There are Tools of the Trade, and it''s essential to recognize the variety of bizarre twists and ploys that make up our version of modern warfare. From state-of-the-art weaponry to innovative technology, the contemporary monster assassin''s toolkit is as formidable as it is varied. You are nothing in the field without proper backup, the essential tools, and much luck. You should always plan for something to go horribly wrong but then dress it up a little to make it seem like a well-thought-out plan without any flaws. Monsters are clever, relentless, and often quite intimidating. Yet, it’s a monster assassin''s motto that they’re not that smart. Otherwise, they’d never have let themselves get caught.
Monster Assassins, I’ve realized, have, within the past fifty or sixty years, had to develop a sixth and seventh sense, maybe even an eighth. Magic is real and thriving in our everyday society. It should be simple fiction, but for me and my family it’s as real as bills in the mail. Monsters hide in the open and usually leave normal humans alone, but some do not. If there is one thing fantasy fiction gets wrong, it''s just how intelligent magical creatures and beings can be. Monsters have lived for centuries, and they can learn economics, enjoy modern-day meals and technology, and take steps to make brand-new secrets. One wrong move could make an enemy out of the most unsuspecting person.
I attempted to follow Melvin’s trail and surprisingly came up empty. I stuffed his pages in my pocket and proceeded to play, where I had a few close calls, but my challenger got away unidentified and reasonably clean. A little anticlimactic, but certainly a more pleasant result considering the possible alternatives.
I retreated to my car, Melvin, and the pages weighed heavily on my mind. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but his poorly kept in appearance and inability to speak. It seemed odd. Perhaps he had just come off having considerable dental work done. Perhaps, his washing machine had stopped working and who collects restaurant menus? My mind wanted to make a case, but he seemed more pitiful than sinister, despite the hunger in his eyes.
I settled into my car and put my hands on the steering wheel. It felt so heavenly to be able to sit down. I sniffed and shivered acknowledging the slight chill in the area. I turned the key and eased the heater to a slightly higher temperature. While it idled, I took one additional look at Melvin’s pages. Since our teens, Tony and I had occasionally been tasked with studying arcane languages, and while my cuneiform was rusty, and hieroglyphics were no better than understanding 16th or 17th-century cursive without caffeine and a magnifying glass. The pages were old but not antique. Whoever the writer had been seemed well-versed in this language. There were combinations of shapes, lines, and emoji-style figures.
Am I reading too much into this? I wondered, realizing that I had missed the moment when we could have mundane conversations that absolutely had no point, no strategy, and no looming threat. That was the job, though. Monster assassins must be able to tell when something smells fishy, literally or otherwise. Lauren had always been one of the pretty ones, but who wouldn’t shower before trying to ask someone out? How had he known that she was even there?
He saw his opportunity and he went for it. I dismissed the worry and quickly checked my messages. I considered the pages, but then I set them on the seat. I could set the blustering romance aside and I was ready to leave but wasn’t going home yet. I had to confirm if these pages meant anything. We didn’t leave anything to chance, because that let monsters make a move and get one step ahead.
I tapped the button and dialed my family. When I got my parents'' voicemails, I dialed Tony, who picked it up.
“How''d it go?” he asked.
“I’m far from a clairvoyant, but I came out of it unstuck.”
“Are you coming home?” Tony asked, clearly, he was not interested in exploring his own game.
“Not right away,” I said, moving to the road. “I stumbled onto something that may be nothing, but it''s odd enough that I want to check it out.”
“Do you need backup?” Tony asked.
“Not to stop by the workshop,” I said as a grumpy driver honked at me and gave me the finger when they decided to speed up instead of giving me the adequate space I needed to merge into traffic. I rolled my eyes and came to a stop at the light.
“It''s just research. I’ll fill you in if I think there is something here.”
“Sounds good,” Tony replied, “I’ll let Mom and Dad know.”
