Demon Accords 10: Rogues (12 page)

“Well, it’s certainly possible a survivor of Loki’s Spawn got away and went into hiding way up here.  He also wondered about checking with any local… well, witches,” she said.

“Witches?  You think
we
would know if there are witches around?” Devany laughed.  Hampton looked surprised and Buck… Buck looked thoughtful.

She raised one eyebrow and waited.  After a few seconds of thought, he met her eyes and explained, “Know a guy.  Lives up past Shorty’s place.  In fact, Short is pretty friendly with him.  He’s Abenaki, Penobscot descent, Shorty says.  I think he’s an Elder.”

“So he’s old?  What of it?” Devany asked.

“No, he’s an Elder of his people. Shorty swears he’s dialed into the land in ways that we could never match.  Some kind of shaman or something,” Buck said.

“Sounds promising.  What’s his name?” Stacia asked.

“Maurice Bowwan,” Buck said.

“Sounds English, not Native American,” Hampton said.

“Most of the local natives married into the white population when the government was majorly anti-Indian. They either moved north to Canada or disappeared into the local communities to avoid persecution,” Buck said.  “Anyway, I’ll call Short and see if he can introduce us.  I’m presuming that you want to be there as well?” he asked her.

“Yes.  If he is a Crafter, then I want to forewarn him if… when my friend shows up.  Prevent misunderstandings,” she said.

“Witch stuff is a big deal, then?” Hampton asked, genuinely curious.

“Oh you have no idea,” she said, leaving it at that.

Her phone chimed again, this time with a text from Chet Aikens, the Demidova computer expert.

“Okay, the Demidova Corp is involved in some major medical research and their computer has access to all kinds of data.  Chris had them run a search, and two names popped up of people who had recent miraculous remissions of cancer.  Both have addresses up in Fetter,” she reported as she read the text. She wrote out the names on a pad of paper and shoved it over toward Buck.  He looked the names over, then passed it on to Devany and Hampton.

“Michael Tacchino,” Devany said with a grunt.  “Great.”

“Problem?” she asked.

“He’s a vet.  Fought in Iraq.  I heard he was sick.  Guy is tough.  It was always a problem when he got drunk in the Bitter Bear and started fighting.  Usually took both Buck and I to corral him.  Frankly, when he got sick we had less trouble, as crappy as that is to say,” Devany said.  “Definitely fits the disenchanted, angry model.”

“Why?  Why is he angry?” she asked.

“Never was a happy sort, but came home from the war on a medical discharge.  Caught something over there and never got over it.  The VA ran him around, lost his files, sent him everywhere for tests.  His disability checks got held up a number of times, too.  The whole thing left him bitter.  Has an explosive temper and knows how to fight,” Buck said.

“Well according to this, the VA now indicates he’s been cured of whatever the hell kind of lung cancer they showed him having,” Stacia said.

“What are the odds he was cured by the treatments?” Hampton asked.

“According to the records that Chet attached, he wasn’t taking treatments.  He refused them,” Stacia said.

“Great, so now we got a tough bastard that wasn’t much fun to tangle with
before
he became a werewolf
and
he was trained by the military,” Devany said.

“Who’s the other one? I don’t recognize the name,” Hampton said.

“Karen Lyon.  She graduated ahead of me, I think.  Quiet girl, kinda mousey, if I remember correctly,” Devany said.

“And now apparently free of leukemia,” Stacia said.

“So we should see if we can find these two, right?” Devany asked.

Buck looked at Stacia, then nodded.  “Yup, let’s do it.  But if we find Tacchino, we stay back, okay?” he asked, making a point of looking at Stacia when he said it.

“Listen Buck, I know I don’t make much of impression as a fighter, but I train with people that scare Hell.  In fact, I’ve been there.  Don’t judge me by my appearance,” she said.

Devany smirked.  “Sorry, but it’s kinda hard to imagine you as a cage fighter,” he said, giving her an appraising leer.

