“I tried to accentuate your natural manliness. I could have molded you into a sexy beast, but oh no, you’re all hung up on blending in. Like that’s going to happen with those broad shoulders of yours. I like your shoulders. And your arms . . . Yum . . . You could use new calves though. How about this guy?” Lana held up the magazine. It was an issue with the list of the most beautiful people. “He’s got amazing calf muscles. If he’s dead it isn’t like he’s going to miss those magnificent legs. I could arrange a little accident . . .”
“No.”
“Come on, Franks. What’s the point of having swappable parts if I can’t change them around for my amusement? You’re like my own personal Mr. Potato Head. A muscular, super strong, tireless, focused Mr. Potato Head who could use better calves.”
“Quit shopping,” Franks ordered.
“But it’s like those legs are chiseled from marble. They’re wasted on that mortal.” She sighed and went back to her magazine.
Franks scraped the moth bits into the sludge. He had made so many batches of Dippel’s Elixir of Life over the years that he could have done this in his sleep . . . if he ever slept. It would be done soon, and then he could get back to work. He picked up a beaker of caustic acid and poured it into the pot. The mixture turned blue.
“You’re leaving me again, aren’t you, Franks? Don’t deny it. I can tell.”
Of course he was. He needed to contact Myers tonight. Franks had told Lana enough about Nemesis for her to understand the magnitude of the situation. “Someone has to send Kurst back to Hell.”
“There’s no way you can beat Kurst. He was one of the best.” She got off the couch. The succubus wasn’t wearing much, just some frilly see-through thing, but that was normal for her. She came into the kitchen, pouting. “You don’t want to leave. You don’t owe humans anything. You’re going to try to save them, even while they’re hunting you. Don’t be stupid.”
Lana didn’t know about The Deal, and she’d never understand even if he told her. She was an entirely selfish being. Succubi were minor things, too focused on self-gratification to think through the consequences of their rebellion. They often slipped through the cracks, scraping out a mortal existence by preying on the basest human emotions. She wasn’t a warrior like him or Kurst. The idea of sacrifice or redemption, the very foundations of The Deal, were beyond her comprehension.
“I’m not stupid.”
“Could have fooled me.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled up against his back. She was warm. “Admit it, Franks. Deep down you know I’m right. Humans are even more selfish than we are. They used me and they’ve used you so much longer. Now you’re all used up and they’ve thrown you away.”
He could feel her breathing on his back. “Maybe.”
“Kurst will find a way to bring the entire army of Hell here. Mankind will get stomped. Then it would be our turn. Is that really such a bad thing?”
“Yes.”
“You always were soft on humans. You’ve gotten hurt so many times trying to protect them and they’ll never accept you. Wait . . . that’s right, mortal women have fallen in love with you before. How has that always worked out?”
She knew damned good and well how that always ended.
“That’s right, big boy, because you’ll always be a monster to them. Their lives will always be short, confusing, and pointless, and nothing you do will change them. Don’t go. This is mankind’s problem. Let them handle it. You belong with me. We’re two of a kind. I’m never bored when you’re around, and I simply can’t abide being bored.” She had to stand on her tiptoes to nibble on the back of his ear. She didn’t even draw blood. “Stay with me. Let me make you happy.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I’m a temptress. That’s sort of my thing.”
“You’re good at it.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
The egg timer dinged. The Elixir was done cooking. Franks abruptly shook Lana off and removed the pot from the stove. “I’m still leaving.”
That really pissed her off. “So I’m just your demonic booty call!”
Franks stuck the remaining ingredients back into the case. “That part was your idea. I just needed someone to go shopping and help with surgery.”
“You want me to fix you a sandwich too?” she snapped.
“That would be nice.” Franks closed the case. “Make it to go.”
The succubus let out an inarticulate shriek of rage. Her eyes had turned violet and she’d grown black claws from the ends of her fingers. “You prick!”
Franks did not understand why he had that effect on women. “We’re even. You’ll want to hide until this over. Kurst will destroy anyone who helped me.”
“You should have told me that part first. That would have been the decent thing to do.”
“I suppose.” It was odd to be chided for a lack of decency by a succubus.
“You’re a heartless bastard, Franks.”
That was incorrect. He had two hearts. “Thank you for helping.”
She had not been expecting thanks. Lana was still seething, but at least her claws and fangs had retracted. “Fine. Go get yourself destroyed. See if I care. Take your slime and get out!” She stormed away.
Careful not to waste any, Franks began pouring the Elixir into a thermos.
Lana stuck her head around the corner. “I hope you win. Kurst is an ass. I’ve got a full social calendar. The apocalypse would crimp my style.”
For a soul-leeching demon, Lana really wasn’t all bad.
* * *
“I’ve got something!”
Everyone in the command center perked up. Stricken walked over behind the excited computer geek. A quick glance at the screen confirmed he was listening in on recordings of intercepted phone calls. “What’ve you got?”
“A tip to one of the Monster Hunters.” The geek pushed a button, putting the call on the speaker.
He recognized the voice of Rick Armstrong, head of Paranormal Tactical Consulting. “Is this who I think it is?”
