The Mad Hunt

Monsters aren’t just in your dreams. They don’t just live in the flickering images on your tv screens. They haunt more than just your nights. Far more. It’s all real. All the Gods and monsters of legend, all the ghosts and ghoulies and wee beasties, they all existed and some of them were a lot closer than you think. Sure, most of the times they stayed in the Shadow, that mystical realm where monsters could let their hair down and put their feet up. Technically, there was a treaty, an agreement. The beasties stayed there and left man alone and in return, man didn’t overwhelm them with our far superior numbers. Sometimes though, something would slip through, using those holes in the world where the laws of reality had worn thin. When that happened, death and destruction usually followed. There really were things that went bump in the night. It was our job to go and check out the noise.

That’s right. We stood between regular humanity and those creatures of nightmare and legend, a bulwark against the tide of death and sin and every other bad thing you could imagine. And a few you couldn’t. Officially, we didn’t exist but then, the things we hunted didn’t either. Officially. We didn’t have a fancy code name or flashy badges, our headquarters wasn’t on any tour guide’s schedule. We were known simply as the Cerberus Convention.

My name was Cassidy Blaze. I was a member of one of the three person response teams the worked for Cerberus. I was the computer and technology specialist, though knowing about electronics wasn’t enough to get me a gig with the Convention. I needed to bring something more to the table than being able to do a spreadsheet or hook up a network. In my particular case, I was a level one pyrokinetic. I had the ability to control any open flames around me, nothing more, nothing less. I couldn’t summon up fireballs or infernos. I had to keep a lighter handy if I wanted my power to work.

My two partners were Gregory Chant, a low ranking Knight in the Holy Order of Righteous Slaughter and a huge beast of a man whose brutish countenance belied his quick wit and deep intellect and Eric Reader, an adept in the ancient Sumerian school of magick and far too cocky for his own good. Greg was the muscle of the Triad, his faith and training as dangerous as the weapons he carried. Eric was the leader and as such could be more than a little bit bossy. That’s what happened when you put a man in charge.

We weren’t the best Triad but we were far from the worst. Our jurisdiction covered North and South Carolina and while it wasn’t the most glamorous posting, it did have more than its fair share of responsibility. This was where Europeans had first came to America (officially, of course) and as such had many different layers of long standing myth and legend. Plus, even monsters enjoyed comfortable weather and BBQ sandwiches. Who didn’t?

The early May night was atypically chilly and more than a little bit humid, though not in an uncomfortable way. The night sky sparkled with a blanket of stars spinning overhead as a bright crescent moon lit up the gloom. Night birds cried out at the indignity of our presence. I pulled my jacket tightly around my shoulders and glanced over at my companions.

Greg was kneeling, his right hand holding a long oak staff with an iron cross at the top. His head was bent in supplication as he prayed for forgiveness for any sins he might be forced to commit in the coming hours. He wore a long tabard of chain mail cinched in the middle with a sturdy leather belt. A huge cross was blazoned across his chest. He wore steel shod leather boots, warrior’s boots complete with a spike over the toes because Knights of the Holy Order of Righteous Slaughter fought dirty. All over his body weapons were evident: a spiked mace on his hip, a round shield on his back, bandoliers of throwing knives and bolos, daggers in his boots. He was a one man army and he feared no evil because his faith would protect him. He finished his prayer and stood up. He reached down and pulled a steel helmet over his head, covering everything but his eyes and mouth. His deep brown eyes alert, he started scanning his surroundings.

Eric was putting the finishing touches on a circle of protection, and this was the genuine article full of ancient symbols and arcane letterings, smoking candles and lines of salt. Settling inside it, he sat with a large battered tome open on his crossed legs. His spell book, the source of his ability to manipulate magick, the tool he needed to replenish his arcane knowledge. Sumerian magick was old and powerful and the spells, once learned, burned in the mind of the caster until the spell was unleashed. Only high ranking warrior magicians could cast Sumerian spells without a tome or scroll to read from. Eric’s whispering voice carried over the sweet southern air, leaving me with hints and wisps of Words that were painful to hear.

Magic had always bothered me, I was grounded in science, in provable, measurable phenomena. Magic was wild and primal, only barely controllable at the best of times. No matter how dangerous I felt it was, I had to admit, Eric was good. His magick had saved us many times, had found the answers we needed when science or faith couldn’t. Cerberus knew what it was doing when it created the Triads. Science, magick, faith, all sides of the same celestial coin, all of them necessary to face the things that we faced.

It was funny that I was creeped out by magick, considering the fact I was a pyrokinetic. Don’t make the wrong assumption, I wasn’t some comic book mutant. I was a perfectly normal american teenage girl until I was a victim of a hit and run driver. I lay in a coma for 6 days and when I woke up, I had the ability to manipulate fire. My own personal theory was the accident had affected whatever part of the human brain held back our true potential, that the brain damage had pushed open a door to the next step in human evolution. Or one step back and I was never quite sure about which prospect was more troubling.