Small communities thrive on heritage, and having my paternal grandparents living in the same area offered social acceptance without having to do much more than say hi, and then add yes, I am Henry Foster’s granddaughter, or James Foster is my dad. We were lucky to have them close by, and they worked closely with several of our encounters, tasks, and contracts like Alfred helping Batman defend Gotham City. They had a long history of encounters from situations where the U.S. nearly elected vampires into the U.S. Congress through covert blood-sucking legislation and blackmail. At one point while on vacation, they discovered the yeti, causing problems in food courts and deliberately destroying the snow cone industry for an entire summer. There were other cases, but they kept them closed only revealing information when they found it to be necessary. They had drawn the line, and we respected that. For now, they deeply enjoyed their retirement, which hadn’t been an easy feat but one they appreciated as it gave them a chance to help us survive. Grandma was a research wizard, and Grandpa or Pop was our creative thinker and engineer. It was a select job that dated back several generations, and it was a job shrouded in secrecy.
As far as their neighbors were concerned, my grandparents were retired and enjoyed frequent visits from their kids and grandkids. Tony and I knew they hoped for great-grandkids, and their friends pestered them relentlessly, but it hadn’t quite annoyed them enough to move. In fact, Grandma and Pop thrived on being the happy, fun-loving senior couple who always was a hoot at town events and gave the best treats on Halloween.
I pulled up to Grandpa Foster''s workshop. It was an actual workshop built behind this house. There were lights on, and I heard music in the kitchen. So, I figured Grandma was up to her typical tricks, making goodies for someone in the neighborhood. I pulled my car to a stop, hopped out, and headed straight to the door. Grandpa''s workshop, just like Dad''s bridge base and the safety rooms Mom, Tony, and I created as bunkers and places to run our operations. Each had special safeguards to protect the information stored inside. He also had a library and incredible access to a lot of magical materials, which we were not allowed to touch or learn about save for his comical tidbits. A Monster Assassin’s engineer, as we came to discover at some point in history, thanks to Edward’s alleged negotiation skills. They knew that family members were going to need help, so they set out and successfully established contracts or agreements with literal magicians, witches, and wizards, obtaining basic secrets and bits of knowledge that could be tinkered with. They weren’t happy about it, but Edward wrote that their contacts were the first in a long line of people who were curious to know how much they knew, a fact that Edward kept secret and emphasized that it should stay that way. There were a lot of things to work out but ultimately, it was established that the family would have one engineer to craft the materials needed for what we''ve termed enforcement. It was a role that could be passed from family member to family member, but it was done under the strictest circumstances. Tony and I had debated when we were teens if one of us would end up having that job, although it was something neither of us aspired to. It was much more fun to kill the bad guys, and even though he had a workshop and had lived through a successful career, Pop did happen to take a few extra steps and cause an explosion or two, all in the name of research. Did I mention Grandma Foster is handy with the fire extinguisher?
I approached the door and did the particular knock Pop set as permission to enter. Sadly, this is not something I am allowed to document anywhere, and he warns us that he’ll change it at a moment''s notice.
There was a series of clicks, pops, and other daily noises from what was once referred to as Saturday morning cartoons. The door clicked open, and I walked inside. I hadn''t studied, but I was typically ready for Pop and his one more thing, his random test of knowledge.
The door clicked shut, and I was left in complete darkness for a grand total of 45 seconds. I heard three clicks, and then I heard Grandpa''s voice; he had a sound system that would put any nightclub to shame. It wasn''t loud, but the system spread the noise so that nothing short of enchanted sonar and there were traps to impede any kind of infra-red. The workshop didn’t look big, but it was unlikely that anyone would stand a chance to find him.
“What is a witch''s biggest social anxiety?”
This was an easy one. “If most didn’t have the money, it would be a shopping spree in a candy store or tickets to a chocolate convention.”
There was a brief chuckle. Pop was easily amused and usually by cheesy dad jokes. “How do you know if mummies are itching to start an uprising?”
