《The Foster Family Handbook For Monster Assassination》


 There are many definitions of smelly missions.

    Field notes: If you set out to kill monsters, you must tread in inappropriate places. Be advised that a walking, huffing, bawling 2000 pounds, potentially tractor-throwing, fowl-smelling linebacker is no laughing matter.


    My name is Emma Foster, and I am a Monster Assassin. I have a particular set of skills that provide me with numerous ways to decapitate, decimate, and disintegrate any number of monsters, demons, ghosts, and foul-smelling creatures.


    The smell is the worst, and being late at night isn¡¯t much better.


    I moved wide around the Morris farmhouse in a crouch to avoid low-hanging branches and a few obscured tree stumps. This job had brought us into the county. A wide-open space with nothing for miles in every direction. That is until you get to areas occupied by a few farmsandrich-looking homes that, from the road, are specks of light on the hill. This is tied together with unwelcome road work and a series of perpetual construction sites. The Morris farm was one of the larger ones in the area and one of the furthest from town. It sat a considerable distance off the main road with a few side roads leading into the hay and corn fields, culminating at the hub of an unwelcoming, unappealing, stomach-churning animal graveyard and a swampy-looking river.


    Like I said, the smell is the worst.


    My nostrils flared, and I stifled a sneeze. Thankfully, we were still by the main house and barn, but at the same time, we were near the main houseandrunning out the clock. I attempted to ignore the festering aromaandswat at the gnats and the other small insects that hovered near my face. Bugs of any variety were unfortunate kindred spirits to monsters because they strike right at eye level and without mercy. I heard a cry on the other side of the house and slowed my pace while ignoring the pain in my ankle. I¡¯d already tripped a few times, and multiple ear-splitting eruptions blanked my immediate audible recognition of my surroundings, or in less technical jargon, monsters love to make noise, and their bellows, cries, snorts, crackles along the grumbles, poorly timed insults, and death curses, really makes it hard to see and move in the dark.


    I wasn¡¯t sure why I was trying very hard because it wasn¡¯t the time to be stealthy. This encounter, as we referred to them, despite our best efforts on the fly, quickly became a terribly executed frontal assault.


    If the Morris¡¯s weren¡¯t incredibly modified by the compounding destruction, they were probably dead and rolling over in their impromptu graves. It would have been all the better if we had gotten lucky and they weren''t here. I tensed and defensively lifted my arms to protect my face as I moved around the house. The cries and crunches were gut-wrenching, and I saw small movements, but they were dwarfed by giant, unrecognizable objects andjunk being hurled through the air. I heard the animals¡¯ stirring moments before an impact, several of which were separated by only a few seconds. We had to end this before the animals got out. We were far out, but county neighbors would know there was trouble and many questions.


    I ducked around an evergreen tree and froze at the crackles of a weapon''s discharge. I spotted bits of debris hitting the house, and a faint tremor quickly followed. I bolted forward, partially shadowed by a cement crafted with an elevated curve that angled outward and followed a portion of the house that leveled off by Morris¡¯s back porch. I could barely see the back door from my position, and for now, all the lights were off, and it all seemed quiet inside for the time being.


    ¡°Dad, go wide.¡± My brother Tony yelled. It would have smacked at my ears, but he sounded distant. Had he lost his earbud communicator? Was he injured, or was he lying in wait and talking in a whisper to not attract attention? Any scenario was equally likely.


    I had to get into position; otherwise, our plans and counterstrikes wouldn¡¯t work very well.


    I cleared the last few feet of Morris¡¯s makeshift apple orchard and approached a small hill parallel to the cement wall.


    Hiss! Spit!


    I bounced back as bushes rattled and little murder muffins swiped at my ankles before scampering for safety within the bush''s thorny depths or any personally deemed safe spaces. Portions of my ankles stung from earlier strikes. They were fast little critters; you wouldn¡¯t think their tiny claws would hurt as much as they do.


    Note to self: don¡¯t wear leggings and sandals on a job.


    ¡°Tony!¡± Dad yelled, ¡°We can¡¯t let him advance.¡±


    I stopped at the foot of the hill as a few cows ran through the coral, and I heard a whimper beneath a pile of junk.


    A heck, Mr. Morris has a dog. I watched a head peek out from behind some weeds before making a mad dash across the space separating the main house from the barn and a machine shop. A few tractors had been left stationary. For a few moments, the only noise was that of the animals, and the aged lamp posts went out as the dog ducked beside an old truck that cast the farm ground in thick, creamy shadows.


    ¡°Becareful,¡± Dad whispered. Our comm link made him feel close, within a few inches from my face or shoulder. It''s an eerie feeling to take in, only to have the illusion shatter after there is no contact, and you realize there hadn¡¯t been time for anyone to come close.


    I had no idea where he was, and for the moment, he had no idea where I was either. The lights flickered again, and I took in the enormous craters, the junk, and the debris; there were metal scrapes, barrels that had crushed like pop cans, and chunks of vehicles now sat scattered across the rocky, uneven ground. The flickering lights created a twinkle across small pools of gas, oil, or some industrial chemical while other pieces lay near pockets of thick, ravenous weeds at awkward angles.


    The lights went out again, and I was left towonder. The shadows were unnaturally thick. That, along withthe uneasy sounds of the animalsand our target, coupled with the county¡¯s usually pleasurable environment. All of that came together and rendered a haunted feeling.


    ¡°What''s our next move?¡± my brother Tony said. I judged his voice; he sounded unsure, and a bit put off.


    ¡°I had to take a chance; otherwise, he would have struck, ¡°Dad said with enough reassurance that we weren''t up to our necks and waiting for a trap to spring. ¡°It will be over in a minute. ¡°


    ¡°What did you use?¡±


    ¡°The can of, never see me coming,¡± Dad said, ¡°this guy went from zero to hostile way too fast.¡±


    ¡°that''s a problem, Dad, because we can¡¯t move either to regroup or reset. We¡¯re sitting ducks, and the can isn¡¯t foolproof.¡±


    ¡°I know, but just be ready,¡± Dad said, ¡°we¡¯re good at making it up as we go along.¡±


    I bit my lip to hold back a comment. Tony started to reply but pulled back. He was usually a bit more of a smart mouth, but he had matured professionally and was quite a spy. The never see me coming, though! That was a bold move, and Tony¡¯s comment was validbut an enormous understatement at the same time.


    The gizmos instructions came to mind¡ªa slightly comical piece of work my grandpa wrote.


    The never see me coming!!!!! Wow, you must be pretty desperate to use this doohickey.


    This is a distraction device! Like tear gas, screams, and noisy alarms. The See Me Coming resembles a can of soda and fills anundetermined amount of space with a heavy shroud of darkness. Yes, that last line is nerdy, but it is obvious that this is a last resort. It is highly recommended to use this enforcement in the last moments before you make your escape.


    WARNING!!!! The internal composition is a patented mixture and could prompt anxious or furious monsters to give chase. Think of it as the epic most Black Friday videos, only with razor-sharp teeth and a blood lust.


    WARNING!!!!! See Me Coming is a thick cloud where light is not reflected, refracted, or seen in any form, ancient or modern. You will be completely blind if you don¡¯t or can¡¯t escape the blast radius.


    WARNING!!!!! Don¡¯t leave this in a car''s drink holder, as it could be mistaken for a tasty beverage. It is unstable if shaken and not recommended for high-speed pursuits.


    I let out some controlled breaths and kept my feet firmly in place. Our target was on edge, and the most subtle movements could push it off the edge and make it strike. The shadows stirred, and the clouds shifted, offering pockets of light over the sheds and near tractors. I flexed my fingers, and a faint noise clicked my attention toward the house.


    ¡°No, no! Please stay inside.¡±


    Something moved and a bulb pulsed before motion-activated porch lights illuminated a few pairs of dirty work boots and several bags of dirt being stored for spring.


    ¡°What turned on the lights?¡± Dad pressed.


    ¡°Cats,¡± I hissed. While a few bushes beside me shivered and a few small fluffy murder muffins hissed and spat at me before creeping further beneath the leaves and wilting flowers.


    ¡°Emma, anything going on inside?¡± Dad asked. He sounded breathless as the heavy shadows began to disburse, save for apocket beside a grain silo.


    I glanced at the windows, half expecting to see a face peeking out from behind the curtains. I didn¡¯t know what time it was, but surely someone would have appeared due to the commotion. What kind of farm work would a farmer do at this time of night?


    Still, there was no one.


    ¡°We¡¯re clear!¡± I replied. The words slipped off my lips, but then I noticed an elevated light, probably a nightlight, beside a counter. I counted to ten but saw no indication that anyone was awake or alert inside. With my heart pounding, I took a few steps as a hulking figure took its first confident step. There was a growl, followed quickly by a huff.


    ¡°Show time,¡± Tony muttered. He moved at a crouch, passing a long pill-shaped gas tank near the wall of a cattle shed anchored on a DIY scaffolded structure of crossed metal beams and bars welded together.


    Tony was now in place, and the shadows stirred while calves and other small animals began to cry out in alarm. I steadied myself when a dog whimpered, and I heard metal bars rattle. The moon blinked across the farm grounds, and I spotted a clump of metal that had once resembled a tractor. A piece of glass fell and shattered across the ground. The figure took a step, rolling the tractor ball away from its foot. The thing was wide and at least as tall as I was. When it stopped, I heard a crunch and a series of cracks as it knocked into multiple support beams of a nearby shed loaded up to its tin roof with yellow straw bales.


    ¡°Here he comes!¡± Dad said.


    I watched Dad up beside a lamppost as the lights came back on and stayed on with brief pops every minute. He held a metal bar, which he tapped on the post, and then he moved toward the shed and stopped near the suspended tanks.


    Dad hit the tank support beams, and I could tell they were one good gust away from collapse. We had skills but couldn¡¯t easily be pancakes just as quickly as anyone could if something large fell on them. After a few rapid hits, a breeze picked up, and I noticed a large cable above the light as it suspiciously began to sway with an occasional tiny spark.


    ¡°Dad, stay clear of those gas tanks,¡± I cautioned. ¡°There are active sparks! I repeat, active sparks.¡±


    ¡°Avoid the boom!¡± Dad replied with a frantic pinch in his voice as something came up behind him. The lights stayed true, and a few cows frantically sprinted up the corral. We were quickly replaced by two massive cows that were bulkier than the others. One had a red tag on its ear. While the other had a ring on its nose. The Morris herd¡¯s bullshavetwelve hundred powers of muscle and bad attitudes. They were late, but they had obviously come because they had felt challenged by another masculine call. If they only knew their challenger was far from ordinary.


    The herd¡¯s bulls lowered their heads and charged at the manger. Their joint impact rocked the entire thing. There was a puff of dust when the rock wall cracked. The steers tried again, and I watched Dad sprint toward the straw as their challenge was accepted.


    ¡°Not good!¡± Tony yelled.


    Our target emerged from the shadows. I was closer than I had anticipated, and I took in its shocking green eyes. It¡¯s long dark brown hair. The pink snout and meaty arms anchored to a body about seven feet tall with long tooth-shaped horns, which it leveled at the same time it threw its arms back and charged.


    A minotaur on a farm. You¡¯d never hear that in the Old McDonald song. All the animals went livid as a two-legged cousin rushed haphazardly across the farm. The monster stumbledbut still managed to crush chunks of the manger¡¯s cement dividing wall, and it arched and mangled the metal head spaces for cows to eat, like a kid playing with a wet spaghetti noodle. It was surreal and terrifying to see and note that if a cow and a wrecking ball had a kid, it would hands down be something resembling a minotaur. Yes, the large and in charge, gut-goring bull-like creature from legend. The terror of the labyrinth vs some Greek hero whose name had escaped my thoughts. The animals scrambled awaywhile the minotaur pulled back, took two steps, and snorted, leaving Jurassic Park-level craters in its wake. I¡¯d never known any creature until this moment who could turn the earth into Swiss cheese.


    Good glory, this guy is enormous.


    ¡°Emma, back up,¡± Tony yelled.


    I took a step and stumbled as the minotaur snorted steam and grabbed a plow attachment which he lobbed in my direction. I hesitated for a split second but decided to duck and roll. My long light brown hair brushed across my face. I wished for a hair tie. I got up on my knees and pulled back in a slide position. My legs jerked and constricted while my hips popped, and a few neck muscles seized. I screamed and coughed as the plow whooshed overhead. Once I was clear, I moved to my knees, small rocks cutting into my exposed skin. We were going to have to reinforce my leggings¡¯ knees. I looked up and then dropped onto my stomach covering my head with my arms as a new ball of warped metal and crushed tires flew overhead. It zipped through the air and collided with four additional rusty oil drums surrounded by thick weeds. One drum escaped the impact and flew a few feet to the left while the others were pancaked beneath the tractor''s weight, thrown with incredible force.


    "Move!" Tony yelled, coming up in a wide arch in front of me. "Before it finds a suitable weapon or sets up for another charge."


    The minotaur beat its fists against its chest, and I moved into a crouch as one of the bulls appeared with its head low and it huffed as it circled the minotaur to measure him up. The minotaur snorted then shook his head, one of his horns pierced a sheet of tin siding and shredded it like a vegetable peeler. The bull pulled back and the minotaur hit his chest as the bull padded away, but the minotaur remained where he was.


    "It¡¯s still a bit nervous.¡± I called back, ¡°The ground is uneven. It can¡¯t put its full strength into a charge.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t let it focus,¡± Dad added. He cleared the gas tanks and moved toward the corner of the machine shop. While Tony meanwhile approached the car, probably to get more gear. There was a faded sedan by the main barn, and I was amazed that he hadn¡¯t crushed ours. I rose and ignored the stitch in my side, and I moved back to the grass and toward the shed where Mr. Morris kept his calves. We had him boxed in, but this was bad and quickly getting worse. There¡¯s truth to the saying the bigger they are, the harder they fall.