My computer beeped, signaling that it was ready. This wasn’t your average computer you bought at a box retailer, this computer was my own special design. You didn’t use this rig to look at cat pictures or keep up with your social networking, this computer was powerful and specialized enough to handle all the things working for Cerberus could throw at a person. I started the tracking program and immediately it began collecting data from a sensor grid Greg had laid out during the daylight hours.

For decades, this section of rural North Carolina had been party to animal mutilations. Urban legend had attributed the attacks to escaped animals from the nearby zoo. A previous Triad had investigated and found nothing more than a few larger than average bobcats and thusly, had marked any reports in the area as natural phenomena. Natural, until Dwayne Parsons had been attacked while riding his bike home. He remained hospitalized but as soon as he regained consciousness, he began screaming bloody murder about some monster attacking him. Cerberus had gotten wind of the situation and had called us in to investigate.

My computer beeped again, drawing me out of my thoughts. I stared at the screen, reading the results of the search. I didn’t like what I read one bit.

“I’m reading evidence of a large life form somewhere between sectors three and four. And when I say large, I want you to understand my full meaning, I mean big, I mean enormous, I mean even Greg will feel intimidated.” I said, looking up at my teammates.

“I doubt it.” Greg replied with a knowing smile. “You have never met my ex-wife. If I wasn’t scared of her, I won’t be scared of whatever is out there.”

“Let’s see if we can draw it into the light. What else can you tell me about it other than it’s big?” Eric said.

“According to what I am seeing here, it’s not a ghost or spirit of any kind. It doesn’t disturb the aether like a non-corporeal being would. It’s definitely solid and warm-blooded.” I supplied. “The briefing that you two never read clearly stated that some sort of animal wounded the boy, claw marks but no bites.”

“So, big with claws and not a ghost? Some sort of large predator.” Eric said.

“It’s all I got boss.” He always hated it when I called him boss.

“It will have to be good enough. I think I know what I can do.” he said, flipping through his tome. “Ah, here it is.”

He stood stiffly and began to read Words that were soft and seductive and made you feel like somebody was whispering dark secrets in your ear, secrets that would hurt you more than you knew. I shivered in spite of myself as they slithered around me, my skin puckering at the sounds entering my ears. He reached into one of the multitude of pouches hanging from his belt and pulled out a handful of rose petals. Turning to face all four points of the compass he tossed the petals into the night air. His chanting ended abruptly and he sank back to the ground, momentarily exhausted. Spellcasting took a lot out of a person.

“So, what was that?” Greg asked. I couldn’t tell if the magick had affected him as much as it did me but I did know that he felt as odd around it as I did. Just for different reasons.

“That, my dear knight, was an open-ended geas.” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers. Realizing we didn’t understand a word of that, he grinned tiredly. “It is like a summoning, a call that will draw anything out there to us. I modified the original spell a little to filter out the spectrum that would attract small creatures. Only something big and alive will feel its pull. All we have to do now is wait.”

“Waiting is my specialty.” Greg said as he sat back heavily against a nearby tree. “I majored in waiting at Knight school.”

Unluckily, Greg didn’t get to show us his expertise. Seconds after he had settled, a bone chilling howl echoed around us. Whatever was out there was close and it was even bigger than my computer said it was.

“Uh, guys? I would get ready if I were you.” I said as my computer screen flashed red and an alarm chimed. “Whatever it is, it’s right outside the light. Circling us, trying to see what we are, hungry.”

“Calm down.” I hated when Eric told me to calm down. “Stick to your training. Greg, get ready.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Greg drawled lazily as he rose to his feet. I could honestly say, I had never seen Greg afraid of anything. Of course, I didn’t say it as a compliment. My computer’s alarm was still chiming, so I turned it off. I wouldn’t be needing my computer for this part of the assignment. I dug around in my pocket and pulled out my trusty lighter. It was an antique brass lighter, a gift from my grandfather. I flicked it open and thumbed the wheel with a practiced motion. A tiny flame burst into life.

I could feel it, dancing in the air before me. It was the power of change, nature’s fury in all its burning glory. I reached out to the spark I felt, caressing it gently. As soon as it felt my touch, it swelled, growing and growing until it was a writhing mass of flame. I gestured sharply and the flame began to morph, becoming something terrifying. I grinned and the shape split, becoming two towering figures. I gave a mental summons and the flame beasts turned and marched slowly to my side.

I turned to look at Eric, to let him know I was ready. He was still sitting in his circle, his spell book open before him. His mouth moved silently as he memorized a spell. An adept like Eric could memorize a couple of spells that he or she could cast at any time without needing a source in front of them. It was quick and dirty and it took a lot out of the caster but Eric knew the prices he had to pay for his power. He knew and gladly accepted.

Across the pool of light, Greg stood rigidly, his heavy staff held before him. His head was bowed, his eyes closed as he listened intently to the sounds our mysterious guest made in the darkness. The slight breeze changed directions and he tilted his head up to sniff the air.

“I know what’s out there.” he said and all Hell broke loose.

