for a vampire so young. The others were older, and some had even been alive when my ancestors were living in mud huts or paddling canoes across the oceans.
For a moment I was able to glimpse into their twisted minds. Their leader, Lord Machado's lieutenant, was the one known as Jaeger. He was also young. Not even undead for six decades, hated and feared by the others, he led them through his unnatural strength, granted not in the traditional manner of the vampire, but rather by the power of the ancient artifact—a tortured gift placed upon him at the moment of his human death, bound to the artifact, and sealed into the service of the Cursed One.
There were humans present as well. Several were being kept in a hole, too steep and slick to crawl out of. They were snacks. Grant Jefferson had been bound and tossed in a corner. Judging from his appearance he had been savagely beaten, but he was still alive. The Cursed One had his sacrifice.
The vampire leader, Jaeger, knelt at the rear of the chamber, a fearsome thing of awe-inspiring strength, now relegated to a mundane chore. He held an ancient conquistador's helmet and polished it, his narrow hands moving like a belt sander. The breastplate and ax that I had gotten to know so well sat on a cloth before him. He was a squire, preparing the colors of his knight before the final tournament. The feathered plume had long since turned to dust.
Something moved at the rear of the great chamber. A tear appeared in the solid rock and light seeped through the crack. It was similar to the rifts that the demons had used in Natchy Bottom, a hidden passage carved through space to someplace else, unnaturally grafted onto the walls of this cave long ago. I could see and understand the portal clearly in my disembodied state. The rift gradually widened as a glistening shape pushed its way through and slapped wetly onto the floor. The temperature dropped from chilly to freezing in seconds. The helpless humans whimpered in fear.
Lord Machado had returned.
I had a brief glimpse into the portal as it disappeared back into the rock. Dark sky flickered in the distance. It was the Place of Power.
The vampire bowed his head and presented the helmet to the waiting master. The withering mass reached down and plucked the antique from his servant's hands. The tentacles gently lifted the steel pot and set it on the skull-shaped protuberance, a crown upon a blighted brow.
The thing that was Lord Machado towered above the tall vampire. Still vaguely man-shaped, twisted and hardened bones formed the supports for the black pulsating tissues. Several tentacles dangled from where the arms would have been, and legs had been replaced with a veritable platform of withering limbs. Every inch of black flesh moved like a bucket of worms.
The creature paused. Then slowly rotated toward us.
I tried to shrink back, an impossible feat in my current condition. The helmet cocked to the side as the burning eyes zoomed in on us. I heard the Old Man's thoughts.
Run.
I willed my spirit away from the Cursed One, back through the huge cavern. Jaeger screamed and leapt at us, his movement too fast to discern. It felt as if a wall of evil slammed into me, pinning me down, capturing me and holding me. I fought against it, but I was not strong enough. Lord Machado oozed across the stone, compressing his body between narrow paths, tentacles reaching forward, driving his will like a spear.
I could not flee. I could not escape. Master vampires detached themselves from the ceiling and dropped around me. The Cursed One was closing. As hard as I pushed, I could not break away from the will of the evil thing. I could feel him pulling me toward him, sinking hooks into me and reeling me in.
I was doomed.
Flee, Boy!
The spirit of Mordechai Byreika did not pull away. Instead he hurled himself against the onrushing vampires. An explosion of blue sparks lighted the cavern as his presence collided with Jaeger, smashing the vampire backwards across the cave in a brilliant display that blinded all of the undead. The vampire struck a stalactite with a resounding crack.
Take that, Nazi bastard! Payback is bitch!
The will of the Cursed One bore down upon Mordechai. The Old Man faced his adversary in a futile but noble gesture. For a brief instant the ghost became visible, holding his cane in his arthritic hands like a weapon, narrow shoulders hunched, eyes hard and jaws clenched. He swung at the onrushing blackness.
And was swept away.
Mordechai! No!
The will of the Cursed One was temporarily diverted. The snares that held me snapped. I remembered the Old Man's admonition. Every instinct told me to fight, but I fled. A sense of pain engulfed me, but it was not mine. It was Mordechai's. It filled the cavern, drowning out all other sensations.
I saw his death.
The Polish winter. 1944. The rubble of the shelled-out town. The burned and blackened church. The Old Man tied to the altar. The incorporeal presence of the Cursed One hovering nearby, hungrily waiting, but already knowing that his calculations had been in error. Jaeger, then merely a human in the black uniform of the SS, holding a gleaming blade high. Bitten by a vampire far earlier in his forgotten youth, the curse of the undead waited in his veins for his suicide and inevitable return.
Sounds of gunfire coming from the village. Multitudes of German soldiers cut down by the immortal Thrall.
The artifact, black energy swirling, sitting by the Old Man's head. He did not fight, for he knew this battle was over. The blade flashed down, cutting sluggishly through Mordechai's narrow chest. Blood splattering over the church, over the ancient Place of Power.
The heart held high, pumping blood down the Nazi's arm. The ritual failed. The time had not been right. The black energy of the artifact dying. The light in the Old Man's eyes dying at the same time.
The sacrifice bound to the artifact. Mordechai's spirit was chained and enslaved to the ancient box, decades passing, as he was trapped, helplessly bound to this world.
Until he found me.
He screamed as he experienced the pain of death all over again.
I knew I had to wake up. I fought my way forward, pushing away from the Cursed One, like a swimmer with lungs burning for air struggling toward the sky. There was a large tunnel out of the great cave. It was round corrugated metal. It was angled toward the surface.
Behind me the ghostly scream was cut short. The Cursed One returned his attention toward my fleeing spirit, searching, grasping.
Energy slung past me like cracking whips. I knew that if I could reach the surface, if I could reach the air, I could return to my body and wake up.
It was close—the surface. I raced onward.
Then suddenly a silent conquistador stood in my path. Blocking my way.
No. Mordechai's sacrifice would not be in vain. I pushed forward.
The conquistador did not move.
It wore a silly cartoon grin. It had a big, stuffed, fake head.
What in the hell?
I broke through, the Cursed One raging below. My spirit soared into the night sky and tore across the horizon at impossible speeds. I was free.
"Owen!" Julie shouted in my ear. "Are you with us?"
"Ack," I coughed, choking off my shout of freedom. "I'm back," I gasped.
"Are you okay?" All of the Monster Hunters were clustered around me.
"Mordechai is dead."
"We know. He died in 1944," Julie explained soothingly as she ran her hand over my face. "You're going to be okay now."
I struggled to form words. "No . . . Just now. He's gone. He gave himself up to save me from Lord Machado." I lay still. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. It had to be at least a hundred and fifty beats a minute. I could feel sweat pouring out of my body, and every inch of me tingled in pins and needles discomfort. My hands were clenched into shaking fists. I forced them to open.
Several small wooden toys fell from my hands onto the floor.
Holy shit.
Harbinger was still squatting at my side. "What did you see?"
"Grant's alive. He's the sacrifice." Several of the Hunters began to murmur. It was one thing to have one of our own killed in action. It was another thing entirely to have one of our own in the hands of the bad guys.
"Where are they?" Harbinger pounded his fist into his palm. "Where?"
"A big cave."
"Where?"
"I don't know."