Chapter 3
It turns out reptoids are shockingly fast.
I managed to draw my pistol. There wasn’t time to bring up the sights, but we were so close it didn’t matter. I fired twice from the speed rock. The .45 was deafening in the small, tiled room. Both silver hollowpoints nailed it in the chest.
It slammed into me anyway.
My back hit the wall. I ducked as claws cut across the tile, shoved my pistol into its robed belly and pulled the trigger repeatedly. The monster grunted but didn’t go down. That wasn’t good. I’d never fought one before, but my Newbie classes had never mentioned reptoids being bulletproof.
I tried to angle the gun up toward its head, but claws flashed across my forearm and opened me up. Fat droplets of blood splattered on the wall. My STI went sliding across the floor.
“Shit!”
I narrowly dodged aside as the lightning-fast swipe of one hand ripped through my T-shirt and left four shallow lines across my chest. I thought I’d made it, but the reptoid kept spinning, and I’d forgotten they have tails.
Its tail swept my feet out from under me. I was briefly airborne. Then I hit the floor hard with my hip.
It was coming toward me, but I managed to get one boot up to kick it square in the face. There was a meaty crunch. It stumbled back into one of the stalls. The rags covering its face fell away, revealing a hideous lizard visage, bumpy skin, no nose, and an incredibly wide mouth filled with pointy teeth.
Reptoids are downright fugly.
It wiped its bloody nostril holes with the back of one hand, then swore at me in its weird hissing language. Or at least I was pretty sure it was swearing. I would be if I’d just gotten kicked in the mouth.
Milo was yelling in my ear, asking what was happening, but I was a little too busy to get on the radio. My STI was lying a few feet away. I rolled over and reached for it.
But the reptoid bent down and caught me by the ankle before I could grab my gun. It had a grip like a vise. My fingers were inches from the grip. Then the monster pulled, and it turned out that they weren’t just crazy fast, but also extremely strong. My body made a squeaking noise against the tile as I was dragged. Then it slung me around and launched me into the mirror.
The glass shattered as I bounced off the wall. That really hurt. I rolled across the sink and snapped the faucet off with my back. Water sprayed. Somehow, I managed to land mostly upright. It probably thought that toss had broken me, because it charged, hands extended, claws spread wide.
Only I wasn’t broken, I was just getting warmed up.
I stepped inside one of the arms, locked up on it, and then flipped the reptoid around hard. We both crashed into one of the stalls and the sheet metal walls collapsed around us. The other claw tried to disembowel me, but I struck that arm aside. We ended up sliding across the stall, me desperately holding onto each of its wrists. It had far more physical power than I did, but it had probably never fought a human being as strong as I was. It seemed a little taken aback that it hadn’t killed me yet.
We ended up face to scaly face. Its breath was hot and stank like roadkill. A forked tongue flicked out and hit me in the eye. I twisted my head back as those nasty teeth snapped shut half an inch from my cheek. So then I head-butted the fucker right in the snout. The yellow eyes blinked in surprise.
Then I threw a knee into its side and shoved off far enough to give me time to go for the fixed blade on my belt. I let go of its wrist, yanked out the little knife and went to stabbing.
It swung its claws at me, but it hadn’t seen the knife yet. I cut it across the bicep, through the robes, and deep into the muscle. Reptoid blood is so dark it’s almost purple, and I proceeded to paint the walls with it. The other arm came around, nearly tagged me, but I pushed back in right behind the attack, went up and over its defenses, and stabbed it in the side of the neck. The reptoid’s hands flew reflexively toward the wound, so I kicked it in the chest.
It flew back and cracked its head against the toilet, hard. That must have brained it, because it let go of its squirting neck, and sank slowly to the floor, bleeding out.
I stood there for a second, breathing heavily. I picked up my pistol and aimed it at the downed reptoid, but I was pretty sure it was done for. Then I realized my right arm was bleeding like crazy. Reptoids lived in sewers, so their claws had to be really unsanitary, so I went over and stuck my arm into the sink geyser. I winced as the spray turned pink. I could already tell that was going to need stiches.