It stepped into the light. My computer had been right, it was huge. Standing at least nine feet tall with broad shoulders and long powerful limbs, it paused as we stared at it in amazement. It had coarse brown and white hair, long and raggedly, sharp claws, vicious, yellowed teeth, and enraged golden predator’s eyes. It was a werewolf but it was more. It was an Alpha werewolf, death and destruction on lupine legs, leader of the wolf pack, and we had never faced its equal.

Members of a Triad trained exhaustively against all manner of supernatural threats, from vampyres to werewolves, from ghouls to goblins, angels to daemons and even against members of other organizations. Yes, there were other organizations out there involved in the supernatural. Cerberus did has its rivals. The Ultranatural Society, specializing in things that were far beyond the scope of the normal world, Those-Who-Wait-in-the-Dark, crazed ritualists who awaited the return of the Elder gods, the Human Protection Cabal, quasi-fascist terrorists who hunted down and slaughtered anything that didn’t fit their narrow version of humanity and finally, Prometheus, Inc. the old firm, dedicated to making humanity more than human. Our training was extensive and exhaustive and none of it made us ready to face the monster before us.

Alpha werewolves were not your typical shape changers. They sat heavier on the fabric of reality than their lesser brethren. They weren’t swayed by the phases of the moon, silver barely slowed them down, and wolfsbane was one of their favorite party drugs. They were vicious and savage but even more horrifying, they were intelligent and calculating.

The wolf’s eyes showed that intelligence, more than just simple animal cunning, more than instinct. It knew us, knew what we were and it hated us. Its golden eyes scanned the three of us and I wasn’t afraid to admit my heart thundered in my chest when they passed over me. Greg’s spoke and the wolf swung its predator’s eyes to glare at him.

“His name is Terrell Bowden. He’s an ex-communicated Feral from the Shadow. He settled a few towns over under a Convention sanctioned identity. He disappeared from his work at a body shop two weeks ago.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“You aren’t the only one who reads reports, red. If the Knights heard there was an Alpha werewolf on the loose in my jurisdiction and I wasn’t doing something about it, they would demote me back to squire so fast there would be burn marks on my tunic.”

“You’ll have more than burn marks on your tunic if you call me red again.” My eyes never left the wolf eyeing us and it didn’t matter one bit. Faster than I could think, it surged across the clearing and lashed out at Greg. Moving almost too fast for a human, Greg whipped his staff up and expertly batted away the claws sweeping toward his face. Spinning on his heel, he thrust his staff at the wolf’s knee and a sickening pop carried to my ears. Greg jumped back as the wolf’s leg buckled underneath him and an almost puzzled look came over its face. It stared down at its broken kneecap, snarled once, and a weird sequence of pops and creaks sounded. The wolf’s eyes found Greg and its mouth twisted into what could only have been a grin.

Without warning, the wolf crossed the distance between him and Greg and slashed down with both of its massive and deadly paws. Greg, to his credit, stepped out of the way at the last possible instance, saving his guts from a quick trip to the ground below. The move, however, left him wide open and the wolf didn’t hesitate to deliver a crushing backhand blow that slammed Greg into a tree. The wolf spun on its heels and surged towards Greg’s crumpled form and at that moment, Eric’s voice sounded clear and cold in the night.

I couldn’t understand what he was saying. I could never understand what he was saying. The words he spoke were never meant for mortal ears, never meant to be heard by those who couldn’t fathom their meaning. They burned your soul, shook the very fiber of your being. The very sound of them caused physical pain, affecting those who heard it. It was like sticking your imaginary finger in a mental light socket. It wasn’t just pain though, these words also caused me to feel confined, as if the very air had scooped me up and squeezed the breath out of me. For all the discomfort I felt, the wolf fared worse.

The force of Eric’s spell grabbed the wolf, lifting it off the ground in a bone-crushing embrace. It tried to howl but the only thing that escaped its muzzle was a pained wheeze. Eric’s spell was so powerful, it was forcing the air out of the wolf’s lungs. It was as if the air around the wolf was at a higher pressure, like the bottom of the sea.

The wolf’s eyes flashed angrily and it began to strain against the force holding it. I glanced over at Eric and I could see him trembling as he fought to contain the rage of the monster in his grasp. A thin trickle of blood ran out of his nose, his eyes squeezed close at the strain, the muscles in his neck standing out like cords. Suddenly, the wolf violently tore through what held it and sucked down a great lungful of air.

Eric collapsed inside his circle, the strain of his spell being broken sapping his body of vitality. The wolf moved towards him and slammed into an invisible field emanating from the salt circle Eric lay in. This was a circle of protection, it prevented all sorts of magic and magical beings from entering it. Eric had modified the spell to include more mundane attacks from everyday weapons and dangers. Inside the circle, Eric was as safe as could be until or unless a more powerful magick happened along or his will faltered. Magick was all in the will.

Still, I could not sit back and let the wolf tear down Eric’s circle, as it eventually would, or to turn its attention to Greg. I had to do something, I gestured and my two fire golems starting trudging towards the beast. It must have heard them or felt their heat because it spun in place and snarled at them. My golems weren’t afraid of the wolf’s growl or teeth or claws for that matter. They weren’t afraid because they weren’t real, just facets of my power, figments of my imagination. Under my command, they didn’t waver one inch in the face of the wolf. They surged forward and wrapped him in their fiery embrace. The wolf howled in agony and fear. The breeze carried the smell of burning fur and flesh. Oily, filthy, black smoke rolled through the clearing.