“If you smell lemongrass or jasmine in a gas station bathroom,” I replied.
This was one of Pop’s earliest cases, back when there were attendants who actually pumped your gas for you. The magical government, M.A.G.E, had apparently permitted a few mummies to come into the states unaware of their efforts to replace toilet paper with something way worse, and yes, most gas stations offer a relatively low bar for stiff-legged monsters to cause some problems. There had been some enchantments, hypnosis, and, weirdly enough, cats starting to run around town in headdresses, crowns, or jewelry. Grandma Foster, who had long disdained cats, claimed they were letting their egos show.
“And what is Grandma’s favorite color?” I honestly rolled my eyes at this one.
“Shiny with an accent of blue.”
“Bravo!”
The lights clicked on, revealing an entryway crafted from grinders, sheet metal, and the stone-colored concrete floor. Grandpa Foster, or Pop as I had grown up knowing him, stood on a D.I.Y. balcony accented with keyboards, holographic view screens, and neon control panels on the wall behind him. He had a round face with a narrow brow. He wore a button shirt with pens in his pocket. Pop always had such lovely, flowing pens. He had odds and ends sticking out of apron pockets, and simple eyeglasses sat on his nose.
“Well, this is a happy surprise,” Pop said, “however since you didn’t slip by the kitchen for a cookie, I’d hazard a guess that this isn’t a casual visit.”
“We just survived revenge of the stickers,” I said. At that, Pop gave a dismissive shrug and headed through the doorway I hadn’t noticed, even though I’d visited a few dozen times in the past few months. Pop wasn’t a fan of the Family War games but couldn’t do much since he was crowned the cursed king of bowling. He claimed it resulted from a top-secret case in which Grandma hadn’t been involved in. We’d let it slide over the years, but it was hard to believe a witch would let you leave an encounter to then be stuck bowling consistent nines in bowling. Not turkeys. The math would always just add up to nine.
“Based on your appearance and demeanor,” Pop said through his sound system. There were sections of his workshop we weren’t allowed to enter. “I take it you survived your scrape untouched?”
“I did, but there were a few close calls,” I said, “I didn’t catch them sadly. Whoever it was, didn’t put up much of a fight.”
“Everyone has ignited a sticker at least once in their lives, and most know it''s not pretty,” Pop replied. I heard a few keys jingle and the door to my left open. Pop stepped out and motioned for me to come inside. I crossed into a Victorian era study, beautifully polished wood bookshelves from floor to ceiling covered in books or memorabilia on display from outdated and relatively unknown T.V. shows and movies. There were majestic columns, and he had a wide circular desk with cobbled-together instruments, a globe, and papers covered in designs, ranging from simple sketches to blueprints that immediately rolled up as I came close.
“I’ve always referred to them as mood killers, myself.”
Pop motioned to the chair or gestured to a couch sandwiched between two bookshelves, a large oil painting of a mountain range, and an open field bursting with gold stocks of wheat.
I decided on the couch. It was Pop’s design. It was warm, and the material’s texture felt like silk. He called it sleeping on a cloud, and for good reason. I sighed as Pop typed a message on his cell phone and settled into a large, puffy recliner.
“You know I’m always happy to see you, kiddo,” he said. “While I’m happy to chat about anything, it seems to me that you’ve got something on your mind.”
I sat up and pulled out the pages I had picked up at the mall. I held them out, and with an intrigued expression, Pop moved his glasses up his nose and settled in to take a look.
“You think you have a case, is that it?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” I said. “I’m not one who jumps the gun, but I can’t shake the slim chance that there is more to this story, and something about these pages doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Lay it out for me,” Pop said with his encouraging smile.
I recounted the events that had brought me to the mall, and as I scouted the area, I happened to run into an old high school friend, Lauren, and then I brought up Melvin and his attempt to ask her out.
“It''s definitely odd,” Pop admitted as I finished the story, “What about the situation makes you feel suspicious?”