I keyed my radio. “This is Pitt. I got attacked by a reptoid at the site where the tracker is. I’m injured but I don’t think it’s that bad.” The cut hurt like a son of a bitch, but it hadn’t hit any major veins or arteries. I’d get medical attention after we got that Ward Stone. Direct pressure would work for now. I looked around for paper towels to shove in the gash, but of course the bathroom only had one of those stupid air blowers. So I helped myself to a roll of toilet paper.
The bathroom door opened. I really hoped it was my fellow Hunters, and not more reptoids. A giant, hulking figure strolled into the room.
Only it was worse than reptoids.
“Franks,” I muttered.
“Pitt.” He didn’t seem surprised to see me or the destruction. The legendary MCB agent was wearing his usual cheap suit and clip-on tie, so muscular and intimidating that he made me look downright cuddly in comparison.
It had been a while since I’d seen my favorite made-out-of-spare-parts federal problem solver and all-around killing machine. “Is that a new nose?”
“Yeah . . . ” He took off his sunglasses, revealing his beady little eyes that had probably been scooped out of a death row inmate’s head. “You like it?”
“Not really.”
“Good.” Then Franks looked down at the dead reptoid and frowned. “I was gonna take it prisoner.”
“Then you should have got here sooner. It didn’t give me a lot of choice in the matter. But on the bright side, PUFF on these assholes is like fifty grand a head.” I discreetly keyed my radio so that everybody else would know who had shown up, and that I was probably going to be indisposed for the rest of the chase, because our working relationship with the MCB was contentious at best, and Franks was seldom what could be described as helpful. “What are you doing here, Agent Franks?”
Earl’s voice was in my ear. “Z’s out. Somebody call the lawyer.”
But Franks didn’t respond to my question. He just went over to the downed monster and thumped it with his shoe. The robe fell open, revealing that the thing was wearing a bulletproof vest beneath. My bullets were mushroomed against it. No wonder it hadn’t gone down when I’d shot it. I hated when monsters took advantage of modern technology.
Speaking of which . . . I went to retrieve the creature’s phone, but Franks beat me to it. He snatched it up, glared at me suspiciously. Then he checked the blinking dot on the screen, then looked at the bag, which had ended up on the floor during the struggle. Franks went over, rifled through the pack, and then pulled a little electronic gizmo out of one of the pockets. That must have been the bug.
“Whoever stole this assaulted my men.”
“I saw that. I don’t know who she was.”
“What was Stricken buying?” Franks demanded.
So the MCB hadn’t known what the deal they’d been staking out had been for after all. Since MHI really wanted that device, I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell the government so they could just seize it and stick it in some crate in a giant dusty warehouse next to the Ark of the Covenant.
“Did you catch Stricken?” Of course, he didn’t give me an answer. That didn’t even rate his usual cursory response of classified. “Is this the part where you can’t tell the difference between the good guys and the bad guys and waste a bunch of time messing with us instead of them?”
Franks just glared at me because he was the living embodiment of unhelpful grumpiness.
“Fine. We got a tip the auction was some dark magic cult stuff. You know, the usual.”
Franks—who had always been super good at telling when I was lying—cracked his knuckles.
“So this is where you say let’s do this the hard way and beat it out of me? Just like old times . . . Just kidding!” I held up my hands in surrender. I’d just gotten my ass kicked by a lizard man. I really wasn’t in the mood to catch a beating from Agent Franks, but who am I to spoil our traditions? “I’ll cooperate. But before you arrest me, can I at least get some medical attention here?”
“No.” Franks gestured for the door. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Some of Agent Franks’ little Fed minions had arrived to clean up the dead reptoid and spin a cover story to the cops and news. Other agents had cuffed my hands behind my back, patted me down, taken my weapons, phone, radio, wallet, and keys and put them into a plastic Ziplock bag, poured some iodine and slapped a bandage on my arm. Then they’d locked me in the back of a black government SUV, where I’d waited, with the windows up and no air conditioning, for about twenty miserable, hot minutes until Franks had come back.
When he got into the SUV, he looked grumpy, but he always looked grumpy, so I couldn’t really tell what was going on. “I haven’t seen you in forever, and this is the greeting I get? Are these handcuffs really necessary?”
“Policy.”
“Am I being detained?”
Franks didn’t bother to state the obvious. He started the engine.