    ¡°We need a quick plan,¡± Tony said. ¡°I don¡¯t think he will tire out before we do.¡±


    Tony was right about that. I moved toward a ditch bank parallel to the yard as the Minotaur picked up a large tractor tire, nearly as tall if not taller than the average adult and one a child could sleep in if the tractor was parked. The Minotaur seized the tire as easily as humans picked up dinner plates. The large cow-like creature had steer-equivalent horns. It stood on two legs and meaty arms and had thick amounts of fur partially covered by the remnants of clothing held in place by a few sagging threads or a single button. There were fragmented pieces of its modern-day life. I glanced at a tree with a brief moment of hesitation, considering the cement wall and the height of particular branches that could support my weight. This prize or obstacle also attracted the Minotaur¡¯s attention. It held the tire like a shield but then discarded it and came closer. I gulped as it came right toward me. I kept still, and it reached the grass and stopped. Light from the posts near the main barn glinted off its round eyes, and I could see its matted fur along thick muscles around its neck and shoulders. In another instance, if it had been a human dude, my mind might have been in the clouds because muscles were muscles. Needless to say, having your life on the line is an excellent reality check.


    I licked my lips and tried to stay relaxed. Monsters in an enraged form lose a considerable degree of the sense they¡¯d accumulated over centuries of evolution. A few groups lived as their ancestors did, while the rest got jobs and families and even paid mortgages. They send their kids to school and have parties on weekends. Yet, even with a loss of sanity, they can still tell the difference between masculine and feminine beings. Mom had drilled this into my head as a teenager.


    This is a titan-class monster. It''s measuring you up. It¡¯s trying to decide if you¡¯re a friend or a foe. It sounds sexist, but creatures often underestimate their female species. They can sense innocence just as they sense traps and enemies but they¡¯re really terrible at distinguishing between the two. The epic video rants on the internet are evidence of that.


    It had attacked me earlier but hadn¡¯t taken the time to gauge its surroundings. This offered a small window of opportunity. Still, it wouldn¡¯t take long before it found something it would use to stake its claim and fend off any perceived intruders, which would include Mr. Morris and his hired help along with all of his livestock, which were already rattled and would definitely run if a fence or shed got damaged. It was an unsettling image in my mind to envision this creature roaming the fields, smashing its enemies across the head with its new weapon and then flaunting its latest kill as people tried to get close.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I really wish I could have stretched this morning.


    My options were limited, and time was running short. Based on their mythological reputation, a Minotaur often relied heavily on their size and strength, and they could put on incredible bursts of speed at a moment''s notice. In modern days, with paved roads, alleys, and heavy traffic. A Minotaur had more challenges to deal with to get to know their land or territory. At any point, a titan-level monster internally demanded to know where the refuge could be. Where an enemy might try to strike, and for what reason would someone try to exploit their claimed space? Gone were the days when a creature would merely strike an unruly opponent. We became important and necessary because creatures liked to lie in wait and strike when their opponent didn¡¯t expect it.


    The straw shed¡¯s support beams began to buckle, and my jaw dropped when the Minotaur reached up and seized a thick branch. It hardly needed to exert itself before snorting and yanking down hard. The tree¡¯s trunk cracked, and the entire thing began to lean. The Minotaur snorted again and pulled, and I dropped down as the tree shuttered,spraying splinters and dead leaves across the grass.


    Now armed, the Minotaur gripped it in both hands. I glimpsed stains across its off-white horns, and the reddish-brown color was clearly blood from previous encounters. Reasonably, it probably added to the putrid smell I was having trouble stomaching. Our time was up. He had found its comfort level and a groove. He had taken on a challenge and won. If we didn''t subdue him fast, he was going to freely charge, and the farm was going to become a demolition zone.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Dad yelled a moment later. He was drawing attention to himself so Tony and I could act. Dad hit the bar on whatever he could to make noise. Meanwhile, the Minotaur, wielding the branch like a bat, straightened its shoulder and snorted like an egotistical biker, ready to start a bar brawl. The Minotaur gripped the branch and turned. Tony added a few more sounds to split its attention.


    He¡¯s found his comfort level and a groove. The farm¡¯s champion didn¡¯t pose much of a threat. We¡¯ve got to go in hard and subdue him now.


    The Minotaur cracked the muscles and joints in its neck and shoulders.


    Dad and Tony can come at him from either side. I reasoned. The Minotaur tapped his new club in its hand. The next two or three minutes would be a learning curve, as it would watch for a chance to use its new weapon. We would have to come in hard and fast if we wanted to avoid being within striking distance.


    ¡°Game time,¡± I said, ¡°On my call, use the surge force buckle and aim for his legs. Both of you at the same time. Take out his legs and I¡¯m going high for the sling string takedown.¡±


    ¡°we¡¯ll be ready,¡± Tony said breathlessly, ¡°count us down.¡±


    Now was the moment. It was now or never. The surge force buckle and the Sling String takedown were not good tactics for this terrain or this kind of target and undoubtedly this exact scenario. Grandpa Pop would put it in the top three of the stupidest ones, but then he would help us anyway.


    ¡°Dad, can you fudge his senses?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°On it,¡± Dad replied.


    I pulled out a pair of fingerless gloves from my thigh utility pocket. These were one of the seven tools we typically always carried. I put them on as Dad cracked a flare, filling an area with colored smoke. Only these weren¡¯t ordinary flares. Thanks to Grandpa or Pop''s clever engineering skills, they would obscure the immediate area with colorful, scented smoke. Something way more practical for this kind of monster. Unlike the never see me coming, where we were blind and stuck. The flare¡¯s smoke was no more potent to us than the fire trailing behind a firework on Independence Day. Monsters though, unlike humans, rely a lot harder on their senses, and they are attuned to a certain environment. A farm in the dark was nothing for a wild, open-range species, but if you give it a wash of new aromas. The shock makes them hesitate. It creates a challenge that they can¡¯t immediately tackle, and it¡¯s not something they¡¯re readily able to take on, giving us a window of opportunity.


    I put on the gloves and exhaled on the gems embedded in my fashion statement of 3 rings. The gems began to glow, and I followed up the action by gently smacking each palm across the back of the opposite hand. The Minotaur swung his branch club back and forth like he was waiting for a home run pitch. He took a few steps, sniffed, and began to sway back and forth. He was in a daze, but it was unlikely that the smoke would knock him out.


    ¡°Three!¡± I hissed, clenching my fists together.


    On my right hand, four stick fingers appeared. I tapped it a second time, and two more appeared, with one standing before the other five with arms above its head. Immediately, my hand began to fill hot. I checked my left hand and shot the image of a catapult, and I touched it a second time, which generated the image of a sprinter.


    ¡°Two¡± I yelled. At that exact moment, a breeze kicked in and created puffs that swelled around the minotaur-like bubbles. It was only going to last a few more seconds.


    ¡°Power!¡± Tony responded. That was confirmation that he was in place and ready to move.


    ¡°Charge!¡± Dad added almost immediately after.


    ¡°One!¡¯ I yelled, then from the corner of my eye I spotted two tiny dots like light moving up a path from the fields.


    ¡°Time crunch,¡± Dad called as I took my first step. That was code for we were about to have company. The smoke lazily drifted around the Minotaur¡¯s legs, slowly rising towards his midsection. The nearby cattle began to stir, and several trotted deeper into the corral. My body felt supercharged, and then all my extremities began to tingle. I pulled my arms back and put all the power I could into a sprint. The Minotaur wasn¡¯t any more than ten feet in front of me. I hurried forward when it howled, bringing the branch at a sideways arch intending to catch me across my side. Once again, it snorted and lowered its head, ready to charge. In my current state, I timed my movement and jumped. I caught the branch beneath my foot, using it to push me a bit higher.


    ¡°Torro!¡± I yelled. I almost didn¡¯t have the wingspan in my arms to grip its horns, but I managed to grip them. I had momentum, but there was an instant where the enforcement kicked in, and my perspective slowed and became a bit fuzzy as the blood rushed to my head. I held on, and the sensation passed, and I continued with my follow, right on cue, Dad and Tony burst through the smoke. The Minotaur tossed his head back and forth and he attempted a downward swipe, but his club¡¯s impact hit the ground right between Dad and Tony. One of them kicked at the club and it slipped from his grasp. The two of them immediately moved to a crouch and plowed forward ramming their shoulders into the Minotaur¡¯s legs. I pulled and they pushed and like a rock in a catapult; the Minotaur rose into the air and the enforcement¡¯s boost allowed me to slam him face first right into the ground. The shockwave broke nearby windows and rattled the iron bars on a shed¡¯s cement-based manger.


    I landed and collapsed into a heap, my hands throbbing. The smoke obscured the Minotaur¡¯s form, but it only took a few seconds for it to clear. I felt my hair plastered to my face, and I watched apprehensively as the Minotaur¡¯s arms padded the ground. He lifted his head just a little bit and appeared to shake off the disorientation. Dad and Tony hurried to my side as the Minotaur collapsed, drooling heavily.


    ¡°Emma, get the gloves off!¡± Dad yelled.


    I looked down and scrambled to pull them off as small portions glowed a crystalline orange, not much different than embers or molten lava. The heat had reached my skin, and I held my hand''s palms up. Dad took my wrists, so I didn¡¯t bring them toward my chest or stick them on the ground.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen an enforcement do that before,¡± Tony said as he kicked some dirt over the gloves, which had ignited some weeds, and the whole thing had begun to smolder.


    Dad pulled out a light. I had some cuts, and my skin was dirty, but I didn¡¯t see any black, purple, or stark white spots, and I could still move my fingers.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good thing you hadn¡¯t been using them before we did the takedown,¡± Dad assessed. ¡°Otherwise, the whole might have been worse. I see you can move your fingers, how are your hands?¡±


    ¡°Tender,¡± I said, but I doubted I¡¯d be able to clench a fist.


    Dad put his light between his teeth and gingerly palpated my palms. ¡°You overloaded the reinforcement. Your skin is hot to touch. I¡¯d wager you¡¯ve been burned. We¡¯ll need to get home so Mom can take care of it.¡±


    ¡°Morris is really close,¡± Tony said. The now incapacitated Minotaur lay with its head to the side. With considerable effort, the three of us managed to turn him out. The smell was a mixture of burnt rubber, a skunk, and cow manure. How long had he been coming out this way, and what was he doing? Breathing, I watched Dad check his watch while Tony secured the manacles, and I stomped my gloves out as sparks leaped into the air. The Minotaur was breathing heavily, shaking its head every few seconds. I stepped back, the smell was getting a bit too much for me. Tony also moved around when the Minotaur snorted and dropped a massive ball of snot from its snout. The glob dangled on a slimy string before sliding down the creature''s sweaty hair and plopping onto the Minotaur''s chest.


    "That was gross," Tony said.


    ¡°True, but we¡¯ve got to move. Let¡¯s ensure he¡¯s secure, and we have no time to make a clean getaway,¡± Dad said. ¡°Go to the van and employ distraction plan number 2.¡±


    Tony and I nodded, and we hurried to the van.


    Monster assassins don¡¯t go after any old monster, and please don¡¯t confuse us with the stereotypical monster hunter. We get calls or contracts questioning a monster¡¯s suspicious actions in a specific area, which doesn¡¯t involve kids selling cookies and lemonade, noisy neighbors, or people who park horribly at the grocery store. We¡¯re not hillbillys, bums, or wandering vagabonds passing through an area humbly accepting our simple existence while looking incredibly suspicious in the process. We occasionally visit spooky, abandoned houses, but we¡¯re way more prepared than the people who visit blacks hunting for the paranormal and supernatural. There is even a secret police force that deals primarily with monsters; now, these guys can be scary. Once monsters learned that national parks had popularized visiting caves, they all decided it was better to blend in.


    The Minotaur had a life outside of smashing things and beating the crap out of people who challenge it. He had used his public face, and the circumstances had attracted other people¡¯s attention. We dealt with himand hopefully avoided any large-scale issues. I forced myself to ignore the damage. It was not going to be a pretty sight in the morning, which was for sure.


    The main farm sat at a higher elevation that allowed us to track the tractor¡¯s movements. As it rounded a bend in the road near a line of sheds full of grain and other pieces of farm equipment. We all did our part while watching for it out of the corner of our eyes. We couldn¡¯t just run. The Morris farm had neighbors, and occasionally, a sheriff¡¯s deputy was parked along the highway lying in wait for the drunk driver or someone speeding.


    We have a public face and a reputation in our community. In this case, there were several obstacles to avoiding drawing some attention to our supernatural exploits. Our escape plans, of which we were all well versed, set up the best kind of scenarios possible to explain our presence.


    Like a race car pit crew, we secured the Minotaur and busted out distraction plan 2 from the trunk, which, for me, was proof that you didn¡¯t have to take forever in the bathroom to look amazing for a night''s own. In a flash, I moved from a plain shirt and my now sad excuse for leggings to a flowered dress, flats, and a little makeup. Tony got his shirt, tie, slacks, and polished shoes on. Conflicts and encounters get messy, so if you want to sell an alternative story, you¡¯ve got to look the part. Dad joined us a moment later, in a white shirt and tie. The lights from the tractors flashed across the space where we had taken the Minotaur down and Dad quickly put the van in reverse and pulled back a few feet to present the illusion of our arrival.


    ¡°Ready?¡± Dad asked, steering the van forward and putting it back into park to hopefully look as though we¡¯d been idling for only a minute or two. Dad carefully placed a glowing green ball in a drink holder which he then covered with a cloth; he had wiped the muck from his hands. Mr. Morris and his tractor chugged up the incline and came to a stop by his house. He turned off the engine, but he kept the lights on and with an astonished expression, he stood up to survey the scene.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Dad said, ¡°And remember as far as he knows, we just arrived.¡±


    Tony nodded, and I gave a thumbs up. There wasn¡¯t time to say anything else, and I hoped the darkness would hide how messy we looked.