“Of course, handsome.” The woman had a very sultry voice. “I found out you were in town, but you didn’t even bother to call.”
Stricken recognized her. “Well hello, Lana.” The geek looked at him. “A succubus. She got her PUFF exemption years ago, then fell off the radar.”
“What do you want?” Armstrong demanded.
“Remember last summer when we met at that party? You were quite the dancer. We had such a good time. We should totally hook up again.”
“The last time we hooked up, I was in a coma for a week.”
“Admit it. That night was still worth it.”
“My hair went white. I had to start dying it. You’re lucky you’re PUFF exempt.” Armstrong wasn’t stupid enough to bed a succubus twice. “Goodbye, Lana.”
“Hold on there, Rick.” She went from seductive to bossy rather quickly. Stricken had always liked that about her. “I know the real reason why you’re in DC, and I’ve got information about where you can find the thing you’re searching for.”
“Oh really? Where?”
“First, I heard through the grapevine about that giant bounty. When you get him, I want twenty percent. A girl needs to treat herself.”
“Ten.”
“Fifteen.”
“Deal.” Armstrong relented. “That’s one hell of a finder’s fee. This had better be good.”
“Oh, it is. I followed him. He never even saw me, and to think I only regrew my wings because he thought they were hot. He deserves this. This is what he gets for toying with my emotions.”
Stricken hadn’t suspected that Franks had any dealings with Lana. It just went to show that even a spymaster’s knowledge had its limits.
“Where?”
“I think he’s meeting someone. He drove to this old, closed-down shipyard in Virginia—”
Before she’d even finished giving the street address, Stricken knew exactly where it was.
“When did this call go through?”
“Almost two hours ago.”
“Damn it.” That was the problem with flagging so much suspicious traffic. As good as the software was, it still needed a human to listen to it to figure out if it actually meant anything. Paranormal Tactical would be there long before Stricken could get his own assets in place. Franks would probably kill the contractors—Stricken had expected as much when he’d put that PUFF out there—but he’d be ready to pick up the pieces. A sudden thought struck him. “Hang on a second. The succubus said Franks was meeting with someone . . . Who has eyes on Dwayne Myers?”
“Last log says he’s still at the MCB’s temporary command center.”
“Contact our people there and make sure he hasn’t left.” The minion hurried and placed the call. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least if that crafty bastard had already given his guys the slip. He began rattling off orders, knowing that his people would hop to. “Call our guy at Homeland Security. Have them tell the cops DHS is using that part of the shipyard for training or something. I don’t want locals sticking their nose in this when they hear loud noises. Call the Air Force, get us a UAV, and see if there are any satellites available. Alert Dr. Bhaskara and have her ready the prototypes. They’re going to Virginia.”
“How many do you want to send?” asked one of his tactical minions.
There wouldn’t be any screwing around with inferior monsters this time. “Send all thirteen.”
“Sir, there’s something else,” said another geek. “We’re running through the other calls placed from that number. Armstrong was just the first one. She’s also called numbers belonging to Grimm Berlin, Uwharrie Security, and VSJ. The NSA is sending over the recordings now.”
“Hell hath no fury like a succubus scorned.” Stricken chuckled. Doubtless the recordings would all be the same, with Lana arranging a cut of the bounty in exchange for vectoring professional killers in on the thing that had hurt her tender feelings. He could appreciate a vindictive monster. “It appears Lana has quite the extensive little black book.”
“I think she’s sending all the Monster Hunters after him, sir.”
He’d not seen the final count of who had shown up looking to collect, but there was really only one company in particular that concerned him. They were an annoying mix of unpredictability and effectiveness coupled with a very annoying sense of personal honor. “Out of curiosity, has she contacted anyone from Monster Hunter International?”
“No, sir. As far as we’re aware MHI isn’t participating in the search for Franks.”
I’m disappointed in you, Earl. . . .
The man who had called the MCB reported back, “Bad news, Mr. Stricken. They thought Myers was in a closed door meeting for the last hour, but he’s gone.”
“That’s not bad news at all.” That more than likely meant that his chief rival and pain in the ass was on his way to collude with a terrorist. That was treason. Nobody on the Subcommittee would bat an eye when Myers got killed at the scene. “Ready my helicopter. I’ll be taking personal command on this one.”
* * *
It looked like it might rain soon.
The ruins were quiet. The first time Franks had been to this place, it had been a marsh. The next time he visited, the Americans had drained the swamp and built a rudimentary shipyard capable of tending the wooden warships of the day. The time after that, it had been an industrial marvel, servicing great metal beasts destined for battle in the greatest war in the history of the mortal world. Now there were stickers on the fence warning that it was a Superfund toxic site, and everything was slowly decaying back into the ground. Despite man’s industry, the swamp always won in the end.
Franks picked Myers out by the light of his cigarette. To his chemically treated eyes the glowing ash was a beacon. The senior MCB agent was picking his way slowly through the partially fallen walls navigating by the small bits of moonlight sneaking through the clouds. He was getting too old to blunder around in the dark. Myers passed beneath Franks’ perch. He could have called out and alerted Myers to his presence, but he wanted to be sure Myers hadn’t been shadowed. It was cold enough to be uncomfortable for a human, especially one who’d developed breathing problems because of his smoking habit, but Myers would have to wait until Franks was certain.