“What for? I haven’t done anything wrong. We were just doing our jobs. Can I at least have the Cookie Monster head back as a souvenir? I paid an absurd amount of money for that.”
“Shut up.”
Franks seemed angrier than usual. We drove in silence for a while. Thankfully, Franks turned the air conditioner on but I was still pretty miserable. I think I might have pulled a muscle in my back when the reptoid had slammed me into the wall. But even in my discomfort, the longer we drove, the more sure of it I became: Franks really was seething about something. It said a lot about our relationship that I could tell the difference between regular angry Franks and extra angry Franks. But what could be infuriating him this time? There was one thing sure to piss him off.
“Please tell me you guys didn’t let Stricken get away?”
“Classified.”
I laughed at him. “You dumbasses! Are you serious? There were like a hundred of you there. You’re the friggin’ MCB. You’ve got satellites and shit! How could you lose an albino scarecrow?”
Franks didn’t say anything, but his meathook fists were squeezing the steering wheel so tight I could hear the plastic creak.
“Come on, Franks, after everything we’ve been through together you can level with me. I mean, seriously, we blew up a squid god together. That’s pretty hard core for a team-building exercise. Way better than a ropes course. And remember that time you had a falling out with the government and they put the biggest PUFF bounty ever on your head, and I specifically said nope, MHI’s not touching that.”
“Because I would’ve killed you all.”
“Maybe.” He had done a real number on Grimm Berlin and Paranormal Tactical during his vigilante rampage though. “But then we stitched your happy ass back together after you got ripped to shreds. Hell, we’re practically friends.”
Franks grunted.
“You know how I can tell you like me? You haven’t even punched me once yet today. Admit it, we’re like BFFs.”
Either that was way more persuasive than I thought, or Franks was just annoyed and needed to vent, because he relented and actually used his words. “Stricken’s in custody but I’m not allowed to kill him.”
“That’s got to be really frustrating for you.” If there was ever anyone in dire need of extra-judicial killing, it was Stricken. Word on the street was that he had caused the government so much consternation that if they had dropped a Hellfire missile on downtown Atlanta to pop the guy, none of us Hunters would have blinked an eye. “How come?”
“Orders.”
“Orders for what? Why would the government possibly want that sneaky bastard taken alive?”
“Classified.”
I groaned. Now he was just leaving me hanging out of spite. “Considering your history, I’m surprised you didn’t just ignore orders and waste him anyway.”
“Things have changed,” Franks said.
“What? You’re turning over a new leaf? This is a kinder, gentler MCB?”
But he didn’t elaborate. Whatever had changed, it had to be one heck of a motivator to keep Franks from simply offing somebody he really didn’t like.
The rest of the ride was done in silence. Franks feeling bitter that he couldn’t just snap Stricken’s scrawny neck, and me wondering why the federal agency that had zero compunction about killing uppity witnesses who talked too much about monsters existing, was keeping that two-timing scumbag alive. But knowing Stricken, he had dirt on everybody important. He was like a supernatural J. Edgar Hoover, only without the cross-dressing.
Our destination was a very unremarkable building. The Atlanta MCB office had no signs. There was nothing to indicate it was even a federal building except for the uniformed security guards manning the gate to the underground parking garage. But the MCB was so small that their local office wasn’t even taking up the whole building, just the bottom floor. None of us Hunters actually knew how much staff the MCB had, but I bet the small army of MCB we’d seen earlier must have come in from other offices to help. We drove down a couple levels and parked by an elevator that had a few more guards posted. Amusingly enough, Grant’s undercover taco truck was parked there too. I couldn’t wait to ask Grant about his exciting new career path.
Franks got out, then opened my door and roughly dragged me out by the arm. Thankfully it was my uninjured one, not that Franks would’ve cared. One of the guards at the door immediately reported, “The others have already arrived, Agent Franks. They’re waiting for you in the briefing room.”
I didn’t know who others entailed, but now I was curious. Franks hadn’t harassed me further about what had been in the backpack, and I had no idea what he’d dragged me here for. That sort of confusion was normal when dealing with the notoriously taciturn agent.
From the reaction we got when we walked in, Franks was like a celebrity to these agents. It was Agent Franks the man, myth, and legend. The local Feds stared at Franks like he was some kind of rock star. A few even looked like they wanted to throw their panties on stage.