I had to mull that over for a moment. “His overall bearing, the smell, and inability to string two sentences together. He could talk, but it sounded difficult, as though he hadn’t spoken in a long time. I’d have to say that he’s either under the influence, struggling with something terrible, or he had got jumped on his way to the mall, and despite the pain, he didn’t want to miss his chance, which raised some odd social questions, but that not much of my business.”
“So, he knew she was there. Is that what you’re thinking?” Pop asked.
“Ya, that would definitely be a part of it,” I said. “I can’t say he was targeting her, but something was off, and then there were these pages. It''s a bit stereotypical of me, but that doesn’t look like any fictional language some big-time writer would have put together in their book series. I doubt Melvin would be considered a competent linguist.”
“I agree with you there,” Pop said glancing at the pages; he snapped twice, and a table slid across the floor and came to a rest between us. “You’ve also overlooked the fact that these pages are old.”
“Old as in wow I haven’t seen these since the Reagan administration, or old as in stumbling on a treasure map old?”
Pop chuckled, “Hard to pin down without some tests, but I know for a fact they’re from an old school day planner. The style, format, and size were common in planners I remember my elementary school teachers would use. They’ve been out of print, so I wouldn’t bank on finding one in a thrift store. Then there is this writing; it looks familiar, but this is more up Grandma’s alley.”
“When you can, would you have her look at them and get back to me? I’m not running this up to the chain to my parents until I have something concrete. I’m-”
I trailed off as my phone rang, Pop’s phone rang, and a video monitor on the wall by the desk rang. I answered, Pop answered, and the video call came out.
“Emma, it''s Tony,” came from my phone, but the call ended as quickly as it started.
“Dear, I just got a strange notice in my email.” that voice was Grandma’s, and she sounded nervous.
Then, the video call came on, and Dad stood on the bridge.
“Hey, Pop, sorry to interrupt your conversation, but I need to butt in.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Dad’s attention fell on me. “Emma, Mom is on her way to you. I need you two to head into town. We just got an immediate contract. There are active combatants on the prowl.”
“Combatants?” Pop snapped, “On the prowl?”
It was an old code, meaning there were creatures on the warpath. The fact that Dad also said combatants was disconcerting.
“What happened?” I asked. “Do you know how many perpetrators?”
“At least six, maybe more,” Dad said. “They’ve attacked multiple small businesses on Main Street.”
“What about the M.A.G.E agents who patrol the area to deal with stuff like this?” Pop asked, “Didn’t they intervene?”
Dad put his arms behind his back. “I wasn’t given details, but it seemed to me that something else was going on, something really hush-hush. My contact didn’t seem eager to talk to me, and it almost seemed like a warning than a contract.”
“But there are M.A.G.E agents in this area,” I said.
“Yes, there are, or better said, were in the area,” Dad said, “Apparently, these small businesses were all run by M.A.G.E agents. At least two are dead, and we’re not sure about the rest. If we’re interested in getting involved with some obvious heavy hitters. Our job is to deal with the assailants and collect any intel connecting them to a ringmaster who orchestrated the attack.”
“Son,” Pop said, and he assumed a bleak demeanor. “Is it wise for us to get involved? If M.A.G.E is active, we should probably let them handle it.”
“Normally, I would agree,” Dad said, “and yes, this will make headlines, the kind that this area has never had, ever! We’ll have federal authorities. Every pedestrian, commuter, and local will be on their guard. I think we should get involved because we need to get ahead of this!”
“Dad, do you see a connection to the Morris Farm?” I asked.
Dad sighed and averted his gaze. “I do. We also have a lot of muscle running loose in town and that will probably attract the wrong kind of attention. If they were idiotic enough to attack M.A.G.E in broad daylight, I would see them attacking cops. I see them possibly launching further attacks if they’re out to make a statement.”
Pop pulled off his glasses, “I don’t like it, but I see your point. I’ve got some enforcements all packed up. Emma will be ready.”