“And you don’t think I use that to advantage?” she said, leaning down to grasp the leg of his chair.  She straightened up, shifting her weight to get under the mass as she lifted the chair and the shocked deputy with one hand.  “I’m also stronger than other weres my size and I change forms faster than any Alpha I ever met.  I’m not your average werewolf, Devany,” she said.

“Okay, okay.  Put me down.  Shit!” he said, looking rattled.

“Hey Devany, now you can truthfully say you got picked up by Stacia Reynolds,” Hampton joked.

“If you three are done, we should go track down these two,” Buck said.

“Let’s do it,” Stacia said, lowering the deputy most of the way and dropping him the last two inches. 

They headed up to Fetter, then split forces, with Hampton and Devany visiting Karen Lyon’s address while Deputy Thompson and Stacia went looking for Michael Tacchino.

They had grabbed lunch and eaten in the cars on the way up to save time, as it was now well past noon.

Tacchino lived in a small cabin at the end of a long dirt driveway deep in a heavily wooded forest.

“This is like something from a horror movie,” Buck said as the overgrown oak and maple trees on the side of the driveway scraped leafy branches on the side of his county truck.

“Ah, but in this story, the monster is sitting beside you,” Stacia replied, her tone easy and calm.

“Damn, I didn’t mean it like that.  It’s almost like I keep forgetting you’re what you are until you remind me,” he said, grimacing at his own clumsiness.

“That’s because we’re humans first and wolves second.  Most of the time, we blend in much better than vampires do.  That whole sleep-through-the-day-and-drink-blood thing makes it hard for them to hide,” she said.

He looked at her sideways, then turned back to the road.  “You live in a much stranger world than I do.  And you’re not a monster,” he said.

“That’s sweet,” she said in a tone that indicated it was also naïve.  “But you’re wrong.  I am a monster,” she said matter-of-factly.  “It’s important to remember.  Not letting it weird you out is a whole ‘nother proposition.”

“How does your friend—the witch—handle it?” he asked.

“Like it’s not big deal.  He goes to school with young weres, so he’s learned a lot about how to act and not act around us.  But the other side of the coin is that he’d tell you he is a bigger monster than me.”

“How do you feel about that?” he asked.

“Well… he’s right.  Don’t get me wrong; he’s one of the nicest kids you’d ever meet.  A bit of a wiseass, but not overly so unless you get on his bad side or unless your name is Lydia,” she said.

“I don’t understand… Lydia?” he asked.

“Sorry. Inside joke. Tanya’s right-hand vampire is this little bundle of attitude and mouth named Lydia.  She singlehandedly keeps Chris and Declan’s egos in check.  It’s a running battle of wits between two of the most dangerous people I know and a five-foot-nothing vampire.  She mostly wins,” she said.  “Anyway, back to Declan.  He’s generally quiet in groups, actually humble, and very controlled.  But pick on his friends or his family and he’ll get angry.  I, at my worst, look like a puppy compared to a really angry Declan.”

“I don’t get it.  You change into a massive predator and he does what?  Brews love spells?” Buck asked.

“Witches manipulate energy with their minds.  Some can start fires, some can create storms, most can cast spells that fog your mind or confuse you.  Declan is from a long line of truly powerful crafters, and he’s the best and the strongest.  He’s also an expert on old spells and witch knowledge.  Chris and Tanya handpicked him to work for them this past summer and he exceeded their expectations.”

“And he likes you,” Buck said.

“Why would you say that?” she asked.

“Because he’s male.  And because I heard enough of your conversation with Chris Gordon to understand you were talking about the kid coming up here to back you up whether anyone told him to or not,” Buck said.  “But the real question is… how do you feel about him?”

She whipped around to look at him as he drove.  “It’s complicated,” she finally said.

“Is it?” he asked doubtfully.

“Yeah, it is,” she said, starting to get mad.  “You don’t know me.  You don’t know any of us.”

“Sorry. You’re right,” he said quickly.  “Not meaning to piss you off.  Really, really don’t want to piss you off,” he assured her.  “It just that you’ll get a text and I’ll see a secret smile. I’m not sure because I don’t know exactly who is texting you, but I suspect those smiles come when your young friend is the sender.  That makes it seem like you like him.”