    Mr. Morris, the proprietor of Morris Farms, had cultivated the same land for nearly twenty years and worked tirelessly with his father and grandfather for thirty years before that. Early evidence of fall weather was settling in, and Mr. Morris planned to make sure everything was all set for the next planting season. His workers had everything well in hand when he headed out into the fields. A few neighbors had swung by, and a little after dusk, he¡¯d settle onto his nearly crippled tractor for a peaceful evening.


    A peaceful evening shouldn¡¯t include trenches, craters, and nearly pulverized antique farm equipment. The aged farmer pulled his tractor to a stop, observing the large indentation in the grass and weeds. He spotted bits of paper, envelopes, and newspaper scattered through his wife¡¯s flowerbed, along with bits of wood, small bolts, and jagged pieces of metal. He rose to his feet. The tractor¡¯s height gave him visibility to take in the whole situation. I watched him place a palm on his white, scruffy chin. The abject horror was unmistakable. He hadn¡¯t noticed us yet.


    ¡°Honey!¡± Mr. Morris called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. He had a strong voice, with a slight gruff that he could mask if he ever played Santa Claus at the local church or community center. It was an odd mix because he looked like a drunk, miserable farmer, but typically, he was a cheerful, average man on the sunnier side of life.


    I prepared myself for a shift to a far extreme. You live through cuss words and profanities. Sometimes, they even dance on the tip of your tongue. The farm¡¯s overall damage was extensive, and there wasn¡¯t much we could do without raising suspicions about our activities. The residents might rally behind him, but it would take time. Time he might not have.


    ¡°Hello, Mr. Morris,¡± Dad called out with a jovial tone.


    Mr. Morris flinched and gripped the tractor¡¯s steering wheel, ¡°Gosh dang it, Jim, you practically startled me.¡±


    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± Dad replied. He often used rather jubilant salutations to mask his calculative demeanor. He came off as a pleasurable and respectable neighbor, but he wasn¡¯t one people would expect to take charge out in the open. This little corner suited Dad fine because it allowed him to take control secretly. He was the face of the family, but he welcomed a fa?ade to obscure his motives and intentions, especially if we were attempting to fulfill a contract.


    Mr. Morris regarded each of us. It was likely three well-dressed people were his targeted vandals, but he was old enough to think everyone was guilty of something. I forced a smile and observed his face. It was hard to see from where I stood, and any micro expressions were hidden beneath his hat and wrinkled face. Mr. Morris gruntled as he turned on the central tractor lights and carefully lowered himself to the ground. I stepped to the side to avoid being blinded as Mr. Morris approached Dad.


    ¡°What the blazes happened here?¡± he asked. Dad offered a hand, but he didn¡¯t accept it. Instead, he reached out, pulled off a cowboy hat, andran a hand through wavy salt and pepper hair. I tensed at his stunned expression. He was undoubtedly trying to assess what had happened. Fortunately for us, Tony and I had our strengths, but we couldn¡¯t sell a lie like Dad, who easily could have been a solid lawyer or a politician in another lifetime. Dad pulled his hand back and presented bewilderment and concern that came off genuine even to me. Tony tensed, but we exchanged glances to reassure each other. The moral ambiguity that was threaded through our line of work made life more than a challenge. The damage was bad, but it would have been worse if we hadn¡¯t stepped in. We could question how, but there is no second-guessing a threat level when any kind of monster is involved.


    ¡°This is certainly a sight,¡± Dad said, ¡°is everything ok? Did your herd get out or something.¡±


    ¡°From time to time they do, but this!¡± Mr. Morris said breathlessly. The shadows on his face sharpened his apprehension and alarm. He was neighborly even though there were plenty of stories where he could scare the punks who would spray-paint his barnor smash eggs across his windows or his tractor''s windshields.


    ¡°Who the devil,¡± Mr. Morris huffed.


    ¡°Is there anything we can do? ¡°Dad asked.


    Mr. Morris glanced at the three of us and then put his hat on his head. ¡°I doubt it. What brings you out here anyway?¡±


    ¡°Mr. Morris, we¡¯re relieved that you are all right.¡±


    ¡°We were just passing by,¡± Dad said, keeping a jovial tone. ¡°We were just on our way home from the church social and wanted to bring some cookies Mrs. Foster made. I heard you¡¯ve always been a double chocolate chip fan, right?¡±


    Dad motioned to us as a cue, but as he did so, a breeze caught my skirt, and I stayed put to keep it down and to avoid showing my hands. Luckily, Tony had come prepared and held a plate wrapped in plastic, which he held out to the old farmer. Mr. Morris looked at the plate before crossing his arms over his plaid work shirt.


    ¡°What are you three really doing here?¡± Mr. Morris asked. His suspicion was a bit off-putting, if not alarming. By experience, we all have reasonably good game faces, but what did he see? Or what was he worried about?


    ¡°We¡¯re just trying to be neighborly,¡± Tony said, holding the plate a little further, but the farmer still didn¡¯t reach for them.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry if we caught you at a bad time,¡± Dad added, subtly motioning for Tony to step back beside him. ¡°We didn¡¯t realize if there-¡±


    Mr. Morris gruntled, then shot us, the happy go lucky Foster family, an exhausted smile. ¡°Sorry folks, I¡¯ve been busy today, and it¡¯s the gosh darn diabetes. I¡¯ve not been able to enjoy a good chocolate cookie for quite a while.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that,¡± Dad said, then pointed to the farm. ¡°Do you need-¡±


    ¡°Have a good night,¡± Mr. Morris huffed as he climbed onto his tractor when the porchlights of his home came on. Emma blinked as the angle of the plow blades brought a tear to her eye.


    ¡°Herbert?¡± a woman¡¯s voice called from the door.


    ¡°Coming, dear!¡± Mr. Morris called, turning on his tractor, and get the police on the phone.¡±


    Mrs. Morris looked worried, but Mr. Morris ushered her back inside as he climbed back onto the tractor. Dad nodded to the van, and we piled in as Mr. Morris backed the tractor up a few feet and steered it toward his machine shop.


    ¡°That could have been worse,¡± Tony said.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Dad said, he turned on the van and restrained himself from accelerating at a higher speed, ¡°but it certainly wasn¡¯t pretty.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d call that awkward,¡± I said.


    Dad moved toward the road, signaled, andthen we proceeded. It wasn¡¯t like there was heavy traffic in the area, but we needed Mr. Morris to disregard any thought about us while he assessed the damage.


    ¡°Send Mom a message,¡± Dad said, ¡°we¡¯ll need to have a plan and a debrief immediately.¡±


    ¡°Do you think he suspects something?¡± I asked.


    ¡°He was worried about something, but that could be any number of things.¡± Dad assessed. ¡°We cut it close, and he¡¯s no idiot, but we didn¡¯t exactly look like superhuman vandals. The sheriff¡¯s office will come out within the hour to assess any possible threat, and they¡¯ll spend some time making sure his herd is secure. Then he¡¯ll have to set the matter aside until morning when he can go out and inspect the whole thing.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s certainly not going to be pretty,¡± Tony said. ¡°The Minotaur came close to prize fighting against both his bulls.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± I said, ¡°they¡¯ll also have questions about the lights and his gas and diesel tanks. They¡¯ll need to secure those as soon as possible.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll get his hired hands on it,¡± Dad said, ¡°and they¡¯ll probably be the first people the police question. They¡¯ll want to check if anyone had been hanging around, or if they had seen anything suspicious. The help will alibi each other for the damage. The police may get wind of the mailman coming around at night, and they¡¯ll investigate it, only to have a field day when they come up empty. Since we were caught on the scene, we¡¯ll need to cover our bases if they ask questions.¡±


    Tony took a sip of water. ¡°Do you think the Feds will get involved since the Minotaur brought his post office van out here, and they¡¯ll find it compacted or in pieces all over the farm?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s bound to be mail to which will raise further questions,¡± I said.


    ¡°The Feds and M.A.G.E will probably butt heads about it,¡± Dad concluded. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how, but we¡¯ll let that be their problem.¡±


    Tony cracked his knuckles, ¡°Do you want me to feed into any conspiracy theories online?¡±


    ¡°If they come up it might not be a bad idea,¡± Dad acknowledged. ¡°It may also help if we set up some social pictures and lay a false trail to tone down any outlying suspicion.¡±


    ¡°I bet Mom¡¯s already on it,¡± I said.


    ¡°Probably,¡± Tony said.


    And we proceeded home without any further assessment. The mission, at least for tonight, was over. I glanced at the glowing ball, or trap we used to catch monsters. Its function was a mystery to me, but as long as it worked, I was pleased that I could finally put the smells and the delayed stinging of those ninja kitten''s claws far from my mind.


    I wadded up my jacket and placed it against my window. I didn¡¯t fall asleep, but I happily allowed myself to doze. It was hard and bizarre. I could hear the cows bawling, the Minotaur bellowing the kitten hissing all at once. Monster Assassins eventually get accustomed to the noise in all of its forms. Despite my experience and ability, I made a mental note to find some soft music and committed to getting better sleep.

 The Art of Suburban Stealth and Subterfuge

    When supernatural realities are not just on a television screen or the printed page, a monster assassin doesn¡¯t hide in a shady cabin or run-down hotel. A monster assassin knows how to blend into the crowd, gather intelligence unnoticed, and strike with lethal precision when the time is right.


    I stifled a yawn as Dad pulled into the garage forty-five minutes later. We were out of it, and I felt my compounded stress, sores, and stress release as the garage door closed. We were sealed off from the outside world and given the threats that we dealt with and that these adventures implied. It was a necessity to have a place where we could reset and relax.


    The three of us climbed out as Mom ushered us inside. After the first dozen encounters, Tony and I found it easier to ignore the clock altogether. It was late, and while I was ready to fall over, I knew sleep would be slow in coming. Mom took my arm and hauled me to a kitchen chair, where she examined my hands, feet, back, and chest, prodded my muscles, checked my blood pressure, and flicked a small flashlight across my vision. A monster assassin has some fantastic perks, but there is an ever-growing list of issues, concerns, fears, worries, paranoias, and don¡¯t get me started, social inconveniences. Friends? Not since high school? Dating? Tony and I, at one point, had managed to download dating apps, but the following encounter destroyed both of our phones. We¡¯re twenty-year-old adults still living at home while doing college online. Now, why do we live in the rural Midwest? The easy answer is plenty of people keep the big cities locked up tight. There are people in tights, yes, those kinds of people, and there is even a magical government complete with elected leaders, legislation, and grumpy people. The magical world had to modernize, and they¡¯ve done just that.


    With a lot going on behind the scenes, my parents set up shop and decided to raise a family and expand our network into a nondescript area. Believe me, small towns have mysteries, too, and this area has kept us pretty occupied three hundred and sixty-four days in the year. Fosters give new meaning to the phrase, ¡°game face.¡± We¡¯re not random, or abnormal. To the rest of the world, we¡¯re simply the Fosters and we use that to do what we do without anyone being any the wiser.


    It was also nice to be secretly wealthy. Thanks to a considerable family investment in the institution, we don¡¯t miss classes and don¡¯t have to worry about flunking out. Mom pressed her fingers gently into my face, around my nose, and then across my forehead. I sighed and let her do her thing. I didn¡¯t mind free and regular checkups. It certainly beat ending up in the obituary pages under an assumed name or a charred corpse on the evening news.


    ¡°Are you sore anywhere?¡± Mom asked. She gave us each a visual inspection. She had a headset where she muttered to herself in unbelievably detailed and anatomically specific terms, which she would then add to her well-kept medical histories of each of us.


    before putting her hands on her hips. Dad came up and gave her a kiss.


    ¡°Are we good, or do we need to have a family hospital?¡±


    I began to shake my head but stopped at threads of pain spread from my shoulders and into my back. I gritted my teeth as the pain centered between my shoulder blades, and my hands tingled. In the mad dash to evoke the distraction plan, I hadn¡¯t really focused on them, and adrenaline works wonders at the moment''s most tense situation. Mom crossed to me and gently pressed her fingers into my back, then she examined my hands.


    ¡°I¡¯d say these sting and itch more than anything else.¡±


    Mom sniffed, ¡°You¡¯re lucky, but it''s no laughing matter if you overload an enforcement. I watched the footage; it was an innovative idea, but many things could have gone wrong. You might not have had sufficient speed, or Minotaur could have attempted a more brutal attack at your dad and brother, which would have put you in striking range because he most likely would have swung from above.¡±


    She took another moment, and her brow furrowed. ¡°We¡¯ll need to set you with some basic counters. There is a faint discoloration on your fingertips. I¡¯m assuming you were wearing fingerless gloves?¡±               I nodded, ¡°The catapult feature coupled with the barrel roll.¡±


    Mom groaned, ¡°I don¡¯t think the exposure was concentrated enough to do any lasting damage. The coloration tells me that this minotaur was hauling around some residual from his last challenger. You¡¯ll need to take the full range of anti-venoms just to be safe.¡±


    ¡°Ugh, seriously?¡± I asked. ¡°It''s not like their horns are poisonous.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± Mom added, ¡°And to their credit, Minotaurs are immune to physical ailments and poisons, but we all know that certain creatures have components in their blood that are deadly to humans.¡±


    ¡°And they don¡¯t exactly bathe and sterilize their horns after any particular kill,¡± Dad acknowledged, ¡°it¡¯s probably a gym smell or a badge of honor among their kind. I¡¯ll talk to Pop, and we¡¯ll have counters on hand to combat infections and contaminations.¡±


    ¡°Pop should also create full hand gloves,¡± Mom said, ¡°The few seconds between evaluating your needs could make or break getting treatment in time.¡±


    ¡°Done deal,¡± Dad said, ¡°I¡¯ll also review the enforcement strength, so we avoid burns and broken bones.¡±


    An enforcement. It was a term coined by Grandpa Foster, or Pop, to describe the additional features loaded into a specific tool or object, which normally looks nondescript until we activate it or set it to go off while we lie in wait. My grandparents were once assassins in their own right. They were lucky to reach old age, but you can¡¯t just hang up your axe, sword, or exploding blender. Monster assassination for our family of Fosters historically had been a family business. There were other family members who weren¡¯t so lucky. We have a fair share of horror stories, all of which are chuck full of dumb luck and brash stupidity with plenty of trial and error and a mountain of family secrets.