Despite being a field office of a top-secret government agency dedicated to keeping the existence of the supernatural secret from the world, the interior looked like any other generic law enforcement office, with cubicles, desks, computers, potted plants, and bulletin boards. The main difference was that most of the pics on their Most Wanted wall weren’t human. Ten through six were an assortment of charming types I’d never had the pleasure of meeting: some kind of succubus demon woman who was strangely attractive even with the horns and fangs, a west coast gnome who had to be pretty freaking hard core for a gnome to make the list, a necromancer, a mad scientist, and a scruffy-looking werewolf. Lucinda Hood would surely be disappointed to know she’d been bumped clear back to number five, but the Condition had been relatively quiet for the last year. Number four appeared to be a very surly-looking bullman. The vampire Susan Shackleford would probably be proud to know she’d made the list at number three. Second was some kind of translucent tentacle monster I’d never seen before. And of course, supernatural enemy number one with a bullet was Stricken.
In celebration, somebody had recently drawn a big X across Stricken’s face with a Sharpie.
“You know Asag should be the top priority on that list. Right, Franks?”
“I don’t set policy.” I took that as a yes. Then he shoved me down a hallway.
I couldn’t bag on the MCB’s list too much since Asag was usually incorporeal, and I’d killed the last body he had been inhabiting. Nobody knew what poor sucker he was currently wearing as a meat suit, so what picture would they put up? A blank sheet of paper? A question mark? He was the immortal embodiment of chaos, dedicated to dismantling reality. It was kind of hard to sum that up on a bulletin board.
Grant Jefferson was waiting outside the door labeled conference room, still dressed as the tacomeister, though he’d ditched the hair net, glasses, and apron. It turned out the beard was real. It actually looked good on him, not that I would tell him that. Dude already had a big enough ego as it was.
“Owen.” He gave me a nod. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was a respectful one, more like, ugh, this asshole again.
“Hey, Grant.” I resisted my reflexive knee-jerk desire to be insulting to him, because when I’d been stuck in the Nightmare Realm and my family had been in danger, he had tried to help Julie get our son back. That sort of thing balanced a lot of scales. “Been a while.”
“Yeah. How’s the family?”
“Good. Julie’s holding down the fort in Alabama. Ray’s growing fast. He’s a smart and healthy kid.”
“Good for you, guys.” He almost sounded sincere about that. “And the gang?”
“Milo just had twins.”
“That’s those Mormons for you.” Grant laughed.
“How’s Archer? Is he around?”
Franks grew impatient at the annoying humans talking about our annoying human relationships. “Nobody cares.” He opened the conference room door and roughly pushed me through. Grant followed us in.
There were four people already seated around the long wooden table, three of whom I didn’t know. I recognized the last one though. As an attractive, athletic, redhead, she was hard to miss. I grinned when I saw my second favorite werewolf. “Heather!”
“Why the hell is he handcuffed, Franks?” Heather Kerkonen demanded. “This was supposed to be a voluntary invitation.”
“Really?” I asked.
“This was easier.” Franks shrugged, took out his keys, and unlocked my cuffs.
“And look at his arm!” Heather gestured angrily toward the sloppy bandage and the bloodstains all over my shirt. “He needs medical attention. Is the concept of civil liberties completely alien to you?”
I could answer that one for Franks. “I don’t think he’s familiar with those, no.”
“I was there when they wrote the Bill of Rights,” Franks muttered.
“But did you pay attention to what was in it?”
He shrugged.
I rubbed the circulation back into my wrists. It was weird seeing Heather here. She’d served her time, earned her PUFF exemption—which meant that she was one of the only werewolves in the country not legal to kill on sight—but then she’d surprised everybody by deciding to stay on with Special Task Force Unicorn voluntarily to help the other unfortunate monsters who were stuck there.
“Earl didn’t mention you were in town.”
“He doesn’t know.”
“Ah . . . ” I avoided that minefield. Earl was not exactly enamored with his girlfriend’s employers. “Are you here on official business?”
“I’m working.” Heather left it at that. It wasn’t good to talk about her ultra-top-secret job in polite company. Instead she introduced me to the other people around the table. “This is Owen from Monster Hunter International.” Then she nodded at the suit sitting at the head of the table. “This is Director Cueto of the MCB.”