Unfortunately, this was no simple shapeshifter. This was an Alpha werewolf, the most dangerous of its kind, and no regular old flame was going to stop it. I could hurt it, but nothing as normal and natural as fire would do more than slow it down. With as contemptuous a shrug as a giant burning werewolf could muster, my golems were thrown aside. To grab the wolf, they had to make themselves solid and if they were solid, it could touch them. With a more pathetic than I wanted to admit sound, the golems were extinguished.

The wolf looked at me, stared deep into my eyes, right into my soul. I could see it clearly in the madness locking eyes with me, it would rip me to shreds but more, it would violate me, would tear me open with its sexuality. My teammates would die at its hands but I would suffer like nobody could dream in their worst nightmares. I had hurt it, had burned its flesh and it would return the favor in its own special ways. I liked to think I didn’t cry out, that I didn’t show weakness. I know I was wrong but I still liked to think it.

The wolf leapt at me as the sound escaped my throat. I fumbled for my lighter, desperately spinning the wheel, trying to light a fire. All I needed was a spark, a tiny flame to work with but nothing happened. The wheel spun freely without obstruction, the flint had fallen out. Eric was out of the fight, safe in his circle for now and the last I had seen of Greg, he had been lying unconscious at the base of a pine tree. There was nobody to help me, no cavalry to come riding to my rescue. I would die and not just die, I would be treated to a fate worse than death.

Time slowed. I could see the fury in the wolf’s eyes. I could see its long coarse fur standing on end. I saw the gleam of its teeth and claws, shining in their wicked sharpness. In-between its massive arm and its even more massive chest, I could see Eric trying to rise, trying to do something to help me.

Time froze. I could smell the stink of its breath on the cool air, full of rotted flesh and rage. I could see the universe hatefully spinning in its golden eyes. In that space between seconds, when tachyons danced before my eyes, I felt something. It began deep inside me, a painful pressure. It was terrible and hungry and overpowering. I felt it burning through me, like stomach acid filling my entire being. It suffused my whole being, crowding into all the empty spots within me and then it collapsed into a bright burning star at my center.

The world return to normal. The wolf’s claws sped towards my face and I instinctively lifted my hand to protect myself. There was a bright flash that nearly blinded me and a bloodcurdling howl and when my eyes cleared, the wolf was spinning in agony, burning as brightly as the sun. It fell to the ground and rolled, snuffing out the flames. I told you, Alpha werewolves were smart. That’s what made them so dangerous.

Eric surged to his feet just as the wolf started to come after me again. He spoke a quick series of words and the grass at the wolf’s feet swiftly began to grow. In less than a second, hundreds, maybe thousands, of long thin pieces of grass wrapped themselves around the wolf. The wolf tried to walk through the entanglement and tripped over its own feet. It tried to rise and layer upon layer of grass covered it, turning it into a heaving mound of greenery.

I glanced away from the wolf and back to Eric. He had collapsed again and looked like nothing more than a pile of dirty laundry. He had thrown his last spell and wouldn’t be able to help me anymore. I would admit, I was a worried but I was more puzzled by what had happened to me. I couldn’t create fire, I could only control it. I was only a level one pyrokinetic. The ability to create flame without a fuel source was far beyond my capabilities, much less the ability to create the inferno I had called forth. What was happening to me?

There was a horrific tearing sound, as if some primeval monster had just burst through the underbrush and to be fair, there wasn’t a more apt description of what happened. Greenery exploded across the clearing as the wolf surged to its feet with a howl. I lashed out with my power on instinct and flames once again surged around the beast, burning the mountain of grass it stood in like a pagan bonfire of old and the monster just walked through it as if it wasn’t even happening. I had burned it several times that night, it no longer feared the fire, no longer felt terror in its embrace. I shrank away as it drew close, as I smelled the sickeningly sweet stench of burnt flesh, as I felt its raging breath on my face. It trailed a single nail down my cheek, mockingly. I resolved then and there, I would face my death with my eyes open.

As I stared into the wolf’s eyes, I could see hate and rage and lust in them. Its face drifted down to mine, as if it were going to kiss me and all I could think was “Not on the first date, mister.” I think I laughed because the wolf drew back in alarm. Laughter was not the emotion it had expected.

There was a resoundingly loud noise and the wolf staggered two steps to its left. In its place stood Greg, half his face obscured behind a mask of dried blood. In his hands was the remnants of his oaken stave. He had broken it over the head of the wolf as it had been about to savage me. I gave Greg a weak grin of thanks and he winked jauntily at me.

“That’s just about enough of that.” he said as he drew one of his boot knives. I could see it sparkling in the ambient light. It was a normal steel dagger but the edges were lined with a shiny substance than could only have been silver. The wolf saw Greg standing before it and reached out for him. Greg threw the dagger with a casual underhanded toss and it flashed as it spun through the air. There was a sound of metal slicing meat, a sound that made your soul cringe in sympathy, a cold and cutting sound that stayed with you in the long hours of the night.