    Mom applied multiple kinds of lotions and salves. After a quick bite, I slipped downstairs and slept for a few hours. Dad would probably be up most of the night, while Tony would be the next to get checked out. Tony and I never dealt with the logistical side of contracts, mainly to keep any potential clients ignorant of our family dynamic. I slumped against my pillow, selected a soothing album, and settled into sleep.


    By the time I awoke, the sunlight cut through a gap in the curtains, and I reasoned it was early afternoon. After a few minutes, I pushed myself out of bed, stretched, showered, and decided to settle in to hit the books. Out of the Fosters who actively take contracts and who call themselves assassins have, after a few generations, begrudgingly accepted the fact they were part-time treasure hunters as well. It¡¯s an unhappy point on the family tree, sometimes referred to as the family hiccup, but for the first few Fosters after Edward and Valerie and their introduction to magic along with plans and deeply seated emphasis, we had to be ready to take on the monsters in the world.


    I sprawled out on my bed with the typical leather-bound journal often typecasted for some fantasy adventure. Edward and Valerie were interesting relatives who, at some point, had found an annotated Grimm Fairy Tales along with what was described in our ancestor''s writing as a cash of knowledge and information. There were worries about survival and occasionally retirement, but most of the time, Edward and Valerie¡¯s children often speculated about the annotated book¡¯s code and the purpose of something called the Bundle. I could spout several family theories on the subject and most of them had turned into jokes. Despite this fact, the Bundle, over the years, had become the center of our attention and each branch of the family, namely my dad¡¯s brothers, our cousins, and a few extended cousins. Everyone wanted to find it and to know what it contained and if it was valuable.


    I set the journal aside and scooped up a new set of journals Mom had set aside for me to look at. These leather-bound tomes were embossed volumes suitable for a millionaire''s library. I read a card that gave a brief summary and several drawings, illustrations, and ramblings of the time period. After about two hours, I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to push myself to finish Victoria Foster''s commentary on monster politics and the months leading up to The Great War.


    She draws maps but has no concept of geography or art.


    We often joke that Fosters if they¡¯re not treasure hunters, they¡¯re wannabe artists. I''d seen a few drawings like this, and they often were an attempt to catalog their encounters, and how they ¡°dispatched their savage enemies¡±


    Their methods were counter-productive, if not crude and wildly ridiculous. A few of the older volumes were sometimes referred to as ¡°handbooks,¡± but each one contained plenty of ramblings and we soon found that up until the 1920s, most Fosters seemed eager to get to work and take on the bad guys like a gunslinger in Old Western dime novels, or gritty detectives, noir style in the big cities. They all dealt with a ton of monsters, but their writings showed that they had no clue what they were doing. I closed Victoria¡¯s journal, feeling annoyed that I had completely wasted my time. Victoria had quickly become one of several ancestors who presented the zeal, and dedication for the job, but they always rehashed the same ideas. They talked about how they chose their targets, or how, for the good of their city, state, and even the nation, and sometimes all three. Each entry often came off like a short story that had no ending. I tapped the journal and got to my feet. These journals are why T.V. shows shouldn¡¯t reboot or rehash old material even if it sells.


    Edward Foster: The strange references and theories I have made are based on my youth studies of stories long since considered fiction. I am in awe! The bundle¡¯s pages are old and filled with wild and detailed accounts regarding encounters with monsters and creatures not of this world. These beings range from fairy tales and folklore to some plucked straight from gothic nightmares. I have found that the writers, as I suspect several, have committed their thoughts to these pages but haven¡¯t grasped the gravity of their situation. A few appear to have corresponded with each other, while most of the entries seem to have offered a welcoming and bold fellowship. I detect there is something beneath these words. I feel a connection to these unnamed writers. It''s almost like a brotherhood has reached out to me from beyond the cosmos, and they are welcoming me into their ranks to take on a challenge. I must admit that I feel overwhelmed but excited and destined to take on such a mighty cause, even though I do not fully grasp the cost it might put on me.


    Valerie Foster: Edward has reviewed the pages and looks like a little schoolboy eager to impress his teacher and display his intelligence. I¡¯ve never seen him so anxious to learn and, metaphorically speaking, devour the bundle¡¯s contents. We¡¯ve decided to be vague about the bundle¡¯s contents and offer brief, deep descriptions should these writings ever be acquired by some unseemly foe.


    Colonel Reginald Foster: I feel well-equipped to tackle this great task and am vigilant and determined to tackle such an extreme calling. There was no election. There was no question. I am open to taking on this task despite the risks and uncertain dangers. The notion of dispatching monsters and defending the innocent. My brothers in arms have displayed incredible courage, and I am proud to be counted among them. Yet, they stand on the edge of ignorance because I must remain duly aware that there is more out there.


    If you read them with a Shakespearian vibrato, it¡¯s not too hard to take their robust, posh, and embellished voices and put them on stage, each one sounding more ridiculous than the last.


    Maybe the next set would be more worthwhile. I forced myself to dig into a few new pages and then I set it aside to send them off to a cousin living somewhere in Delaware. Once the books were secure, I licked my lips and placed a hand on my stomach. I was getting hungry.


    I wandered out of my room and lazily put my hair into a ponytail. When I was about halfway down the hallway, several noises drifted up the stairs from the kitchen.


    ¡°Hey Mom,¡± I said, working my way down to the stairs as Mom turned from the shirt and put a few dishes into the dishwasher while wearing a knee-length red dress with a thick black piece of material along the rounded neckline. She had a silver tube earpiece on her ear and was rather focused on securing the dishes and manning several pans on the stove while listening to something that required intense concentration, she indicated when she placed her fingers against the earpiece.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s exciting,¡± Mom said, padding her beehive bun, and I glimpsed a shiny Federation badge straight out of the Original Star Trek TV show.


    ¡°Has Dad slept at all?¡± I asked, taking a casual glance at the array of food options Mom had organized on a multi-tiered servering cart sitting beside the pantry door.


    ¡°Hold on,¡± Mom said, placing her fingers against the earpiece. I waited for Mom to pull her attention away, but in just under a minute, her expression went from intrigued to concerned, which was rarely a good sign. Mom occasionally listened to client conversations, normally to make sure that all the details had been documented correctly and to have a second opinion to try to avoid falling into a potential trap.


    In this situation, the wrap-up. If Mom was listening in, I had to assume that it had gone from terrible to chaotic considering the state of the farm and the potential legal attention this would generate.


    I gently padded my stomach; no sense in letting you suffer any longer.


    I began my debate between savory omelets and a few sugary cereals when Mom brought her hands down and dried them on a dish towel.


    ¡°Do I want to know?¡± I asked.


    Mom shook her head and chewed on her lips before straightening the towel on the oven handle.


    ¡°Dads on the bridge?¡± I asked, ¡°Are we taking all this there?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and the conversation hasn¡¯t been going well.¡± Mom said. ¡°I¡¯ve been listening in for the past hour. Our client informed us that there is an uproar for the M.A.G.E agency in the area. They¡¯ve launched their investigation, and the client is dead set that they knew the signs and want the Minotaur apprehended for questioning.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not going to be easy,¡± I said.


    Mom grimaced, ¡°Which only makes things worse, and it fuels conjecture directed right at the possibility of some covert group or a joint effort by illegal monster hunters, which doesn¡¯t make the agents happy, and it escalated when rumors began to spread that even the Messenger has gotten involved.¡±


    ¡°The Messenger?¡± The name sounded familiar, but it wasn¡¯t like I kept a running list of names in my head and some of the more mystic beings loved going by code names.


    ¡°He¡¯s a wizard,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°Oh!¡± It wasn¡¯t every day that you mentioned a wizard by name, especially if it''s one of the historically famous ones with a fancy code name.


    Magical creatures figured out how to blend in and mingle, but someone had to make sure the more bloodthirsty ones never crossed the line. Wizards fit that bill perfectly. I hadn¡¯t met a wizard, but several ancestors had chance encounters with them, and a few of them hadn¡¯t ended well. They¡¯re not evil, except for the dark one, of course. Still, wizards tend to be the most mysterious, as well as witches, though it''s pretty easy to see witches if you watch for the green shades of envy. I figured out my food but suddenly didn¡¯t feel as hungry as I had a moment ago.


    ¡°Our client is furious that wizards are investigating, and they want to scrutinize any mention of a minotaur, his human alias, and if there was any reason why he went out into the county.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s Mr. Morris taking it?¡±


    Mom shook her head. ¡°We don¡¯t know and it¡¯s not like Dad can just call him up and ask. I¡¯ve been expecting a call or a visit from the sheriff or the police all morning, but so far, it''s been radio silent.¡±


    ¡°Do you think Mr. Morris mentioned we were there?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Anything is possible,¡± Mom admitted. ¡°I watched the van¡¯s footage, and it looked like you guys managed to appear as though you had just arrived, but I am concerned that Mrs. Morris seemingly had been there the whole time and didn¡¯t notice anything.¡±


    ¡°It was dead silent,¡± I said, ¡°and I thought was strange as well.¡±


    I made my choices, but Mom gestured me to back away.


    ¡°Seriously?¡± I asked, ¡°I know what I want.¡±


    Mom stuck her tongue out at me and began to load food onto a wheeled cart. ¡°Let¡¯s get to the bridge. I¡¯ll let Dad go into detail. Dad just finished watching a news report about the event, and apparently, the police are calling it the worst case of vandalism ever in this area.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s not good,¡± I wheezed.


    ¡°Nope,¡± Mom agreed, ¡°Now let¡¯s get going.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go take my place,¡± I said breathlessly. At the same time, my mouth watered from the aromas, ¡°I have a feeling Dad is going to assume there is more to this encounter than we¡¯ve been led to believe.¡±


    Mom finished putting all the food on the cart, placed her hands on her lips, and took a moment to admire her handiwork.


    ¡°I¡¯ve trained you well, grasshopper.¡±


    Mom¡¯s role in the business was family medic, chef, nutrition expert, level-headed voice of reason, and communications specialist. Dad was the family tactician. He was brilliant and excellent at reading people, assessing threat levels, and creating plans, sometimes on the fly. As teens, Dad had grilled us on interrogation techniques, asking the right kind of questions while fighting and keeping an ear out for ticks, clicks, and concerns that our targets were stalling, binding their time, or if they were desperate. Mom added to these tactics with handy tips for things to watch out for, mainly traps and she was fantastic at knowing how to use practically anything around us to our advantage. Together, they were a fierce duo, and they modeled teamwork that helped us avoid some gruesome scrapes.


    I led the way back down the hall and stopped by the third picture, where Mom and Dad stood together on a staged Star Trek experience that had occurred in Las Vegas. I gently put my thumb against the corner of the picture and slid it twice to the left and twice to the right. Then, once it was back in place, I pressed the framed photo into the wall. There were three beeps, and I heard a faint hiss, which split a portion of the wall down the middle, opening a doorway into the bridge.


    Yes, the bridge. A literal replica of the bridge from Star Trek the Next Generation¡¯s Enterprise D bridge. Once you¡¯re across the threshold at this entrance, I had the option to move up a small incline to the tactical area and multiple computer bays used for various reasons on the show, ranging from research to engineering.  This upper level sat elevated above the commanding trio¡¯s chairs, and there was an open floor save for the helm seats and the famous view screen. Dad sat in the captain¡¯s chair and in place of pictures of planets, enemy ships, or some kind of data cataloging a phenomenon bent on destroying a star system, the planet, or the ship itself. Dad had assembled a splattered array of images and paused videos that documented multiple moments and a variety of angles of our barnyard encounter.


    Mom came in and moved left, coming down to the main floor and putting the food cart beside Counselor Troi¡¯s chair. Dad, meanwhile, had his attention firmly on a small tablet while he typed into the tiny keyboard set into the armrest. This room was Dad¡¯s area, and his interface gave him access to a data bank full of wanted posters, profiles, and a wide range of information collected, assembled, or questionably acquired over the years. The set seemed ludicrous, but we each had a unique space where we had complete privacy and could assemble information, and keep potentially dangerous, incriminating evidence beneath layers of safeguards. Most government agencies don¡¯t hold a candle to what we can do with technology. Dad cycled through the information from the Minotaur encounter which had plenty of clear shots of our faces, and the accompanying audio would only put a nail in our proverbial coffin. Mom prepped a plate, and Dad accepted it while the system processed the video footage. It was scary to think that if anyone got access, it could rip our well-tailored alibis apart. I pushed the thoughts away. We all learned pretty quickly to send paranoia packing. We could protect each other; we had to be ready to survive on our own. We have strengths, but each encounter reminds us of our mortality.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Ok, time for food.


    I moved around the back, quickly accessing a station to open my access to the family system. We had a databank to dig through, documenting our past encounters along with an archive of a range of lore and surveillance programs we could use to keep an eye on our target. I slipped into my seat; the one Lt. Commander Data would occupy while on duty. I saw miniature versions of the big stuff Dad had on the screen. I cleared it away and set security sweeps to alert my station if anyone decided to swing by the house to pay us a visit. Tony typically would sit across from me in the navigation chair. There, he¡¯d have access to archived information, video files, and footage for different areas inside and outside the house.


    ¡°How bad is it, Dad?¡± I asked.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t handle it well, but It¡¯s not a wreck your weekend situation yet,¡± Dad said, ¡°Somewhere, somehow we misread the situation, and the intel had to have been faulty.¡±


    ¡°In what way?¡± Mom asked.