He had a shaved head, a goatee, and looked a lot more like a trigger puller than the expected paper pusher. I remember hearing that he used to be the MCB’s elite strike team commander, so that made sense. “Yeah, I’ve read up on this one. The name Owen Zastava Pitt seems to show up in a lot of the really annoying reports that land on my desk.”
Even if it wasn’t meant that way, I took that as a compliment. “Great.”
Heather gestured toward the fifty-something woman seated next to her. She struck me as dignified and professional. “This is . . . ”
“You can call me Beth.” She gave me a wry smile. “Just Beth.”
“So what secret government outfit are you with, just Beth?” I asked.
“Heather works for me. You’re smart enough to figure out the rest.”
Oh shit. This must be the woman who had replaced Stricken as the head of Special Task Force Unicorn. This was the leader of the organization who used Santa’s naughty list as a recruitment tool. Monsters who served on her black ops kill squad could eventually become exempt from PUFF bounties and live like normal citizens, and she was the ultimate arbiter of whether those monsters earned that exemption or not. This was the lady who got shit done. The MCB sort of colored in the lines, but from what I’d seen, STFU did pretty much whatever it felt like, all while everybody else pretended they didn’t exist.
I’ll be honest. Knowing all that, Beth made me kind of nervous.
“Oh, relax, Mr. Pitt. I’m not my predecessor.”
“Good.”
“I don’t play mind games like he did. If I want someone dead, they die.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. No reason to drag it out.” Beth gestured at an empty seat. “Now sit. There’s matters of national security to discuss and we’re on a timeline.”
Well, that was one hell of an invitation. I pulled up a chair. Franks sat down too. Grant looked to his director, but Cueto just shook his head in the negative. Apparently, even though he was Franks’ partner, Grant didn’t have the rank, clout, or clearance for this particular discussion. Grant quickly left and closed the door behind him.
The last person at the table hadn’t been named yet, and he didn’t seem inclined to introduce himself either. He was a rather plain-looking, innocuous little bald man in a brown suit. He was old and really short in that hunched over way. Heather looked at him, like she was trying to think of what to say, but then she didn’t say anything at all.
So I asked, “Who’re you?”
“You may call me Mr. Coslow.”
“And you are?”
“None of your concern.”
Heather gave me a warning look and a little shake of her head. I trusted her and shut up.
“So why am I here? Because the sooner we get this all cleared up, the sooner I can get some stiches. I’m getting a little woozy here. I just killed a reptoid in hand-to-hand combat.”
“Who hasn’t? You’ll be fine, you big baby.” Director Cueto picked up a remote control, pressed a button, and a giant screen lit up on the wall behind him. It was a satellite image of the office park we had been staking out. “So we’re all on the same page, approximately an hour ago, the MCB executed Operation Kill Stricken.”
“That was the actual name of the operation?” I chuckled. “Who came up with that imaginative title?”
“We were going to use the official computer-generated random op name, which was Husky Duckling, but Franks insisted on this one and he’s kinda hard to debate with,” Cueto explained.
That was obviously true. It also illustrated why Franks was so bitter that the operation hadn’t lived up to its name yet.
“This was the culmination of months of investigation and cooperation between the MCB and . . . certain other government agencies, which led to the capture of this man.” Cueto pushed another button, and the image changed to that of Stricken. It was the same picture as the one on the Most Wanted board. Gaunt and haunted, yet smug. “The dickbag in question you all have had personal dealings with, so I’ll spare you his resume, most of which is bullshit made up by the CIA from back when he was a spook, because at this point literally nobody knows what the hell this guy’s actual deal is. It turns out all the official records on him were replaced with forgeries a long time ago, so nobody in the government even knows what his real name is or where he comes from, so we all call him by his obvious code name instead. The important thing to my bureau is that he’s a treasonous piece of shit responsible for the death of my friend, Dwayne Myers, and a bunch of other good agents. Ergo, fuck him.”
I was kind of liking Director Cueto’s management style.