The shipyard covered a lot of ground. The newer section was still in use. This older portion was a maze of crumbling old buildings and rusting container cranes. It had been abandoned for years and had many escape routes. It was a good place for a clandestine meeting.
Myers walked for another thirty yards, trying not to trip on the weeds growing through the cracks in the asphalt. His memory was good though, because he stopped by the base of an old warehouse, only a few feet from where they’d taken down Don Francisco Asuncion Aramburzuzabala de Garza. Since that was a mouthful, and he had no respect for prideful undead, Franks had just called him Juan the whole investigation. They’d caught Juan here trying to sneak out of the country. The young agent had impressed Franks that night, so Franks had picked Myers to be his partner. They’d worked together off and on ever since.
Tonight, a much older Myers had known exactly when to show up, because that particular lich had only gone out during full moons. Tonight the moon was fat and white.
Franks was sitting in the second floor window of an old welding shop, dressed all in dark colors, invisible to anyone who wasn’t using thermal, NV, or eyes like his. He’d seen the headlights when Myers had parked his car. He’d not seen any other vehicles but he heard a noise from that direction. It might have been a gently closed car door.
It turned out that waiting had been the correct decision because Myers wasn’t alone. A few minutes later another man appeared following Myers’ path. This one was wearing a dark coat with a hood. Franks had a sound suppressor screwed onto the threaded barrel of his Glock. One bullet to the back of the head and this problem would go quietly away, except Franks was curious enough to see who it was before he killed him.
He sensed nothing else moving except for the wildlife that inevitably came to live in mankind’s abandoned places. Creeping along silently, the man passed almost directly beneath him. Franks stepped from the window and fell, landing in a crouch a few feet behind the watcher. He heard the noise and began to turn, but Franks had already engulfed him, wrapping one arm around the man’s neck and placing him in a choke hold. He was quick thinking enough to try and drop his chin to prevent the choke, but Franks was too strong for that, and flexing one massive bicep was enough to squeeze off most of the blood flow to the brain. The man reached for his side, where he probably had a weapon holstered, but Franks simply grabbed hold of his wrist. The man struggled. He was strong by human standards, but Franks was strong by monster standards. He placed his legs against the back of the man’s knee, breaking his stance and forcing him to drop back past his center of gravity, so the watcher’s own weight helped render him helpless. Franks held on for a few seconds waiting for the inevitable blackout. Once the man went limp, Franks kept squeezing for a few more seconds, just to make certain he was really out, and then lowered him to the ground.
He scanned for other threats. Rendering the man unconscious hadn’t made enough noise to alert Myers. Pulling the man’s hood back, Franks found a familiar face. It was the MCB rookie, Strayhorn. That was unexpected. Had Myers brought backup? He’d been told that the critically injured Strayhorn had gone missing from the hospital. It was puzzling, so he grabbed Strayhorn’s collar and dragged him through the weeds.
Myers saw the great hulking shadow approaching in the moonlight. “Franks? Is that you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad to see you. Are you okay?” Then Myers noticed that Franks was dragging a body. “Who is that?”
“Your shadow.” Franks dropped Strayhorn in front of Myers’ wingtips.
Myers blanched. “Is he—” Then Strayhorn groaned as consciousness returned. “Oh, thank God.”
“Fri
end?”
“I told him to wait in the car.” Myers knelt next to Strayhorn. He smacked the barely conscious agent gently on the face. “Tom? Can you hear me? Tom?”
“He’ll be fine,” Franks said.
Strayhorn began coughing. His eyes popped open and there was that brief moment of terror and confusion as his faculties came fluttering back. He saw Myers first. “Dad?”
“Well . . .” Franks scowled at Myers. “Huh.”
“Yes, Franks, some of us have lives outside of the Bureau. I know that idea must perplex you.” Myers stood back up, and grunted as his knees popped. “This is my son.”
“Strayhorn?”
“He was a foster child,” Myers said quickly. “It’s a long story. Having a different name works though. Nobody likes to be accused of nepotism. Can you imagine the politics of being recruited by the MCB while your father is Acting Director?”
“No.”
Myers shook his head. “Of course you wouldn’t.”
The rookie was still lying there, now watching Franks with more than a little bit of trepidation. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I thought Unicorn killed you,” Franks stated.
“Dad warned me about Stricken’s tactics, so as soon as I could, I snuck out of the hospital. I’ve been hiding since then.”
Franks didn’t like that. He’d seen the rookie take a round. Humans didn’t just walk off gunshot wounds to the chest.
“It’s okay. I’ll explain later.” Myers must have sensed Franks’ unease. “We’ve got more important things to worry about now. Let it go, Franks. That’s an order.”
He supposed he wasn’t currently employed by the MCB, but old habits die hard. “Yes, sir.”
“The important thing is that Thomas saw multiple assailants and was with you at the beginning of the attack. He can corroborate your story.”
That made Franks a little happier he’d not just shot him in the head.