    ¡°The reasons he was out near the farm,¡± Dad said, ¡®It doesn¡¯t make any sense. He went out there a handful of times and the moment he confronted, He didn¡¯t try to talk his way out. He immediately went on the offensive.¡±


    I slumped a little in my chair. ¡°Is this going to wreck the weekend?¡±


    Dad shook his head. ¡°it¡¯s not quite there.¡± He paused and then he added, ¡°Yet!¡±


    ¡°Oh boy,¡± I muttered. The phrase ¡°wreck your weekend¡± typically leaves a nasty taste in my mouth. Over the years we developed categories for different kinds of creatures and the threats they pose. There are also little hints we offer a conversation to say we screwed up yet again; saying you¡¯ve screwed up gets old really fast.


    ¡°It''s like we¡¯re kids again,¡± Tony said passing through the double doors, ¡°breakfast for lunch.¡±


    ¡°Grab your food and take your station, please,¡± Dad said, ¡°we better get this underway.¡±


    Dad clicked a few buttons, and several images appeared on the view screen with a stark red hue, a visual interaction about the nature of the conversation.


    ¡°Honey, would you play the video file Alpha Seven Zero?¡±


    ¡°Roger that,¡± Mom said. She stood at the top of the arch, sitting on a chair that spun three hundred and sixty degrees. The one feature that was not ever put in the TV show. Her fingers danced over multiple digital squeaks and pops. The noises were incredibly accurate, which is what made these spaces super cool to be inside of. I took a few bites as the view screen showed a regular computer desktop. Mom moved the cursor across the screen and played the requested video file.


    Our encounter with a man the world knew as Jared Swanson, a mail carrier in his mid-forties. He had been in the area for about five years, and after last night, we knew him as a Minotaur.


    The video started.


    ¡°Hello,¡± Dad¡¯s voice called from behind the camera, which was positioned right behind the driver¡¯s side rear-view mirror. The mail truck was an older model, and the door creaked loudly, even over the microphone, as Mr. Swanson climbed out. He had a young face with many lines that most would probably attribute to a lack of sleep.


    ¡°We¡¯re kind of lost,¡± Dad continued. ¡°Do you have a G.P.S. we could borrow to get back onto the main road?¡±


    ¡°I think so,¡± Mr. Swanson padded his coat pockets and then dropped his hands down to his pants pockets. I heard both Tony and myself say a few words, but the microphone had picked up feedback from the engine and Mr. Swanson.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure where,¡± Mr. Swanson continued in defeat. I hadn¡¯t realized it then, but the drastic and immediate change from a regular guy to an enraged monster. The indicators were quite alarming. I replayed the encounter in my mind as it played out on the screen. I vividly recalled how I felt in the car in those seconds before he went on the attack. I turned away as his human form vanished, and a knot formed in my stomach; some creatures changed form more gracefully than others. This transformation was pretty grotesque.


    Dad barked an order, and we piled out and sprinted toward the farm. While Jared, our target, opened his mouth and let out a fierce bellow no human larynx could ever have been able to produce. He pulled his arms back and beat his chest as every muscle and contour of his body broke away from clothing. Horns grew from his head; his entire body began to shake and tremble as he grew several inches and sprouted thick deep brown hair across every exposed portion of his body. The feed changed angles, and we scrambled for cover. I glanced at Tony, and he didn''t seem too keen to relive the experience either. Mom lowered the volume, and then Dad clicked the pause button on his armrest interface and rose to his feet. He approached the view screen, placing his arms behind his back. It was rather captain-like of him, but this was no simulation or a laughing matter.


    ¡°Out of several hundred encounters,¡± Dad analyzed. ¡°we¡¯ve approached vampires, goblins, trolls, imps, crocodiles with two legs.¡±


    ¡°And let¡¯s not forget the mummies, the zombies, the mermaids, the werewolves and large rats.¡±


    ¡°Gross,¡± I muttered, but the conversation continued without any kind of acknowledgment.


    ¡°What was it about our introduction?¡± Dad said motioning to the screen. ¡°I asked a simple question. One that dozens of people would have responded with a joke or simple comment. Jared, he didn¡¯t¡±


    Dad returned his attention to the screen. ¡°We all know that Jared Swanson¡¯s presence had reached the point where an M.A.G.E representative was worried something was wrong. These days, if someone in the dead of night is moving around homes, businesses, and farms on the outskirts of town, if they¡¯re not criminals, they¡¯re creatures up to no good.¡±


    Tony lifted a hand, and Dad motioned to him.


    ¡°I know most conspiracy theories when it comes to monsters are accurate, and I¡¯ll be the first to admit that we could have handled it better. Still, I don¡¯t get why we¡¯re analyzing this so deeply. Did our client get exposed? Are we possibly in trouble? Are there people wanting to protest? Did Mr. Morris point the authorities in our direction?¡±


    Dad raised his hand. ¡°Those are good questions and there is always plenty of political shakeup and turmoil. Fortunately, it seems we¡¯re in the clear for now. We¡¯ll talk about it more in a moment, but first Honey, would you add your observation.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I would,¡± Mom dove back into the console and brought up a few still frames from the video, both of Jared in his human form and in the moments right before he transformed. I quickly polished off my food as Mom enlarged a few images, complete with cow horns protruding from a human forehead and a nearly melting face. Tony squirmed in disgust before setting his bowl on the counter. I followed suit by setting my bowl down beside me.


    ¡°As I watched the encounter, I was stunned and rather alarmed at Jared¡¯s emotional trauma. We¡¯re focusing on this because monsters assess threats differently than humans. We get nervous, defensive, and possibly paranoid. Jared was different. Most monsters can replicate human emotions and use them to blend in. The fact that he responded and then immediately lashed out at you three, makes me worried that he may have been aware of a larger threat.¡±


    ¡°A threat that he deemed dangerous to himself,¡± Dad added.


    Mom made some noises on her console and new information appeared on the view screen. ¡°Now, to spare you all from an in-depth psychological evaluation.¡±


    Mom held a clicker to the screen, and the image zoomed in. The first slide was a still frame capture of the Minotaur¡¯s human disguise along with close to a dozen or more tiny green circles, interconnecting lines, and small boxes of text highlighting the relevant analysis of the displayed image. I didn¡¯t quite understand the science of micro expressions, but I was beginning to grasp it, and my parents were adamant it was a science that would help us read people and a situation.


    ¡°Based on the car¡¯s cam footage,¡± Mom narrated. She moved a cursor arrow to several key circles by the human face. ¡°It''s pretty apparent the Minotaur mailman was in a heightened state of anxiety and agitation.¡±


    ¡°We did surprise him,¡± Tony asked, ¡°if he was on the hunt, he probably was worried we were going to get in his way.¡±


    ¡°Our M.A.G.E contacts thought the same thing,¡± Dad said, ¡°we could have been his potential enemy, and monsters'' human appearance doesn¡¯t have to align to any particular age or body size.¡±


    ¡°The counter to the logic,¡± Mom added, ¡°is based on their assessment. Jared¡¯s human reputation was spotless. He came off as a level-headed man. He was a good neighbor, and there were suspicions, worries, or any of the signs to hint that he was breaking away from his human persona and reverting to his true form and habits.¡±


    I folded my arms as the footage crossed my screen. All was quiet outside the house. ¡°So, if he was such an outstanding person, what was he doing out near the farm? What sort of threat would he consider so terrifying that he¡¯d keep going out there and then attack the first person he came across? It doesn¡¯t make sense that he wouldn¡¯t have asked any of his friends for help or backup.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a good point Emma,¡± Dad acknowledged, ¡°and there is some concern that Jared may have left some kind of clue with someone he trusted. M.A.G.E is investigating his associates, but they¡¯re worried someone else, maybe someone more terrifying could go off the rails.¡±


    ¡°It also begs the question, is the threat out there in the county? or was he on something¡¯s trail?¡± Tony said.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Dad said, ¡°and Mr. Morris¡¯s angle creates some trouble because he¡¯ll now have police protection and he¡¯ll be on high alert along with all of his workers.¡±


    Dad scratched his chin. ¡°He was out there, and we don¡¯t know why. That is scary.¡±


    I glanced at the screen as the mail was dropped up and some teenagers wandered up the block. Dad often mulled over problems and inconsistencies in behaviors and testimony. I felt puzzled, and I was surprised Tony looked a bit perplexed.


    ¡°Why do we need to know why? Isn''t that what M.A.G.E investigations teams are for?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but that''s where the line crosses,¡± Dad said. ¡°And that¡¯s where things get dicey inside M.A.G.E. There are layers of security that prevent them from figuring out who we are. Where we live and anything about us. I reasoned over the years, having dealt with a few different officials inside M.A.G.E, that word does get around, but they¡¯ve never had anything concrete to investigate, and I deal with the contracts to make sure that nothing is ever confirmed.¡±


    ¡°Which raises the alarm that since we were given a contract and a target with possibly bad intel.¡± Mom said, ¡°That means, in theory, someone possibly wants to shake things up.¡±


    ¡°Like a government mole or some rogue agent?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°Anything is possible,¡± Dad said with a narrow brow. ¡°We need to pin down why Jared was going out to the county because the why would explain why he lashed out at us, and if there is someone who used their M.A.G.E connections, or worse their knowledge of us to do their dirty work.¡±


    Dad rarely likes to use the term, dirty work. We had to lie, cheat, steal, injure, and decapitate to list a few of our dastardly deeds. When we did the hard job, people could sleep at people, and we made sure that it was for a reason. We didn¡¯t just kill for the sake of killing.


    If someone had used us to deal with an innocent individual. That was unacceptable.


    Tony rolled his eyes, looking a little annoyed, and helped himself to more food.


    ¡°So, we¡¯re chasing after shadows until we pin down that some politician is terrified about losing an election, or they¡¯re concerned about some brewing scandal.¡±


    ¡°Yes and no,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°Ok,¡± Tony said.


    ¡°Unlike our past encounters when we¡¯ve had to go to ground for a few weeks to a month. Those instances were logical and clear-cut. We should be on our guard because, over the next little while, the jobs we get could have comparable results.¡±


    ¡°Which we wouldn¡¯t know about until we¡¯re staring down the snout of who knows what,¡± Dad said. ¡°I know we often joke about dumb luck when it comes to encounters, but I don¡¯t like being blindsided and if people are aware of us. We need to know who they are and what they know so they can¡¯t spoil our operation.¡±


    Tony returned to his seat and held up his hands in surrender. The back and forth may have seemed one-sided, but we often chatted like this. We had to review everything to hopefully not overlook the obvious.


    Tony then motioned to me, ¡°Emma, do you see any reason we need to be on death con 1?


    My eyes fell on my console screen as I considered Tony¡¯s question and everything we had seen, considered, and put into perspective. We did have a sizable history dealing with politics and corruption. Some relatives, if the records were accurate, had even served in multiple layers of government state, federal, and magical. In most cases before the big reveals, there was understandable worry; and if M.A.G.E had a spy in their ranks, the shake-up would be brutal, and if there was an unknown threat lurking in the shadows, biding its time while having been able to avoid detection by the smartest and most dangerous individual the world had ever presented to society. That would be alarming and terrifying, to say the least.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a bad idea to be cautious,¡± I replied, and I glanced down at my console. The word stuck in my mind. Cautious? I pictured the Minotaur as a man and opened the video to watch our initial interaction. It wasn¡¯t uncommon for us to take off on tangles. Dad, Tony, and Mom continued the conversation while I worked.


    ¡°Dad, have you considered any mythological influences?¡± Tony interjected. ¡°What if M.A.G.E is getting all worked up over nothing? The Minotaur might have been doing something like a werewolf when one howls at the moon.


    Mom folded her arms behind her back, and from the corner of my eye, I could see she was considering the idea.


    ¡°I¡¯ll admit I¡¯m a bit rusty on my Greek myths, but this could have something to do with the sacrifices and the Labyrinth.¡±


    Dad scratched at his chin, then pulled his shirt down in a Captain Picard sort of way. ¡°It is autumn so maybe the Minotaur was feeling some sort of nostalgia for its historical roots. There are a few farmers in the area who do corn mazes, which is a possibility, but that also means the Minotaur was on the warpath to commit mass murder. I don¡¯t think other Minotaurs will appreciate the accusation because our client assures me this was an isolated event. No other identified Minotaur had been exhibiting the same kind of behavior.¡±


    ¡°Then maybe it was some kind of challenge. The monster equivalent of a dare. Or maybe was he looking for something?¡± Tony suggested.


    ¡°That is a lead,¡± Dad agreed. I let out an exhale and zoomed in on the feed, but there were cues in his voice where I knew he had things on his mind that he wasn¡¯t ready or sure how to verbalize.


    ¡°A challenge or a dare,¡± Dad continued, ¡°Honey, could we see the other images, please? It is possible, but did he have anything with him? Was he trying to hide something from us?¡±


    I paused my work and leaned back as Mom moved to a new set of images. I tensed and fidgeted in my seat at the awkward and unflattering photos of a man with a thick jaw and flared nostrils. These were expressions moments before he launched his first attack. Tony licked his lips, and I recalled the seconds he piled out of the car before his skin stretched and split and his clothing ripped before he gained a few feet in height. If he had had something in his hand, or if he had wanted to hide something. He must have hidden it, or it had been in his pocket which he shredded when he transformed.


    Dad crossed his arms over his chest, ¡°It''s too hard to tell if he had anything in his hands. As far as I can see he was standing his ground.¡±


    I clicked my tongue in contemplation. ¡°Tony¡¯s idea about a challenge is the best theory we have. It''s possible he was scared, and we have an enemy lurking in the shadows. Equally like is that he was looking for something, feeling nostalgic for his roots and he may have ended up in a corn maze. Or he was looking for something, and he was worried that people might come and take it from him, what it was.¡±


    ¡°If we know any good historians,¡± Dad said, ¡°we should have them investigate the land for any burial sites or major historical events. The Minotaur myth has been around for centuries. Perhaps there is a historical clue to his actions.¡±


    ¡°Good idea,¡± Mom said, ¡°and-¡±


    She trailed off as nearly every light in the room turned red, and a siren began to beep.