Dad let out an exasperated sigh. The conversation with the client had obviously taken a lot out of him.
“Perfect,” was all that he managed to say.
Dad had once woken me up at O dark thirty in the morning to take on a job, but it had been a one and done and we went to bed a few hours later. Dad’s tone and the news reports that followed created a cascading tidal wave of speculation, concern, and full-blown panic. The University and the surrounding apartments immediately went on lockdown. The mayor and city council declared that any adult age individual, eighteen or older, with a concealed carry license was to report to law enforcement officials to assist in crowd control and function as security in a limited capacity. I watched for any clues, tells, or indications about the type of attacker we were looking for. Several buildings were in flames, and the traffic had been backed up and rerouted.
Twenty minutes later, I hurried to the road and climbed into Mom’s car. Her hair was in a ponytail, and she wore a long-sleeved black shirt. I handed my keys to Pop, who promised to bring my car to the house. Once buckled, I accepted a duffel bag, and without another word, even a goodbye, Mom hit the gas, and we headed down the road.
“Any news?” I asked. Mom’s face had a glazed if not a stoned expression. There was a hardened fear I hadn’t seen her embrace before.
“No,” Mom replied, “the attack came out of nowhere. Dad confirmed that they were all M.A.G.E agents, but we don’t know if the agents were aware of each other. We don’t know if they actively pursuing any particular person.”
Mom accelerated and passed some merging cars heading toward town. “M.A.G.E is scrambling to get everything in line. They’ve bottlenecked their response because they’re not sure who they can trust.”
“It does seem odd that someone could attack multiple M.A.G.E agents at the same time and have no one be any the wiser,” I said, tapping my finger anxiously on the car door, near the window. It was a habit I hadn’t quite managed to break.
“And no one has taken credit for it either,” Mom said. “The authorities will be looking for someone to blame, which means we have to be careful.”
“I’m not saying this lightly, but it sounds like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” I replied, fingering the duffel bag. I started to wonder what Pop had packed for us.
“That is an understatement, but true nonetheless,” Mom replied.
We headed into town with full concentration and knotted stomachs. The Highway Patrol had checkpoints near the exits, and it took several minutes to advance more than a few inches to a foot. I took in rough counts of the cars, and it appeared that more people were trying to leave the area instead of coming. That was good for us, but a challenge because we were either going to find trouble or waste our time. The latter isn’t always bad, but when the former get a taste of the action, they never just stop with one. This attack was large, but until someone took credit and presented a stance to society, everyone would wonder who’s next. Since the days of spooky hollows and horse-drawn carriages, monsters would lay in wait, and then they’d strike. We just had to try our best to get there first.
“Do we have any indication about the types of creatures we’re looking for?”
“Titan class or above,” Mom said. “Those would be the only kind with the punch capable of taking on M.A.G.E trained magicians.”
I couldn’t hold back. “that’s it? We’ve got no witness statement, no clues or theories.”
“No, we don’t,” Mom replied. “We have plenty of questions, but the attacks literally came out of nowhere. Tony and Dad are working on video feeds, but so are dozens of people. Emma, make no mistake. This isn’t just a crisis, it’s a catastrophe!”
I chewed on that for a moment, and my thoughts offered somber solutions and a few chilling possibilities.
“Well, if I can wrap my head around this,” I said. “We have an attack that without any preoccupation for witnesses or collateral damage. As far as we know the agents were the targets.” “Pretty much,” Mom confirmed.
“So, the assailants would have had to account for busier traffic and higher volumes of people. They would have had to enter the building without drawing attention to themselves and have plan that wouldn’t have set of any kind of alert before they could put it in place.”
“So reasonably they were in human form and the fire was caused by their weapons.” Mom reasoned as she turned a corner following a detour for a few blocks.
“They’re probably long gone,” Mom continued, “but they would have had to assume their true forms to strike, and monsters aren’t known for suicide missions.”