“Bad doggie.” Greg said with what could only have been described as an evil grin.

The wolf gave a pitiful sound, not a howl, not a whimper, but something sadder. It was the sound of misery without end, of pain without relief, of torment without respite. It reached down and grabbed the blade sticking out of its chest and tried to pull it free. Being an Alpha werewolf worked against it, the skin around the wound tried to heal itself and the blade was stuck. With a defeated gap, the wolf fell to its knees and then slumped over on its side.

By then, Eric was back on his feet and stumbled unsteadily towards the dying wolf. He knelt before it and cradled its head in his hands. We weren’t monsters, even though we hunted them, and occasionally protected, or even loved them. As the wolf slowly turned back into a man, as it painfully died, Eric brushed the sweat from its brow and spoke gently to it.

“Why did you do it, Terrell? You had a new name, a place to live and work. You could have been anybody and done anything. Why did you give it up? Why did you make us kill you for nothing in the middle of nowhere?” he said gently.

“No choice. There was no choice. Not for me, not for you, not for anybody. No choice.” the man who had been the Wolf sputtered.

“There’s always a choice.” Eric replied with a sad shake of his head.

“Not anymore. There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Nobody is going to survive what’s coming. I won’t be a part of it. I’m nobody’s hound.” Terrell said, his voice becoming slow and dreamy, a bubble of blood bursting on his lips.

“What’s coming, dammit?” Greg demanded, bending down to yell in the face of the dying man.

“The end. For everybody. It’s already begun, there’s no stopping it.” he said with his dying breath.



****

“I don’t think it meant anything at all.” Dr. Stephen Webb said, the harsh overhead fluorescents flashing on his wire-rim glasses.

“Terrell would probably have disagreed.” Greg grumbled.

“An opinion we could have verified if you had done the opposite of what you usually do and brought him in alive, Mr. Chant.” Dr. Webb said with his characteristic iciness.

“That’s why I get paid the big bucks.” He countered, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head.

“He was adamant. Something big is coming. What did he mean about being nobody’s hound?” Eric demanded. Eric hated loose ends. It’s what made him a good leader. It’s also what made him annoying as hell at times.

“I don’t care what he meant. He was rabid and I am glad Greg put him down.” I said and I meant it. I remembered how he looked at me, what the madness in his eyes had promised me. I felt no regret about his fate. In my opinion, he had earned it.

“I checked out his file. He wasn’t the type to be rabid. He wasn’t the type to attack random people or jump a Triad.” Eric insisted. “I think it was a case of suicide by cop.”

“Be that as it may, the threat is over. Reader, you check out the boy who was attacked for lycanthropy, make sure the paperwork is filed properly this time, and then take some time off.” Dr. Webb ordered. “This case is closed.”

Eric looked as if he was about to protest, then he seemed to wise up. Nodding his head at us, he marched out of Dr. Webb’s office. I glanced at Greg. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at me before following Eric. I had no choice but to tag along, I sure as Hell wasn’t staying to hang out with Webb.

The door slammed behind us, Dr. Webb wasn’t above cheap magickal theatrics when it suited his purposes. Eric kept marching until he reached our cubicle, his stiff back showing his barely repressed anger. He stepped into the cubicle and grabbed one of the chairs. He spun it around and straddled it as Greg and I pulled up chairs of our own.

“Webb’s wrong. This is more than just a case of a rogue werewolf.” He snapped.

“So, what do you propose we do about it?” Greg asked.

“We do as we’ve been ordered. I will go to the hospital and check out the kid. Greg, you will fill out the paperwork.” Eric answered.

“Me?” he blurted. “But she is the one who can type a hundred words a minute.”

“One hundred and four but I refuse to use semi-colons.” I corrected him. Semi-colons were the Devil’s work, I was sure of it.

“I need Cassidy to do something else.”

“What?” I asked.

“Go on vacation, of course.”




****


Eric explained what he wanted me to do. I couldn’t lie and say I was happy about it though. I was under strict orders to leave this case alone and, truth be told, I had no sympathy for Terrell-the wanna-be-rapist werewolf. Eric was the boss, though and he had a plan. As usual, he didn’t share the plan with me.

So here I was, sitting in my favorite coffee shop in Greensboro. I had my new tablet propped up in front of me as I enjoyed a steaming cup of coffee. Black, of course, I had no need for training wheels. I was a big girl.

My tablet hummed. It was executing a search. Most people’s tablets were good for reading e-books or playing fruit ninja. My tablet could launch the space shuttle. At least, it could launch the space shuttle if we still had any space shuttles. Right now, my marvelously self-designed tablet was conducting a database search of every known supernatural entity in North Carolina. I had narrowed my search per Eric’s instructions, my tablet would only find those entities who were skilled at tracking.

A pleasant chime sounded and I set down the steaming mug. Tapping the screen, a window popped up with a list. Three entries. I could handle three entries. I leaned closer and didn’t like what I read one bit.