“Intel indicated that Stricken has been collecting various magical artifacts, for some as-of-yet undetermined, but certainly nefarious purpose. We set up on this location where we had reason to believe he would be picking up one such item in person. Our raid was forced to launch early due to the arrival of this unknown subject—” Cueto changed the picture again, this time to a photo of the shapeshifter leaping out the window. It was a great action shot. “—who stole the item in question and fled the scene, only to be pursued by members of Monster Hunter International . . . who I might add, failed to file the proper paperwork with this local MCB office notifying us of any operation in the area.” He gave me a pointed look.
“Beats me. You’re going to want to talk to our Atlanta team leader, Jay Boone. That’s B, O, O, N, E. I’m just the finance guy. I don’t do the liaison stuff.”
Cueto snorted. “Uh-huh. Did you catch her though?”
I spread my hands apologetically. “How am I supposed to know? Franks took my radio and left me locked in the back of a hot car like an abused dog.”
“If your tale of woe becomes any more tragic I fully expect to hear Sarah McLachlan start singing ‘In the Arms of an Angel.’ Regardless, MCB swept in and apprehended Stricken and his accomplices. Some dumbass cultists and one lizard man got thoroughly ventilated in the process. However, before Stricken could accidentally fall down the stairs repeatedly, we were interrupted by Mr. Coslow here, who informed the MCB that it is absolutely vital for national security interests that Mr. Stricken doesn’t suicide himself while in MCB custody, for some inexplicable fucking reason.”
All eyes turned to the mystery man, who remained as enigmatic as ever. “Ours not to reason why, ours is but to do and die.” Then he tilted his head and acknowledged the director’s complaint. “Current projections indicate Stricken is of far more value to mankind alive than dead. During the coming trials, the forbidden knowledge which he has gleaned will surely be of use to us. All must play their part.”
“I’m not even going to pretend to wrap my little GS-15 brain around that mystical bullshit,” Cueto said. “Beth?”
She obviously didn’t like the state of things either, but she shrugged. “Orders are orders.”
“So—” I interrupted. “I’m guessing this creepy, bossy guy outranks you seemingly more sane and pragmatic government employees.”
“Something like that,” Cueto said. “Mr. Coslow is outside the regular chain of command, but he was brought out of retirement, due to recent events, and is acting under the highest authority.”
“Should’ve stayed retired,” Franks muttered.
“That was not my decision, nor yours, Agent Franks. We each have our cross to bear.” Coslow was tiny and fragile compared to Franks, and from the way these people were acting toward him, he had to have the clearance to know what Franks was. Except he didn’t seem to give a shit. Coslow turned to me. “Which brings us to why Mr. Pitt’s presence was requested. Before Stricken will cut a deal, he insists on speaking with one of the Chosen.”
I blanched. I sure didn’t like that term getting tossed around by a bunch of Feds who’d have no issue with dissecting my brain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. I am certain of that.” Coslow reached beneath the table and pulled out a battered old leather briefcase. He popped it open and took out a handwritten journal. He immediately turned to a page near the middle and scanned down the list. “Yes. There you are. As you can see, you are not alone. You are one of many, for there are a multitude of competing factions. You are simply the one who is most conveniently placed for our needs at this time.”
Beth gave me a curious look. Apparently, this was a new revelation to her. “Owen Zastava Pitt’s been chosen in the eternal war? Really?”
“Hold on. For the record I am totally, one hundred percent human, so you can buzz off if you’re thinking about drafting me into any Unicorn bullshit.”
“I didn’t say anything like that.” Beth tried to appear innocent.
Coslow continued, like his little notebook was a pronouncement from on high. “Agent Franks has been chosen. As has your lovely bride, Mr. Pitt. Though they were both picked by drastically different factions, each has a part to play.” He read for a moment. “There are a few others currently in the region . . . Ah, it appears that Heather Kerkonen also bears the mantle of a Chosen.”
“I’m a what now?” Heather asked, obviously confused.
“Your destiny is intertwined with Earl Harbinger, my dear. I thought about calling upon him for this interview since he is in the area, except I fear his animosity toward Stricken would be too great for him to proceed rationally.”
“So I take it you’ve met Earl then,” Heather said.
“Yes,” said Coslow. “A few times.”
Director Cueto was obviously baffled. “Well, I ain’t been chosen to do shit but protect the United States of America from the forces of evil so I’m feeling a little left out here, Mr. Coslow. Could you please bring this discussion back to planet Earth now, so I can figure out how to proceed with my prisoner?”