“No, they are not.” I snapped my fingers, realizing a fact I’d overlooked, “and if the goal was to go after M.A.G.E they would have to stick around to make sure they did their job.”
“That’s what our client is counting on,” Mom said.
“So, if we’re right and they needed to change back, monsters can assume a human form pretty quickly, but a quick change wouldn’t mask their natural behaviors, and so it''s likely that they’ll stand out.”
“Which would be the risk they would have to take,” Mom added, “and if they hang out in a crowd, they’ll probably go unnoticed.”
“Given the timing for the strike they’d have to,” I concluded, “Dad did say that there were confirmed deaths, so those attackers would have gotten away. The unsure ones will stick around, but it’s the brash ones we’ll need to worry about.”
“Those are typically the most brutal,” Mom said, “and they won’t hesitate to attack if they’re confronted.”
Mom tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Something burned in her eyes that told me one of her own horror stories had to mind. One that she hadn’t had the courage to say anything about. I stayed silent as we ventured further into town. I could see a column of smoke in the air, and dozens of flashing sirens indicating police cars.
Would a monster really strike again? I thought, several have thick skins, but bullets and still bullets.
We cleared an intersection and were now nearly in town. There were dozens of people on the sidewalk; talking on the phone or consoling each other. Dozens of people were taking pictures or were pushing through a large crowd equally likely that they were searching for their loved ones, or they wanted to catch a glimpse of the action, or their ten seconds of fame.
“There are so many people,” Mom said sounding breathless.
“Who would attack multiple M.A.G.E agents in the public place” I asked. The thought was ludicrous to even consider. Monsters had lived among humans for several decades, if not a century. Some of them had it easier than others, but the brutality and scale of this attack was off the charts.
“This is pretty barbaric,” Mom said, “and I wish I could hazard a guess. There are plenty of criminals who talk a big game, but to do something that this. It’s unthinkable because the mastermind would just have to escalate it further.”
“Alright, so let’s not make any assumptions,” I said, remembering several quotes Mom and Dad would toss around as we made assumptions about a particular job.
Mom shot me a questioning look. I wasn’t smiling, nor did I offer my comment with an ounce of humor or levity. Her gaze was questioning, and it conveyed considerable worry.
“You better check the tool kit,” Mom said, “we’ll probably have to turn onto one of the nearest side streets and come in on foot.”
That was not a promising strategy, but as she slowed to a stop, I couldn’t challenge that fact, and the size of the crowd seemed to increase by the minute. As Monster Assassins, it’s not uncommon to sacrifice security for answers.
I checked my watch and then moved Pop’s duffel to my lap. Pop had supplied the usual arsenal of strength-enforced gloves and fortified knee and elbow pads; these were great against physical attacks and defended against sneak attacks, but they broke down if subjected to repetitive blows. We had a kit that contained several bugs and recording devices; these wouldn’t be useful right now, given how we were heading into an active set of already perpetrated crime scenes. I glanced at Mom, who kept her focus moving forward as we waited for a chance to continue. We operated on information and hunting secretly while in the open wasn''t easy. Our targets, without question, were dangerous and could also be on the hunt.
No pressure, I thought gloomily as I found a thin leaflet near the bottom of the bag. Pop often authored what he called “the maneuver menu” or a “Tic tac tool” guide, explaining how some of the enforcements worked with simple instructions. Whenever I read the instructions, I always had an upbeat game show announcer voice mixed with a sarcastic radio voice. I pulled out the leaflet and then a black plastic box and set it aside.
IN TESTING- USE WITH CAUTION!
The illusionator- is not a branded name for this gizmo. The suggestion box is open and accepting possible alternatives. With this device, the user should be able to cut through all manner of illusions, charms, enchantments, and glamours to reveal the monster’s proper form.