The first entry was Arthur Boston, the Scavenger. He was a small-time thug who usually worked as a leg breaker and courier for a local supernatural mob, The Borgia family. By himself, he was a nobody. With La Ghostra Nostra behind him? That was a totally different story. 
Next on the list was somebody even worse, Draven the Stalker. He was a big game hunter who figured out the biggest game to hunt was man. He became a supervillain and collected a lot of trophies before Heroes, Inc. chased him out of the Shadow. Since then, he had been hiding in the mountains of North Carolina. Finding him wouldn’t be hard. Seeing him before he saw me would be.

I stopped and stared at the last entry on my list. I realized I was holding my breath and let it out in a rush. I didn’t have to worry about the last entry. The Blood Beast of Bladenboro had been held in mystic chains since it was put in them by Candace Crowley years ago. Nobody had broken those chains or all Hell would have broken loose at Cerberus. The Convention monitored threats like the Blood Beast closely.

The Scavenger was closest and easiest the find on my list. With a weary sigh, I slid my tablet into my bag, looped the strap over my shoulder, looked at my cooling cup of coffee wistfully and walked out to my car.

My car. My baby. A cherry red, 1965 Ford Mustang. What else would you expect a redheaded, pyrokinetic, secret agent to drive? A Prius? No self-respecting operative drove a Prius.

I slipped my key in the ignition and twisted it. The engine roared dutifully. I punched up some driving music, heavy metal of course, and slammed her into gear. She roared out of the parking space and I headed for the interstate. Raleigh was less than an hour away and I wanted to make it in half that.

Before I realized it, I was at my destination. I had just experienced a case of sleep driving, where a person would drive and have no recollection of it. As a trained Cerberus agent, that shouldn’t have happened to me. Our training included intense tests of our focus. I was still pondering the odd phenomenon when I pulled onto the street I was looking for.

I hastily found a parking spot and waited. I sat in my car, as I had been trained, and watched my surroundings. I didn’t see any lookouts, just the usual assortment of random pedestrians. Though, to the trained eyes of a Cerberus operative, usual had a completely different meaning.

I saw at least two ghostly manifestations, just stone tape recordings forever repeating some action from the past, some action so powerful or horrific it left psychic residue. There was a group of young emotion vampyres walking in a pack, their clothing, hair, and actions all carefully designed to generate outrage they could feast on. There was an incubus who strolled past my car and tried tossing his glamour at me. Thanks to my Cerberus training, the temptation rolled right past me. He sniffed something that sounded suspiciously like “damn lesbians” and stormed off.

I wasn’t a lesbian. He just wasn’t my type. He was too skinny. I preferred my men bigger, preferably with some battle scars and a large assortment of medieval weaponry. I grinned to myself ruefully for a second. If Eric heard me say that, he would recite some regulation about Triad operatives and personal relationships. If Greg heard me say that? Well, let’s just say that would be an interesting day.

I climbed out of my car and stretched for a moment, taking one last secretive look around. I saw nothing that would cause me to suspect I was being watched. I slammed the door and locked it.

Strolling down the street, I finally reached the alley I was looking for. The Raleigh chapter of the Borgia family had its headquarters in an Italian restaurant, because La Ghostra Nostra was nothing if not cliché.

I slunk down the alley, my training taking over. My footsteps were silent, my breathing shallow. I would have to play this very carefully if I was going to beard the Scavenger in his very lair, surrounded by his friends. This required diplomacy, patience, tact; three things which I was not really well known for.

So intent upon not making noise, on not giving away my presence, I almost didn’t notice the figure huddled in the gloom beside a more than fragrant dumpster. I could barely make out a silhouette in the shadow and crept closer to get a better look. I was about five feet away when the figure suddenly stood and spun to face me.

I could finally see her in the darkness. She was medium height, with long, pretty, dark hair, and vibrant blue eyes. She had a pretty face, though it was twisted in shock at the moment. Her figure was shapely, not too skinny and definitely not too fat. I wasn’t so insecure in my sexuality to admit, she would be gorgeous in a better light.

“Why are you sneaking up on me?” she demanded in a harsh whisper. “You could have given me a heart attack and you have no idea how hard it is to do that.”

“I wasn’t sneaking up on you! Why are you hiding where I am trying to sneak?” I shot back, this was my turf. I wasn’t about to let some new girl push me around. “Who are you?”

“Me? I’m Clara Voyanich.” She declared haughtily.

“Is that name supposed to mean something?”

“Clara Voyanich? The Temporal Woman? The Mistress of Time, as painful as yesterday, as mysterious as tomorrow, daughter of the legendary superhero Flashback, and the sexiest adventurer this side of Allen Quartermain?” she answered sheepishly.

“Never heard of you.” I said flatly, my eyes hooded.

“I’m new to the scene. Who are you, Ms. High-and-Mighty?”

“Cassidy Blaze.”

“Well, I have never heard of you either so we are even. What are you doing casing the Borgias while I am already here doing the same thing? I was here first.”

“You’ve never heard of me because I am a secret operative.” I explained hotly, I was losing my patience with this rookie.

“For who.”

“The Cerberus Convention.”

“Never heard of them.”

“That’s because they are a secret. Enough of this. Why are you here?” I demanded.