    ¡°A Red Alert?¡± Dad questioned with a look of alarm, ¡°Tony, is there anything going on outside? Emma, check the feeds inside the house. I¡¯ll prepare the lockdown.¡±


    We jumped into action, all anxious and alarmed. I checked every camera we had, and I watched all the doors upstairs and downstairs close and lock. I didn¡¯t dare blink just in case something was seconds away from revealing itself. We didn¡¯t have pets, but occasionally the neighbors did trigger alarms.


    ¡°I¡¯ve completed an initial sweep,¡± Tony said. ¡°I don¡¯t see anything.¡±


    ¡°Me neither,¡± I said.


    The mood on the bridge immediately felt stiff, if not anxious, sprinkled with alarm. Why wouldn¡¯t it have escalated so quickly? We had just spent the last forty-five minutes talking about moles, spies, and secret enemies. We had also been worried that someone knew about us.


    ¡°The house is locked down.¡± Mom said.


    ¡°No one has gained entry into the house,¡± I confirmed, ¡°We¡¯re alone.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Dad said, ¡°but we¡¯re not out of the woods yet. Something set up the Red Alert, and I want to know what. Emma, help Tony with the feeds outside. Expand the search down the street if you have to.¡±


    ¡°On it,¡± I said.


    I rubbed my hands together and set my control to continue to scan inside the house. I had to be sure nothing was able to breach our lockdown. We couldn¡¯t venture out of the bridge, let alone the house without information. There is no such thing as a false alarm for a Monster assassin. We had our fair share of enemies without claws, muscles, and powers which weren¡¯t special video effects to create a spectacle, but the real deal.


    ¡°Tony,¡± Dad said.


    ¡°There¡¯s been minimal activity on the street,¡± Tony said. He had commandeered the view screen, but his attention was squarely on his console screen. This should have been a happy note, and then we could have stood down the Red Alert, but we couldn''t.


    ¡°We need answers,¡± Dad said, ¡°Honey, anything in the backyard?¡±


    ¡°Negative,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°I¡¯ve set it for the same twenty-minute period,¡± Tony said.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing,¡± I said, and I rose to my feet and moved back toward Dad for a better view, and Mom came down by Dad¡¯s side. The only sound in the room was the beeps from Tony¡¯s console as he opened multiple windows to present a variety of active camera angles. We had one over the door and one in each rose bush that ran along the edge of the front and back yard and stopped at the sidewalk.


    There was nothing out of the ordinary. It was a regular day.


    So why the Red Alert?


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± Dad said; the hesitation and uncertainty were lingering, which wasn¡¯t good. We were safe on the bridge, but if we wanted to fight back, we needed to leave, and to leave meant we¡¯d have to be ready to face an enemy unaware.


    ¡°What are the odds we¡¯d have an alarm triggered the day after we fight a Minotaur? That puts the whole operation into question.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve double-checked the garden gnomes and the car¡¯s rear and back camera. There is nothing.¡±


    ¡°Could we have been followed home?¡± I asked.


    Mom was quick to reply. ¡°The cars'' cameras didn¡¯t detect any kind of light source along the road or in the fields during the fight. This is suspicious, but if we had someone spying on us, we would have seen them by now.¡±


    She was right, given the measures and steps we had to take daily to avoid suspicion and awkward encounters. Dad lowered the volume, but the bridge maintained the concerned red color, and we all knew the system didn¡¯t lie. We had to pin down the threat and then proceed with a counterattack.


    ¡°Keep the feed on a constant sweep,¡± Dad gripped the back of my chair. He looked so laser-focused that he probably could have lit a fire with his stare. ¡°Let¡¯s get a bird''s eye view from the flagpole.¡±


    ¡°Which flagpole?¡± Tony asked. ¡°We have one Miller¡¯s on the corner, and then we have old Colonel Barett two houses down.¡±


    ¡°The colonel¡¯s,¡± Dad said, ¡°he¡¯s on the opposite side of the street. The Miller¡¯s won¡¯t tell us anything because traffic has been heavy for the past two hours.¡±


    ¡°Alright, here¡¯s what we see from the colonel¡¯s,¡± Tony said.


    Tony shrank the dozen or so monitors he had running, giving the pole footage as the room''s central focus. Colonel Barett was an older gentleman, a human, and a lifetime aficionado of military history and war. He had fought for months and successfully got a city-sanctioned pole that overlooked almost the entire street. He often spent time at military sites or teaching history at the local university, so getting an angled frontal view of our house and a good chunk of the entire block hadn''t been too hard.


    Along with the rest, I scanned the footage for concerns and evidence of a threat. Our neighbors had been large hedges, and strategically, an enemy could lurk behind them. There was plenty of space, and I figured the distance between the hedge and their side yard was mostly obstructed. Plus, most houses on our street were empty at this time of day, and we didn¡¯t know the size of our potential spy or maybe spies. There were small creatures that couldn¡¯t easily be confused for wandering cats or stray dogs. I watched the hedges, but nothing screamed ¡°hiding place¡±, and the foliage was thick enough. I doubted it would betray anything on the opposite side if their movements were subtle and controlled. Dad moved closer to the view screen, and Mom opted to move toward the back and take her place on the arch console.


    ¡°Come out, come out wherever you are,¡± Dad said.


    That single phrase certainly verbalized the mood in the room. Tony set the footage, and we watched. A few cars slipped by, and three people ran past the driveway, one of whom had a dog on a lease.


    Or were there two dogs?


    ¡°Hey Tony, rewind it a few minutes again,¡± I said. I had to see it again to make sure I was right.


    ¡°How long?¡± Tony asked, his finger hovering over a digital dial to set the footage at any indicated time index.


    ¡°Four minutes or so,¡± I confirmed.


    The cars and joggers began to move backward. I spotted a bird sitting on a powerline I hadn¡¯t noticed before. I made sure my hair was out of my face and did my best impression of Dad. I got close to the screen; I knew the answer was right in front of me.


    ¡°There!¡± I called. Tony immediately froze the video feed. I moved to my console, and Tony allowed me to mess with the feed. I adjusted the angle and zoomed in on a glitch that fuzzed right in front of our mailbox.


    ¡°How much do you want to bet that fuzzy part isn¡¯t pixelation or dust on the lens?¡±


    ¡°It most definitely is not,¡± Dad confirmed, returning to the captain¡¯s chair. I swiveled in my chair while Mom dialed in and cleared the footage of any pixelation and weather obstructions on the lenses. Tony secured the image and set a few filters, revealing two people; they had no recognizable features apart from black clothing and dark masks. They could have easily been two burglars from B-rate crime movies, which was a bit of a letdown, but in the Monster world, things aren¡¯t what they seem.


    ¡°What are they doing?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°As far as I can tell, they¡¯re messing with the mailbox, but they haven¡¯t opened it.¡± Mom said, ¡°They¡¯re also using some kind of cloaking enforcement.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s ironic, given where we are,¡± Tony said.


    Dad straightened up. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Dad, what do you mean?¡± He didn¡¯t respond right away. Instead, he turned his attention to his armrest screen. After a moment, he snapped his fingers and looked visibly annoyed.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me!¡± Dad exclaimed.


    ¡°Darling?¡± Mom prodded.


    ¡°It looks like you¡¯ve got cousins in town.¡± Dad said, ¡°And they¡¯ve initiated a war game.¡±


    ¡°A war game,¡± Mom said, exasperated, ¡°Which one?¡±


    ¡°Tony, zoom in closer on the mailbox.¡±


    ¡°This had better not be a War Game,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯m still mad at the last one.¡±


    ¡°Annabel likes to cheat,¡± I added.


    Tony shot me a nod and switched the feed to live. The street was empty, but as he zoomed in and applied multiple filters, we all groaned when nearly two dozen circles were on the mailbox and the stock that held it up for the mailman.


    I was the first to speak up. ¡°Well, this is certainly a way to ruin a weekend. I hate the curse of the stickers.¡±

 Family War Games

    A new age of training


    Monster assassins exist in an age where monsters have substituted dungeons for dine-in restaurants. They have traded in robes, cloaks, and tunics for designer suits and board rooms. They¡¯ll haunt the forest as much as they¡¯ll haunt a hallway or a back alley. Your skills are as diverse as the threats you face, and your resolve is as unyielding as the steel in your hand.


    Our anxiety turned into embarrassment, but we had practice to shrug it off. The timing was astronomically idiotic, but if not savage monster who better to throw our day¡¯s game than an impromptu visit from your extended family?


    Dad shut off the Red Alert and we watched the footage through a variety of filters while Mom lifted the lockdown. Tony and I shared a dismal expression while Dad stared at the view screen with a condemning glare, although condemning may not have been the right word. We watched their arrival, and their interaction with our mailbox. If they had any indication that they had set off an alarm; their body language didn¡¯t show it, nor did it offer any clue as to who it was. We could guess, but family war games were common enough, and there was a list of the most likely members who would initiate one. Once they left, we watched it a few more times on a replay.


    Fosters treat reunions, gatherings, and holidays like interactive games of Risk, and my parents were top-notch players. If we had a multiverse of Fosters, my dad could have easily been a lawyer, given his interaction with Mr. Morris. Dad most definitely could have been a motivational coach, an evil genius, a family doctor on TV, a warlord, a game show host, or an eccentric candy maker with a factory right in the middle of town. Dad displayed his array of faces showcasing moods and attitudes while he assumed the correct one for the task. Dad had a terrific game face, a smug poker face. He could keep a straight face and tell a joke. He had a stage face to talk his way out of problems, and then there was his competitive face.


    It had been a while, nearly five years since the last war game, but someone in the family had come to town and graced us with their presence in the most ridiculous way possible. It would have been impolite not to respond, after all, they were family.


    This war game. The curse of the stickers. It had a unique history. One that stoked both Tony and I¡¯s youthful memories. We finished off some food and we hurried to our respective rooms and dressed, while Dad and Mom did the same before setting up our tool kits.


    Family war games were no laughing matter.


    ¡°Who do you think is in town?¡± Tony asked ten minutes later. I sat on a bench and put on my shoes while he adjusted his watch and then put on his jacket. We all had clothes we didn¡¯t mind getting dirty or possibly tossing them into the garbage before the night was out. Tony had a few bulges in his pocket, which told me he was not playing around and seemed suspicious enough to take a few extra precautions.


    ¡°The Stickers game is a common enough challenge,¡± I replied, grabbing my jacket and putting it on. I made sure all the pockets were probably secured and loaded. ¡°I could guess, but our visitors covered their tracks well enough. We also have done it since we were kids. I bet whoever it is thinks we¡¯re rusty.¡±


    ¡°My money¡¯s on Uncle Cody and crew,¡± Tony said.


    I shook my head and grabbed my keys, ¡°Revenge of the stickers isn¡¯t his style, and you know Gretel doesn¡¯t like to get her outfits a mess. She wouldn¡¯t be interested in such an obviously messy game.¡±


    Tony put some gum in his mouth. ¡°True, but that is the kind of supposition that could get us into trouble.¡±


    ¡°Agreed!¡±


    Dad¡¯s voice carried from upstairs before he appeared at the top and descended. ¡°Remember, we call these things games, but they are training exercises. I¡¯m not a fan of the timing, but monsters don¡¯t work on helpful schedules. We¡¯re not rusty, but it¡¯s a good idea to keep our skills sharp. Once we go outside, we treat this like any other effort pre-encounter.¡±


    ¡°We know and we¡¯re ready,¡± Tony interjected. ¡°You¡¯ve trained us well enough to not go into a situation blind.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to think so, and you both handled last night really well,¡± Dad said, ¡°Equally important, though, is sometimes we must operate with half a dossier. We couldn¡¯t identify our target, so we must assume a specific threat level until evidence suggests otherwise. Now for kicks, Tony; before we go, tell me the top three ways to scout out a target in a public venue?¡±


    Tony snickered at the question. It was an easy one. Mom and Dad had drilled the techniques into our head¡¯s multiple times.


    Tony snapped his fingers. ¡°You should see who is trying to avoid a large crowd, take an extra minute before entering potential bottlenecks, and don¡¯t stay in one place for too long.¡±


    Dad then turned to me.


    ¡°Emma, which one did he miss?¡±


    I raised an eyebrow, confused at the question. Tony meanwhile pointed an accusatory finger at Dad. His expression made me laugh. ¡°Dad, you asked for three ways and he¡¯s right.¡±


    ¡°I did, but you missed a big one, so I guess there are now four,¡± Dad said. Then he motioned to me. I grabbed my keys and took hold of the door, and I turned the knob and pulled, jumping back as three distinct pulleys and cranks whizzed out of control. Dad jumped back, nearly tumbling over the couch, while Tony yelped. He flipped backward and stumbled into the coat closet. Mom rushed to the top of the stairs, and I put my back against the wall as three basketball-sized balloons flew through the open door, hitting the wall and exploding in a loud, satisfactory slump. I pushed it close as thick red ooze dripped down the wall. Dad straightened up while Tony secured his release from a few fallen coats and some oversized snow boots.


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± Tony snapped; his expression tensed, and he winced as he spoke. Mom hurried down and immediately began an examination. ¡°Expect the unexpected.¡±


    ¡°Not bad, but in this case no,¡± Dad said, his keys jingled before he wrapped his fingers around them. ¡°When scouting out a target, regardless of the type of monster, when it comes to these games. Fosters don¡¯t play fair.¡±


    There were no other traps, and after a quick inspection of the mailbox, we found that our challengers were waiting for us to pick the field of combat. In our line of work, we surveyed the street but quickly got into our own vehicles, each equipped with survival tools, cameras, and communication systems encrypted and linked within the family. We had enforcement and cash.