She stared at him, her angry expression turning to something more like mild horror.  He glanced at her and grew alarmed.  “What?”

“It’s just that we’ve just met.  You don’t know me.  But you think the same thing that a lot of my friends do as well,” she said.

“So just what would be so wrong about liking this kid?  Is he evil?  Would he hurt you?” Buck asked.

“Hurt me?  No, of course not.  He doesn’t even get road rage when someone cuts him off, which is a really good thing, by the way.  It’s just… I don’t know… not what I imagined… not who I imagined,” she said.

“Well, that’s reassuring,” he said with a laugh.

She frowned at him until he explained. “That werewolves and witches get blindsided by life, too.  But, we’re here.  Time to focus and check out the military werewolf,” he said, putting the truck in Park and opening his door.  “Alleged werewolf,” he amended.

“Nope, he’s a wolf alright,” she said, sniffing the air as she got out.  “And he’s done a thorough job of marking his territory,” she added, her nose wrinkling.

The cabin was constructed of logs—not a kit but actual logs, cut and hand-fit to each other.  It was small, probably no more then three or four rooms, with a large roofed porch, half of which had been screened against mosquitoes and blackflies.

The front door was a heavy-duty affair made from rough-sawn planks, and the cylinder lock on the door was first rate.

They knocked on the door, Stacia tilting her head to listen with more than human ears as they waited.

“I don’t think he’s here,” she said.  “I’ll go around back and sniff around,” she said, heading for the open end of the porch.

“Stop!” Buck said, the note of urgency in his voice freezing her in mid-step.

He walked past her and bent over to point out a single strand of taut fishing line that stretched from the corner porch post to the wall of the cabin, stapled in a trail around the log corner.  Buck studied it carefully before leaning on the cabin wall high up and peeking around the corner.

“I
think
that’s a CS grenade… pepper spray, basically,” he said.  “We need to proceed carefully.”

“Well he’s got
my
attention,” she said, following the sergeant as he cautiously stepped over the nearly invisible line.  “You’ve done this before,” she noted.

“Iraq.  Bellini and me were squadmates.  You always had to watch for traps,” he said.

“Were you kidding before?  About Hell?”

She was silent long enough for him to stop moving and glance back at her.  Silently, she shook her head.  When she still didn’t speak, he decided the look in her eyes was answer enough.  Suddenly, she put a hand on his arm, her head tilted.  “I hear a really, really quiet electrical hum.  Like a battery-powered something,” she said.

He stopped and looked around them, finally spotting something.

“Circle around that way.  He’s got a battery-powered motion detector on a tree,” Buck said.

They skirted the obvious clearing, instead moving along the edge of the tree line.  Buck pointed to the brown-painted plastic motion sensor fastened to a small oak tree, its sensor lens pointed at the cabin.

Following the wires from the back of it, he traced them upward into the branches of the tree.

“Shit, look at that.” He pointed upward.

An old single shot shotgun was lashed to a branch, some kind of homemade servo device installed over the trigger guard, the barrel pointing the same direction as the motion detector.  The gun was about ten or eleven feet off the ground.  Buck studied the tree, looking for a way up, but Stacia just bent her legs a bit and jumped eight feet straight up.  Adroitly catching a handy limb, she flipped up and slipped her legs over the same branch as the shotgun then, with a quick hand, unlatched the action and removed the single round from the chamber.  Tossing it down to the openmouthed deputy sergeant, she slid off the branch and dropped lightly to the ground.

“Damn, that’s handy,” he said.

“A girl’s gotta have skills,” she said, only slightly smug.

They carefully cleared the rest of the home site, finding four more booby traps of varying lethality, but no Michael Tacchino.

Back at the truck, they radioed Devany and Hampton, who had also struck out with finding Karen Lyons.

“Now what?” Stacia asked.

“Let’s check in at the Bitter Bear.  Tacchino hangs out there, or used to.  See if anyone has seen him.”