“Of course, Director. Before Mr. Stricken will agree to a deal, he insists on speaking with one of the Chosen. Of those currently available, I believe Mr. Pitt to be the best option.”
“You’re offering him a deal?” Cueto shouted. “Stricken orchestrated the cold-blooded murder of MCB agents!”
“I am sorry, Director. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”
“That’s fucking awesome, Mr. Spock, but that don’t change the fact he turned monsters loose in MCB headquarters to slaughter my friends and gut-shoot my predecessor.”
“Told you you should’ve let me kill him,” Franks said.
“I understand your righteous anger, Director. Yet it is what it is. The Subcommittee agrees with my assessment. If you do not accept it, feel free to turn in your resignation in protest.”
Cueto was red-faced, but he stopped yelling. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens.”
“As Agent Franks can attest, every day in hell is a cold one, Director,” Coslow said.
“Fine. Whatever. But let the record show that I think this is a terrible decision and am only doing this under direct orders from the Subcommittee on Unearthly Forces.”
“Do not be silly,” Coslow said. “There will never be any record of these proceedings. Do you also wish to voice your displeasure, Beth?”
“I think this is a mistake. Stricken turned my organization from a force for good into his personal mafia, and I’ve spent the last few years trying to repair the damage he did. Stricken doesn’t deserve a deal. He deserves a bullet and a shallow grave in a landfill.”
“Dissent noted—and immediately disregarded . . . Very well then. It is settled. We shall proceed. To the interrogation room then. We will listen in on the conversation between Mr. Pitt and Mr. Stricken. It should prove rather enlightening.”
“Whoa, hang on.” I held up one hand, like I was a schoolkid trying to get called on by the teacher. “My experience with Stricken isn’t exactly sunshine and roses either.”
“Yet, you remain the least likely of those present to immediately tear his head from his shoulders in a fit of monstrous rage,” Coslow said as he stood up.
Heather shrugged. “That’s accurate.”
Franks grunted. “Eh.”
“All of you are forgetting something else. I don’t work for you.”
“Then on behalf of a grateful nation, thank you for performing this voluntary service for your government, Mr. Pitt. That is the carrot. Or would you prefer I use the stick?”
Coslow wasn’t even sort of threatening in how he said that, but I couldn’t even imagine what a man who could boss around the MCB and STFU considered a stick. “Can I at least get my arm cleaned up first?”
“It is true the egg children of the Lacertus are unclean things.” Coslow reached out and touched my shoulder as he passed by. His hand was abnormally cold. “That should handle it for now.” Then he opened the door and walked out.
There was a sudden odd tingling in my arm. The best way to describe it was that it felt like there was static in my blood. Then there was an audible electric snap beneath my hastily applied bandage. I jumped. A little puff of smoke drifted out from beneath the gauze. I hurried and pulled it off, only to discover the gashes had been cauterized in angry, jagged, burnt lines. It smelled like somebody had just burned a piece of meat, and it hurt like a son of a bitch. “What the shit, man?”
But Coslow was already gone.
I’d experienced orc healing magic before, but this was like the microwave oven version to Gretchen’s slow cooker. I glared at the others. “What the hell is he?”
“Don’t look at me,” Beth said. “It’s compartmentalized. There’s still some things that are classified above my pay grade.”
“What he is, I don’t know, but his official title is the PUFF Adjuster,” Cueto said.
“Bullshit! I’ve dealt with those before,” I said. “They’re just the bureaucrats who make calls on one-of-a-kind bounties.”
“You’re missing the point. Those are PUFF adjusters. He’s the PUFF Adjuster, like the original guy who started the program.”
That didn’t make any sense. The Perpetual Unearthly Forces Fund had started during Teddy Roosevelt’s administration. I looked between the heads of the MCB and STFU, but Beth just gave Cueto an annoyed look and shook her head, like he needed to shut up.
“All that is an innocuous way of saying he’s a mystical weirdo they brought out of cold storage to babysit the Subcommittee again after Stricken nearly tricked those idiots into building an army of monsters.” Director Cueto stood up. “Now come on, kid. Let’s find out how bad Stricken is about to screw us all over.”
Seeing my tax dollars at work kind of sucked.