    Bear in mind that these games don¡¯t mean that if we had regular family reunions, we would, upon arrival, immediately try to hurt, kill, or embarrass each other. Some family members would try to do something. We were far from sitting around the yard eating burgers and playing board games. We were a family of covert assassins, and we lived dangerous lives, so we were constantly on the edge. In a weird way, these games were a way to keep that reality present while having a little fun. If by fun, you realize that all forty-two options could end with tiny scars, public humiliation, and awkward laughter. As I headed into town, I was left with a bitter taste in my mouth. It only took about half a dozen games before the thrill became subpar, like the rerun of a favorite show. The games have their uses, and they were training exercises. Yet, they didn¡¯t capture the real threat. We were good, but it is all guesswork when you can¡¯t think like a monster. You can¡¯t recreate the same death-defying odds from creatures that can flatten cars, breathe fire and generate ice, or those who can see in the dark. Monsters are out there, and they have gotten so good at blending in. The real task within Foster¡¯s family games was to do the same. You must blend in. You must appear unseemly until you lure your target into a false sense of security.


    It is knowing your enemy in a way and still being able to sleep at night.


    After several blocks, I utilized basic evasive tactics to check for any tails or possible sneak attacks. Traffic was relatively mild, which was odd for two o''clock in the afternoon, but I saw no traffic detours or red flags like abnormal numbers of people on the road. A stray baby stroller moving down the sidewalk with someone desperately trying to catch it. I pulled into a large neighborhood with massive houses and towering trees. We had a small house on the block compared to these homes. I saw no people working on cars, checking their mail, or chatting with their neighbors. The lack of potential leads didn¡¯t sway me from looking. They were out there, though, and they weren¡¯t going to make it easy.


    I maneuvered back through the neighborhood and came to an intersection that took me into the commercial district. I merged into traffic, headed up a few blocks where I settled into the nearest parking stall outside the local mall. I let the car idle for a few moments and pulled out my phone to send a few messages. Even without a game in play, we needed to know where each other was at all times, just in case.


    Tony: Why do these games make everything, and everyone look so suspicious?


    Dad: Because you¡¯re paying attention.


    I snickered at the witty comeback I considered putting into the conversation but opted to keep it to myself this time. Instead, I typed out my reply simply conveying that I was in position and where I was.


    Message sent.


    I clicked my phone into the standby mode and stuck it back in my pocket. I only had a few minutes to set a plan of attack. These games had general rules; in the case of our sticker game, the task was for the challenging family to put an enforced sticker somewhere on their opponent''s body. Once they were far enough away, they could trigger the sticker like a time-delayed fuse. If the attackers are successful, the sticker¡¯s enforcement would activate with effects ranging from incredible foul odors, temporary dyes, and even mild illusions, such as gum on your shoe, torn clothing, or something that would make you look like a complete idiot in public.


    The hard part was to do it unnoticed. The effects only lasted about ten minutes, but sometimes, things like the smells would linger. Or we¡¯d have to talk our way out of trouble. While under the sticker¡¯s enforcement and its effects. That was prime time to try and get a second, if not a third or a fourth somewhere on their person.


    Our advantage as the defending challengers. We could employ a wide range of nonlethal tools and traps, which, once activated, present similar effects that they¡¯d have to live through. The comparison was the challenging family, they were the assassins. Our larger arsenal of possibilities from home-field advantage and proximity traps were meant to replicate the possibilities of things like brute strength or some natural ability. We didn¡¯t know who they were yet, but likewise, they had no idea what we had brought along or if our home defenses had offered any clues as to their identity.


    While in play, if we managed to hit, trap, mark, or ensnare my challenger. They would be under the same social problems, but like a monster, if I could tag my attacker and slip away, the effects would double. We often played a game for several hours. I had chosen my location, so I had to outlast my challenger for about two hours before I could change location, which represented changing the stakes and if other family members hadn¡¯t been tagged by their challengers. We could join forces, they could not. The game was over by dinnertime.


    I unclicked my seatbelt and headed into the mall. I was reasonably sure no one would try a sneak attack in the parking lot, but Dad was right: Fosters don¡¯t play fair, and a parking lot would be the prime place to strike. At the same time, catching us outside was a low blow and a dangerous risk. You don¡¯t just walk up behind a vampire. Their natural agility would snap your wrist like a twig. When you¡¯re out in the open, that makes other people suspicious and of course, we want to avoid that.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    So, what would a challenger do? If it were me, I would have arrived as quickly as possible and gained entry to hopefully catch my opponent in the act of setting traps. It''s harder to prepare when you don¡¯t have a head start.


    Sadly, they were in for a few surprises. We hardly went anywhere around town where we were ready for the potential surprise, especially if they were places, we often like to visit.


    Ping, message alert.


    I slid into a corner and checked my notifications. My parents acknowledged my initial message, and the family app indicated that the game had begun. This was the queue to say that a family member was at my location, and they were on the move.


    I ignored the urge to glance back toward the parking lot, then proceeded toward a junction in the mall¡¯s interior that forked toward a Sporting Goods store and a kid-friendly arcade complete with a bouncy house and a VR area. I glimpsed a bookstore, multiple clothing stores, and several lounge areas occupied with teens eating or hanging out on their cell phones. While older individuals read magazines in massage chairs. There were more people than I anticipated, but it wasn¡¯t Christmas yet, so large lines or groups weren¡¯t a problem. I didn¡¯t immediately recognize anyone, but it was allowed to use disguises. I worked my way around the perimeter, double-checking my proximity as I advanced to see if anyone might try and dart out at me, or if someone might attempt to use a large group as a cover. There was no one, all was relatively quiet. The people around me were people minding their own business.


    Or were they?


    Who would decide to come after me, and what would their strategy be?


    The mall had at least six different entrances apart from the one I had used. I knew at least two that were external doors to department stores. This warranted consideration given that a mall was so open, it would make sense for either of us to choose a select set of stores and alternate between while watching for any indication the other person was close by. I had typical social media, so my challenger might know what I looked like, but I could use disguises, and on principle, we kept the pictures at least a few months, if not a year old.


    For now, I needed to establish a home base where I could keep watch because out here, I was a sitting duck. The inside of a store wasn¡¯t off limits, but it did make it harder to get away because other patrons would be watching for someone doing something suspicious.


    Did I want a clothing store or a large retail space with multiple areas, large-scale foot traffic, and possibly obstructed views?


    There were a few different stores, a few were small, and there was no way I could spend more than thirty minutes in one. Recurring visits would be a no-go unless I had to duck into one to avoid a group or if something happened that could distract me from someone trying to get close.


    I glanced at the closest store as I cleared a large garbage can and the first pillar. I could go into the bookstore; would they suspect that? It had lounge areas, and plenty of people of all ages liked to hang out to test the possibility of a new book while working on their computers or eating a treat at the cafe.


    It was the best place to start. Bookstores have a lot of foot traffic and there were plenty of places to take cover. I headed to the entrance but stopped when I spotted a sign indicating an author¡¯s signing. I didn¡¯t recognize the name or the title, but a book called, The Lost Curriculum of Magic probably would be an interesting read. I could try to join the group, but I didn¡¯t really have time to read fiction, and I did dare linger by an external door.


    Within ten seconds, several attendees smiled and took off to other parts of the store while a new wave of people sauntered in from an external entrance.


    Sorry bookstore, maybe another time. From my vantage point, it didn¡¯t seem like too many people were in the store, but my challenger could be on their knees pretending to look at books on the lower shelves or hanging out in one of the lounge chairs. It was a risk. I could consider joining the author signing, but most adults look like chaperones instead of fans. I hadn¡¯t read the book, so I doubted I could blend in.


    This whole game is meant to simulate a real-world encounter. I moved wide and approached a small group of kiosks selling everything from custom shirts to sunglasses and jewelry. It was unlikely that they could swap themselves in place with a vendor. I proceeded passed them as not one, but two security guards came around the corner. I rolled my shoulder and kept my gaze on the windows appearing as though I was window shopping.


    Would my challenger use a disguise, or would they just blend in with the crowd? Our family history with the games had me a little worried. We had a childish attitude toward the games, and now we had adult money to throw at our effort. I moved my attention past the kiosks and glimpsed a fitness store¡¯s ad for new powder and liquid protein supplement varieties. I forced a smile and headed past the guard. He looked grumpy and judgmental, but he probably had the attitude, especially the teenagers.


    I wish I had a better idea about who I¡¯m against.


    In those moments leading up to an encounter. When you don¡¯t know who your enemy is, and in a modern society. You have to account for a monster''s attitude, history, and what they might do if they believe themselves to be in danger.


    Fosters, we make up for that with Super Bowl-level enthusiasm and just like a monster, there are small tells that could give you away. Did their hair match their facial features and size? Did their demeanor match their physical size, or were they using fake bellies, prosthetics, or layered clothing to hide their actual appearance? I needed to secure a position where I could secure and utilize my tools to monitor the mall.


    I inched toward the nearest store. My next reasonable would be to browse and possibly buy something. If I picked the right store, one of them could have a Try On area which could give me a few minutes of privacy. If I did try something, I would probably have to buy it, which wasn¡¯t a terrible prospect, even when some of the articles would be terribly overpriced. I wouldn¡¯t have minded having nice clothes, but we lived with hazards. If I bought anything new, there was a chance it would get dirty as there was a chance for it to get ripped, torn, shredded, or destroyed in unrealistic and unimaginable ways. Between protecting our looks and protecting ourselves from attack, we¡¯d have to live to fight another day; otherwise, we might as well just retire and get regular jobs, which wouldn¡¯t happen.


    I was thinking too much. I had to make my move.


    I backed against the wall as a large family rushed past me, probably heading to the food court. I could smell gourmet pretzels in their buttery glory and in my mouth water. The rich salty aroma was then quickly forced into combat with a number of scented lotions and perfumes from a neighboring vendor. The burst of fragrance surprised me, but I didn¡¯t consider it a trap or a warning for the moment.


    Once the family had slipped around the corner, I noted a cell phone store and an entertainment store that sold everything from video games and comics to figurines and movies; most were used so it wouldn¡¯t draw a large crowd, and I was far from the invested comic book nerd compared to the avid movie goers and the convention attendees. I didn¡¯t analyze it, I just headed for it. I had to take the risk to convince my challenger to strike. I felt my phone vibrate, indicating a message. I placed my hand against it and kept my pace even as I reached the entrance. I passed a precious stone kiosk; my heart was pounding. From the corners of my eyes, I detected small signs of movement. When I was steps away, I pivoted, changing course immediately for a sexy lingerie store. It was a bit impulsive, but a change would throw them off their guard and maybe get them to slip up.


    ¡°Emma?¡±


    My shoes squeaked, and I braced myself for a sticker¡¯s effect or any kind of outburst. I hadn¡¯t considered someone would try the direct approach.


    I readied myself to make a subtle dodge and employ the enforcement called a zap ring. I clenched my fist and turned to see a woman about my age drop a few shopping bags and smile with genuine excitement and long-forgotten delight after a moment when I recognized her fashion sense, coupled with her vibrant red hair. I felt stunned but let out a giggle and my own exclamation.


    This was the first time in a long time since I¡¯d seen an old friend.


    ¡°Oh my gosh, Lauren. How are you?¡±


    Such a public place, why wouldn¡¯t I have a chance to encounter an old high school friend. Most of my former classmates had moved on to bigger cities or had carved out their lives in neighboring towns. If I ran into any it was in a grocery store, or by happenstance on the street. Not the most ideal timing, but I could make this work.


    ¡°This is quite a surprise,¡± Lauren said, hastily picking up her bags. She had done quite a bit of shopping and was close to having a cumbersome load. I snatched one up to help her get organized and while distracted, I used the opportunity and shot a glance around the immediate vicinity. For now, everyone seemed to be minding their own business. So far, so good, and having someone to chat with might throw my pursuing family member off my trail.


    ¡°Emma, it''s been a while,¡± Lauren said. I gave her the bag and she awkward smiled and tried to take it, which she managed but it didn¡¯t look comfortable. ¡°What you been up to?¡±


    I shrugged and tried to play it causal, but I got an additional notification alert. ¡°Same old thing, I guess. I¡¯m making headway, but my degree progress is slower than I''d prefer.¡±


    ¡°I totally know what you mean,¡± Lauren sympathized with an eye roll and a slightly exaggerated bravado. She had been the theater queen in high school, surprisingly, she hadn''t let it go entirely to her head unlike a select few valedictorians and the cheer captain. ¡°I''ve logged nearly 50 hours in a dental office. I''m surprised that so many people are coming in, sometimes nearly twice a month.¡±


    ¡°You work in a dental office?¡± I asked.


    Lauren nibbled on her lip. It was the kind of look that told me she was embarrassed by the fact, but it was far from the glamorous career she was aspiring to.


    ¡°Who needs a dentist more than one every few months?¡±


    ¡°Beats me,¡± Lauren replied, and began a soft unload of all the inner office gossip which she seemed ready, if not eager to unload. I caught the basic details, and I kept a close on the crowd and strained my ears for any kind of noise. I checked my watch; it had only been about forty minutes. I figured I could stretch the conversation out a little bit, but something was going to happen, and that ignited my speculation. Were they lying in wait? Had they been using their time to scope out the mall and the crowd to anticipate my maneuvers?


    ¡°Overall, though, I do appreciate my days off,¡± Lauren said, peaking at her watch. It was subtle, and she didn''t seem eager to stop the conversation. Instead, she seemed content to wait, or she was waiting for something, maybe someone.


    ¡°It''s nice to have a break,¡± I interjected but cut myself off as a face glanced around a pillar near an enclosed children''s playground. Lauren shifted gears and didn''t seem to notice my distraction.