“I… honestly don’t know. I’m a short term precog. I can see the near-future, which is more useful than you might think.” She said quickly as I looked less than impressed. “Occasionally, I will get a vision from farther in the future. I have found it best to just follow the visions. When I don’t, violence tends to ensue.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you are here, in this particular alley, at this particular time.” I pressed.

“I saw a vision of myself here. For whatever reason, I think you and I are supposed to meet.”

“Well, we have meet. Consider your vision fulfilled.” I answered quickly. I had no time to be babysitting some newbie. I had a mission to complete. “You run along now and let the professional do her job.”

She looked at me as if she were going to argue. I gave her my best stern look and pointed to the mouth of the alley. Reluctantly, she shuffled off, her head hanging low. I felt like a bitch but I was in no mood to hold anybody’s hand. This was a difficult assignment. I was walking into the lion’s den. The last thing I needed as a ham-fisted amateur screwing everything up. The Temporal Woman, indeed. It took more than a fancy nickname to operate in this theater.

I moved forward until I found the door I was looking for. I checked and, of course, it was locked. What sort of crime family leaves the back door unlocked? Luckily for me, my training included basic lockpicking. Taking out a handy set of picks I carried, I fiddled with the lock for a moment before I heard a satisfying click. Moving quickly, I opened the door, slid inside, and shut it quietly.



****
My intentions had been to slip in the through the manager’s entrance and avoid the much-more crowded kitchen entrance. As soon as the door swung shut behind me with a click like a coffin lid closing, I realized my mistake.

All around the room stood gangsters in ill-fitting business suits. Bruisers, the lot of them, with hair on the hair on their knuckles; all of them staring at me with a dull, dumb, hunger. This was the downside to being a knockout, redhead, secret operative. You always had to put up with the sexist henchmen.

“What do we have here? Did somebody order delivery?” a particularly ugly goon growled and his counterparts laughed nastily. “Come here, sweetheart. I have a tip for you.”

“Just a tip?” I smiled with a sweetness I didn’t feel. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Want something that will surprise you?” snarled the goon, reaching for me. This was the part I loved about being a secret operative. I pulled my trusty lighter out and thumbed it alight with a practiced motion. Flames leapt up at my mental command to encircle the goon. They blazed brightly for a moment and he shrank back. I gave a slight nod of my head and the flames sped around the room, singeing eyebrows and blackening cheap jackets. I winked and the flames sped back to my lighter. I snapped the lighter shut in their faces.

“I may be too hot for you to handle.” My smile never wavered. “I’m here for Arthur.”

“Of course you are.” A voice sounded from across the room. “I am irresistible, you know.”

I walked toward the voice and the goons parted to let me pass. My fireworks show being enough to give them second thoughts about copping a free feel or puffing up with bravado. I finally reached the source of the voice.

He was lounging in a wooden chair, the front legs off the ground as he leaned the chair against the wall. He wore the standard, cheap, gorilla suit La Ghostra Nostra goons were known for. His face was craggy, marked with scars and sin. He feed himself constantly from a bucket that originally held fast food. I looked closer and saw he was eating decomposing fingers and toes.

“Would you like some? Nothing like a little bit of finger food.” He smiled and it sent shivers down my spine. I could see bits of rotting flesh stuck between his yellow, blocky teeth. Arthur was a ghoul, an eater of the dead, and he reveled in it. He feasted on corpses and worse and couldn’t have been happier about it.

“Thanks, but I have to maintain my figure.” I said, because a secret operative has to always have a snappy comeback.
“Got no idea what you’re missing.” He grunted and set the bucket aside. “So, why don’t you tell me who you are and what you want? If for no other reason than to have something interesting for us to put on your tombstone.”

“The name’s Cassidy Blaze. I work for Cerberus. I’m here to ask you a few questions about your ability to track.” I explained in an authoritative voice. At least, I felt it was authoritative. I had practiced it more than a little bit.

“Do you hear that, boys? She is with Cerberus.” He said, stretching out the name mockingly. “Look, red, I don’t care about Cerberus and I don’t care why you are here. You made one Hell of a mistake barging in here like you owned the place. Me and my boys are going to enjoy teaching you some manners.

“You made the first mistake, Boston.” I said hotly. “Never call me red.”

I reached out. I had sent my flames around the room for a reason. I had lit a candle on a table unnoticed by anybody. I felt that flame, felt it burning bright and I bent it to my will. It leapt up and danced around the room. It would zip close to a goon and light his hair on fire, or his clothes, or his hands if he was holding a weapon.

The goons reacted predictably, running around madly trying to swat themselves instead of just doing what they taught us in school: stop, drop, and roll. Satisfied the goons were occupied, I turned back to face the Scavenger. He was still sitting in the chair, all four legs on the floor but instead of insolently staring at me, he couldn’t take his eyes off my flame burning the Hell out of his friends. He looked up at me and gulped in fear. I leaned forward to demand he answer my questions and that was when it all went wrong.

One of the goons blindly stumbled into me and normally, it wouldn’t have bothered me much but I was in the process of leaning over. All it took was one little push and I flipped head over heels to find myself at Arthur’s feet. Trust me, there were few places worse to be.