WARNING! The physical condition of this viewing device does have a tendency to overheat, and the compounded enforcement structured into its circuitry tends to rapidly burn and possible ignite the internal mechanisms which could result in a rather foul odor readily perceptible to all nearby creatures, which could result in these creatures taking an unhealthy interest in your staked-out location and with continual exposure, YOU.
WARNING! Do not use this model in a private residence.
WARNING! Do not use it in a personal vehicle. Based on scientific evidence, the odor tends to linger in clothing, and multiple kinds of fabrics. The odor may mix with car exhaust, compressed and outside air and air conditioning. Under a certain set of conditions, this will create a dangerous situation as the scent is not immediately recognizable to a human’s sense of smell.
Side note- A preliminary application, or an app called IC3, mitigates the overheating effect, but it does affect the user’s cellular and data usage plan. The app does not function with hotspots or public Wi-Fi connections. The app also comes with a timer. As of the publication of this leaflet, DO NOT GO OVER TIME!
Mom wrinkled her nose as a car honked in annoyance mere moments behind us. Several police cars, an ambulance, and a fire truck had slowed traffic. I looked up from Pop’s leaflet as pedestrians walking along the curb were looking at pictures and talking in hushed voices, but everyone looked in a daze, surprised, excited, or scared.
“No one knows what to think,” Mom said surveying the crowd.
“Seems that way,” I replied.
The officers directed traffic, and it stalled as the first of three ambulances with its lights and sirens blazing began to take its occupants to the hospital. There were plenty of people crying, and I caught a glimpse of what looked like the first wave of reporters. We were getting close to the epicenter.
“What else did Pop include in the kit?” Mom then asked. She had assumed a solemn demeanor. I knew it was her way to stay level-headed and keep her calm. “We’re not going in on offensive, and we’re not playing defense either.”
“It’s a bizarre midground,” I said, finishing through the duffel bag.
“We’ll need to get a hold of as many pictures and video as possible,” Mom said, “If we’re lucky, maybe was streaming moments before the assailant’s struck and we’ll get a lead.”
I sighed and didn’t reply. Mom danced a lot with hypotheticals, which was really Mom’s code for: I hate going into a situation blind. I wasn’t going to question her about it. I continued to dig, and I found an interesting contain labeled Valid entry. I fumbled with the leaflet and smiled. Pop certainly had a way with words, even if he was a little cryptic or blunt about it at times.
“This might be helpful. I think it’s probably Pop’s best description yet.”
Valid Entry: This formulation has become the baseline component to thwart unwarranted and unlawful entries into ticketed events, highly secure areas, private dwellings and outdoor barbeques.
This tube of partially congealed ink can come in scented varieties. However, it is not recommended due to its physical similarities to the popsicle and yogurt-popsicle varieties of the early 2000s. This is a security device and is a helpful tool to thwart infiltration into large-scale venues like concerts, banquets, crowds, and office buildings. It is not recommended for school buildings, parks, and all related playgrounds. In addition, it is not recommended for stores and shopping malls after the hours of 6 pm due to the ratio of humans to hidden creature patrons.
Steps to use and not eat this tool. The user should apply a gentle amount of the tube’s contents across a small portion of exposed skin; the palm, wrist, or knuckles are suitable options. Once applied, when the user comes in close physical proximity to a creature who has invoked a physical transformation, either by their own power, spell, or potion that literally altered their physical appearance. The Valid Entry’s bioluminescence components will brighten and may cause the skin to tingle.
WARNING! For an undetermined reason, the components can shock the user’s taste buds and tempt the user to take a bite. DO NOT CONSUME!
WARNING! The user is advised to employ the minimum amount of Valid Entry material. The illumination effect is visual to anyone within the immediate vicinity. I repeat, it is not invisible to anyone, and scented varieties may prompt awkward and unhelpful questions. You will stand out in the crowd if you use too much, which is terrible unless you’re going to a rave. Then you are just being dumb!
Be careful using this product in public. You have been warned.