He grinned his nasty grin and reached for me. My concentration slipped and my flame winked out of existence. His grimy fingers closed around my throat and clamped down horribly. He lifted me up, my feet kicking, my nails tearing his skin desperately. He was going to choke the life out of me.

There was a sudden crash and his grasp blissfully lessened. My training took over and I rammed stiff fingers into his adam’s apple. He dropped me, grabbing his throat and gasping for air. Turnabout was always fair play, in my book.

I kicked out hard, my shin making contact with his testicles and his eyes bulged. He started to stumble forward and I grabbed his shoulders and pulled. He ended up face down on the ground, moaning in pain as I twisted his arm up viciously. Then and only then, did I look up to see what was making all the noise.

Clara Voyanich was standing in the doorway of the room, the door she had just kicked open swinging on its hinges. The assorted goons worked past their shock and moved at her. They were huge and angry. She was young, and tiny, and inexperienced. They would tear her to shreds. I started to shout a warning, to reach out for any flame I could find while she just stood there. She wasn’t even trying to defend herself!

The goon closest to her reached out for her far faster than something his size should ever be moving. At the very last second, at the opportune time, she moved just the slightest bit and his hand flashed past her. She made a small movement and the goon was suddenly flying across the room. The other goons rushed her and she mopped the floor with them. She was never where she should when they were trying to hurt her and everywhere they didn’t want her to be when she was returning the favor. She danced about the room with a lean economy of motion, always one step ahead of them, always in just the right spot to hurt them the most.

In less than a minute, the only person standing was the Temporal Woman. She looked around the room, pantomimed dusting her hands like a bad action movie and sought me out with her eyes. Finding me, she crossed the room to join me, occasionally stepping on a goon just as he was about to rise. She stopped right in front of me and struck a jaunty pose. I just knew we weren’t going to get along.

“Some secret operative you turned out to be, manhandled by the low IQ boys.” She said smartly.

“I had it all under control.”

“The Scavenger was choking you out while the Goon Squad cheered him on!” She said incredulously.

“All part of my mysterious, secret operative plan but what’s done is done.” I said, feinting a shrug. “I am not going to be the one to clean up this mess.”

“Sorry, I don’t do domestic work.” She said and I rolled my eyes.

“Now, Scavenger, where were we?” I asked, twisting his arm higher for emphasis. “Oh, yeah! You were going to tell me about your tracking ability.”

“Okay! I’ll talk! Just stop breaking my arm!” I let up just the tiniest bit. “What do you want to know about my tracking ability? I’m a ghoul! I have a very sensitive nose. I can smell carrion at twenty miles.”

“Just dead things? That’s all you can smell?”

“Why would a ghoul need to smell something alive? That shit is disgusting.” He grumbled and I twisted his arm a little more. He howled satisfyingly.

“And nobody has contacted you about a job? Nothing about being something called a hound?” I demanded.

“No! Nothing like that! I wouldn’t work for them if they did. I am part of the family. Now, please let me go!” he cried and I finally released him. He wasn’t what I was looking for. My business here was finished.

“I don’t want to ever have to come back here and I don’t think any of you want me to either. Consider this visit a warning. The next time? I’m going to take things seriously.” I said and started to walk out. I looked back at Clara as I reached the door. “Coming?”

“I was hoping you would ask me that.” She said and hurried after me.

She caught up to me halfway to my car. I could hear her breathing harder from the jog and I grinned to myself. I was the same way when I started out. I was a computer expert and resident fire hazard. I saw no need for any sort of cardio training. At least, until my first mission when the Triad ended up running for our lives from a rampaging poltergeist. That was the moment I realized how important endurance was for an operative.

“You’re gonna have to spend some time on the treadmill if you want to earn that adventurer title you are claiming.” I said out of the corner of my mouth and she drew up beside me.

“I’m beginning to figure that out. Is there such a thing as a desk job for adventurers? All this running is not doing wonders for my new boots.” She forced the words out between sucking down deep lungfuls of air.

“My boss would say there were, I would say there wasn’t.” I answered truthfully. “You did okay in there kid. You handled yourself well. Why did you come back?”

“I would like to say it was out of the goodness of my bottomless and loving heart but it was nothing like that. The moment I walked away, my time visions kicked and trust me, you don’t want to know what I saw.” She shivered slightly. “For whatever reason, I tag along with you or everybody dies.”

“And your visions are that accurate? I thought you were only a short term precog.” I asked.

“My father predicted his own death.” She answered matter-of-factly.

“That’s nothing, Mark Twain did too.”

“The day, hour, and minute.” She shot back. “35 years before it happened.”

“Okay. So, they are accurate. Guess you come along after all.” I said, giving up. Who was I to argue with the future. The kid came along or the world died? Easy choice to make. “Get in.”

“A red mustang?” she said incredulously. “Do you have any idea how bad this is for the environment? Have you ever considered a fuel efficient car? The new Prius is nice.”

“Do me a favor and don’t talk.” I growled as I slipped behind the wheel.