Pop was certainly a master of his craft, and I expected Mom to at least snicker, but all she did was smile wide and shake her head as traffic again began to slow for a third time. Once stationary, the smoke in the sky was darker and it pierced my nose nearly making me sneeze. At this vantage point, through the gaps in the crowd, I saw police officers maintaining a circle or redirecting traffic as firefighters dealt with small pockets of flames that they hadn’t managed to extinguish yet and their body language and speed indicated they were worried the blaze might spread.
The engine rattled, and Mom scanned traffic and then slowed, taking a corner beside a realty office and an auto parts store.
“We’ll park down here, near the houses if we can,” Mom said. We cleared a few blocks and then moved down a side street into a residential area before coming up next to a hair salon where people in capes, curlers, and foil stood at the windows and watched with slack jaws and concerned expressions. A few were on the phones and ignored the stylists who motioned their clients to return to their respective chairs. As we pulled to the curb, it became abundantly clear that no one was eager to listen.
“Emma, get your dad on the line,” Mom said.
I reached toward the tablet display and counted on the dashboard. I clicked a few buttons, and Dad appeared on the video screen. He stood with his arms behind his back. He was still on the bridge.
“What’s it look like?” Dad asked.
“As expected, but there is quite a crowd.” Mom said. “There are way more people than I would have expected. Was something going on in town?”
“Two things,” Dad said, “The high school football had a championship game, and they were hosting it. The University also had a sporting event and a small class concert that immediately paused when word got out.”
“I bet most of them would be eager to go,” Mom said.
“Undoubtedly,” Dad said, “I’ve also heard that the neighboring towns have sent officers and first responders and several more are standing by.”
“I bet the FBI and government official won’t be too far behind.” Mom said, “They’ll probably consider this to be some kind of terrorist attack.”
“That is evitable, I’m afraid,” Dad said, “I know the school districts are on lockdown, and several buildings have shut down and have barricaded their employees in break rooms or back offices. People are terrified that there will another attack.”
“People are going to wonder why here of all places?” Mom said, “and no one is going to believe this happened because of a gas leak, or some random occurrence.”
“True, but that’s not our problem,” Dad said, “If any of the attackers are still here, they’ll find the best location to attack any of the agents who survived. We need to ignore vague testimonies, instead listen for embellishments or any exaggerations that could give us a clue.”
“Any luck on security footage?” Mom asked.
Dad motioned over his shoulder. “I’ve got Tony looking at the security footage. Hopefully, the damage didn’t fry the feed. We’ll probably want to look at social media feeds as well. I bet people are live streaming this as we speak.”
“Do you think any of our contacts could get us access to any M.A.G.E-related surveillance?” Mom asked.
“If any of them would return my call, I could ask,” Dad said. “I had to burn some aliases to determine that the M.A.G.E top brass It seems have gone to ground until they make sense of the attack.”
“So, we’re on our own?” Mom muttered.
Dad gritted his teeth. “It’s not pretty, but can we really blame them? M.A.G.E is powerful, and this was unprovoked.”
“That we know of,” Tony called from behind Dad.
I considered the situation as police cars zipped past, and the hair salon stylists finally got their clients back in their seats. We had unidentified assailants, a large crowd and a ton of damage.
I’ve got to join in. I reviewed Pop’s guidelines. Information was going to be slow in coming, and it would take forever to sort through it. If we were going to catch a glimpse of a potential target. We sadly needed to poke at the nest.
I straightened up as a news van turned onto our street, mirroring our position from the far side. The van moved to the curb, and in under two minutes, a female reporter and her technical crew hurried across the road on foot and into the ever-growing crowd.
Or maybe? “Dad, I need you to get Pop on the phone,” I said, “He gave us some tools, and they’re good but there are some problems. I think there is a way we could use the situation to our advantage.”
I grabbed the Illusionator and the Valid entry and opened the car door. “Mom, if you’ll access the IC3 App we read about, I’ll keep in touch over comms.”
“Alright, Emma,” Dad said, “This is your show.”