    ¡°I''m hoping the holidays let up a little bit,¡± Lauren said. ¡°My family may have some vacations planned, but they''re keeping me all hush-hush. I''d like to go somewhere warm and.¡±


    I saw the face again, and an odor scratched my nostrils. For a moment, I thought it was my mind relating something to the Morris farm. I tensed as the person glanced in our direction and then, with a bashful demeanor, a shaggy brown-haired guy wearing a stained white dress shirt and a moth-eaten sleeveless red sweater. He had a round face and a slender frame and desperately needed a shower, deodorant, and a barber.


    ¡°Oh wow,¡± he said through chattering teeth. He sniffed and then adjusted his thick-framed glasses held together with a thick wad of dirty tape. ¡°Hi, girls.¡±


    Lauren wrinkled her nose and seriously looked close to either gagging or vomiting.


    ¡°Hi,¡± Lauren said with a stiff slur and an awkward expression. ¡°Do you need?¡±


    She trailed off as a few drops of drool slipped through his lips and moved down his chin. He could have had braces at one point, but he kept his lips close together. He shuffled in place. I noticed a few steakhouse menus, maps, loose pages covered or smudged in dirt, and what looked like motor oil or possibly ink.


    He cleared his throat while attempting to mask a faint cough, and then he straightened up; he was taller than he looked, and his mannerisms and bearing displayed considerable effort to appear relaxed while masking considerable pain.


    Or was he just simply nervous?


    ¡°Sorry pretty,¡± he said, holding up the menu and pointing at Lauren. ¡°I''m Melvin. Want a dinner?¡±


    He slurred his words and sounded a bit like Goofy as he said dinner. The whole exchange surprised me. I didn''t recognize him; he seemed familiar if I disregarded his shabby appearance. Lauren would be considered what boys would call ¡°hot stuff,¡± and there was reasonable infatuation, but it wasn¡¯t just awkward. I felt on edge, and I couldn¡¯t help feeling sorry for him. It¡¯s a flattering gesture, but this was rushed and not well planned out. I glanced at Lauren as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.


    ¡°I''m flattered,¡± Lauren said. She was trying to sound pleasant and kind. It was beyond awkward to watch. I know it''s essential to be kind to everyone, but if this was his best effort and being entirely focused on his appearance, I had to agree that it would have been uncomfortable to be anywhere near him.


    Lauren flushed and nervously locked her hair behind her hair. ¡°Thanks, but that¡¯s not a good idea.¡±


    Melvin¡¯s eyes flickered like a candle, and I wasn¡¯t quite sure if he comprehended what she said. I twitched in distress when I saw him shiver, and then he licked his lips. When was the last time he¡¯d eaten? He glanced over his shoulder and bit his lip a few times while a steady stream of saliva dripped down his chin.


    ¡°Are you sure? Food is good. Food is.¡±


    His mouth began to water, and he doubled over. He was thin, but he didn''t come off sickly. He let out a moan. The muscles constricted in his neck, and he even wheeled, losing a few papers in the process.


    ¡°Bye,¡± Melvin muttered, with further slurs and trouble speaking. ¡°Sorry bother.¡±


    Lauren quickly waved and then stepped back wrinkling her nose in disgust. She didn''t want to be a part of this anymore. Melvin''s pitiful complexion and bearing were off-putting, and several other patrons seemed to notice, and they made no effort to point or comment as he wandered away.


    I scooped up the loose pages and faced Lauren, who had her attention on the pages, and she was letting her disgust show.


    ¡°That was a first for me.¡± She said, ¡°And ugh.¡±


    ¡°Sadly,¡± I said. ¡°Did you know him? He looked familiar, but I couldn''t place him.¡±


    ¡°He looked like someone who¡¯d hang out in the library in the fantasy club, Role something, or whatever. I never met him and can¡¯t recall ever being in the same class.¡±


    Lauren then pointed at the pages I''d picked up. ¡°What are you going to do with those?¡±


    I looked down at the pages. I hadn''t given it much thought. It seemed cruel to just throw them away, but would I be able to find him? What would I say if I did something about the pages that made me suspicious, but I wasn¡¯t sure why.


    ¡°I bet he hasn''t gotten far and,¡± it was then that I got a look at the contents.


    Everything was written in code. A code that I was quite sure not just scribbles, but quite possibly something supernatural in origin.

 Tools of the Trade

    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.¡±

 Field notes on encounters: infiltration.

    Monster Assassins are great at poking the hornet''s nest. Courageous warriors would often charge into the ruins, caves, or mountains to save their people from their enemy''s clutches. In the modern day, most monsters, regardless of class and background, and a few centuries of modern adaptation. In a fight, they tended to rely on their innate abilities and their brute strength. A fair number of lesser creatures like trolls and goblins were known to cross the gap and had been found using knives or a gun, but even the most expensive firearm or the most ornate blade wouldn¡¯t stop certain trolls from spitting acid in your face.


    Jenna Foster often felt a chill when her family dashed into danger, she was worried. Her maternal nature didn¡¯t allow her to part with the most humanizing aspect of her soul. She clung to it, and it gave her power. Jenna had long passed the drive to fuss over the cuts, bruises, and broken limbs. Like a lioness, Jenna had always kept a watchful eye and was ready to pounce. Jenna watched her daughter disappear into the crowd, and she immediately went to work. Pop showed up on the screen and Emma¡¯s voice carried through the speaker as she shared her plan of attack.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got to hand it to you, Emma,¡± Pop said. Jenna turned down her own comm to prevent the feedback or dual voices from competing for attention. Pop moved around the conference space of his workshop, and Jenna caught glimpses of Emma carefully moving around the news van, where she climbed up on and messed around with the dish that they used to transmit.


    ¡°We should be good to go,¡± Emma said.


    Pop messed around with a computer and then moved to his phone. ¡°I think we¡¯re in business. I¡¯ve had limited access to broadcast networks, but I never considered turning the IC3 system into a filter over outside video feeds.¡±


    ¡°That should lessen the problems, right?¡± Emma pressed.


    ¡°It should,¡± Pop affirmed. ¡°I just need to modify the wavelength and secure the degeneration to avoid false readings.¡±


    ¡°It made sense that the overheating problem was caused by centralizing so much power in one location,¡± Jenna added, messing around with the video feed coming through over the news station¡¯s live stream. ¡°We¡¯ll get a wider range thanks to the camera¡¯s functions.¡±


    ¡°We should,¡± Pop said, ¡°and it will help with the timing too. The one thing I¡¯m worried about is that we may not cut through the illusion, glamour, or charm.¡±


    ¡°As long as it points us in the right direction,¡± Emma said.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep an eye on the IC3 to see how well this cheat works,¡± Pop said.


    ¡°Sounds good,¡± Emma said.


    ¡°I¡¯ll watch the stream,¡± Jenna said, setting her phone in the drink holder. She extended the video feed and kept the volume low. She didn¡¯t care so much about the words in place of what she could see or not see.


    ¡°The piggyback is fully functional, and I¡¯m seeing some possibilities off the distance,¡± Pop said. ¡°Monsters are definitely present. Emma, do you have the valid entry?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Emma replied. ¡°I put it on my palm, so I¡¯ll hopefully see the glow through the gap by my thumb. Mom, I will go up and down the street until you tell me where to focus my attention.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Jenna said. The red-tinted overlay on the footage distorted facial features and a few surrounding buildings, but Mom had a fairly good idea of what the camera operator was focusing on. Mom kept her eyes on the screen. Occasionally, Pop or Dad commented, or Emma offered a short interjection of the scene, but nothing stood out other than the smoke, the crowd, the people, and many questions.


    ¡°I¡¯ve watched some reports that just ended,¡± Dad said, ¡°It wasn¡¯t detailed. She said the police have no comment, and there is so much hysteria that no one can string two sentences together.¡±


    Mom clicked a button and opened an internet browser, ¡°any lucky piggybacking on any social media live streams?¡±


    ¡°You should be able to tune in anywhere,¡± Pop said, ¡°Although, I¡¯m sad to say the video quality might be poor given the strain the IC3 is having along with the internet activity in the area.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll take what we can get,¡± Jenna said.


    She watched silently for a few minutes and then was about to change to another feed when a glint flicked across the footage. The effect was quick, and she was about to disregard it. Until the vlogger, a girl with dark hair wearing a beanie turned the camera on herself, and there it was.


    ¡°Is that what I think it is?¡± Pop asked.


    ¡°Honey,¡± Dad said with an urgent punch, ¡°you need to get out of there! Don¡¯t go into the crowd.¡±


    ¡°I have too,¡± Jenna snapped, ¡°and I¡¯m on it. Pop, you need to disconnect the camera feed from our system. I¡¯m going to get Emma. This operation just deteriorated.¡±


    EMMA


    I appreciated enforcement and a decent list of espionage-related tools. I had taken a chance to mess with the news van, but given the chaos, no one was going to pay attention to me. Once back on the ground, and with Mom, and Pop as my eyes in the sky, I was ready to go into the crowd. Those first few steps were accompanied by apprehension and flushed cheeks. I had to exercise considerable control to not glance over my shoulder or lash out at the slimmest chance of a threat. The right kind of assassination attempt demands control of one''s environment. You need to have a game plan and escape routes, but when it comes to monsters, you need to find your target and act fast. If I joined a conversation. I had to come in and go out without anyone giving me more than a passing thought. We had practiced distraction techniques, but this wasn¡¯t a customary environment. Like me, there were people who were watching for any kind of trouble. They would take the smallest actions and assume them to be hard-boiled threats. I couldn¡¯t afford to be wrong! This damage was something you see in movies or a once-in-lifetime accident. There were regular people here. They were concerned about their neighbors, friends, and family. The average person doesn¡¯t usually go looking for trouble, but their care and loyalty to their friends, especially any connection to the possible victims. There would be a few waves of people who would be looking for someone or something to blame.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Here, I was hoping that trouble had decided to stick around, and hopefully, the attackers, if they stuck around, would be off their guard.


    Twenty feet from the first significant pocket of people, the Valid Entry felt like a gummy soap on my skin. I moved toward the building and waited for a small group; about six people shuffled past. They were all in their teens, and while startled, the general implication regarding what had happened had yet to sink in. Once my path cleared, I ducked into the shade around the corner.


    Smoke hung in the air, and nearly a dozen people lay on the ground being treated by multiple paramedics. Some of them had severe burns, and the paramedics carefully applied medicine to the open and bleeding ones, while other victims had cuts and bruises. After their vitals were checked, basic bandages were used and adequately secured. The paramedics gave each victim simple instructions before the patients were either sent to their loved ones waiting on the street or directed to an ambulance for further evaluation.


    This is going to take some time to bounce back. I ventured further into the crowd, receiving multiple glares and flared nostrils as I interrupted their short or didn¡¯t appear concerned for the victims. No one addressed me, which allowed occasional glances at my hand. I kept my hand cupped the best I could, but I worried the Valid Entry slime would ooze between my fingers. About halfway down the street, I paused and focused on my skin, not wanting to miss the tingle or a hint that I was getting close. As I reached a bench and a Post Office mailbox, I moved around and caught sight of a small object wedged beside my leg. I hurried over, scooped it up, and avoided wandering eyes by playing it as casually as possible. I took a few steps, then glanced at what I picked up, and my stomach flipped when I recognized what it probably was. I¡¯m not an expert, but even an idiot knows when something has been scorched.


    ¡°Pop, the attackers didn¡¯t use magic, they brought literal explosives,¡± I whispered as a couple came out of a nearby building and hurried away from the crowd. There was no tingle or illumination, so they were obviously not interested in getting involved.


    ¡°That certainly raises the stakes,¡± Pop said, ¡°I don¡¯t know a lot about IEDs, but to accomplish damage at this level. Whoever built them would have required considerable technical knowledge and a ton of resources.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lead we can explore,¡± Dad said over the comm line. ¡°It¡¯s no coincidence that all the attacked victims were M.A.G.E agents. We could look at human bomb makers and there are potion makers who know incendiary and combustible mixtures.¡±


    ¡°Either is possible,¡± Pop said, ¡°I¡¯ll get Gram to build a list.¡±


    ¡°Emma, be on the lookout for anyone who''s watching from an abnormal distance.¡± I heard a voice that sounded like Tony. ¡°There could be additional devices, and they could be waiting to set them off.¡±


    ¡°Good point,¡± Dad said, ¡°and they¡¯d probably have a manual trigger or remote control. With such a large crowd they couldn¡¯t risk using a magic code word because anyone could possibly set additional devices off prematurely.¡±


    While my family debated the specifics, I secured the shrapnel in my jacket pocket, and I found the sounds and smells go mute. My ears were ringing, and it was impossible to think straight, but I looked around the crowd, and I worried about the anger, the fury hidden behind the tears and screams. I pictured a dragon creeping through the flames, and I mentally watched a giant smash debris into dust with large meaty hands. This new clue kicked the threat level of the attacker, or attackers, to a whole new level. There were too many possibilities, and even if I found them, would I be able to get close to doing anything about it?


    ¡°Hey, did anyone see what happened?¡±


    I glanced back toward the bench where four people had gathered. The speaker, a dude wearing a jean coat and red ball cap, quickly answered a text before sticking his phone in his pocket. His three friends shook their heads before taking sips of sodas from bottoms or cups with straws.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard someone say it was a gas leak,¡± this speaker was another guy about the same age as the first. He wore a blue shirt with shaggy hair and an equally shaggy beard centered on his chin. ¡°The buildings are you know, like super old. The pipes probably cracked at some point, and no one knew about it, then some employee probably left a foil-wrapped burrito in the microwave.¡±


    I snickered and turned away to avoid any of them from glancing in my direction. It was the stupidest thing I¡¯d ever heard, and everyone seemed to agree.


    ¡°A burrito in a microwave?¡± stammered a blond girl in a tank top and a dark red mini skirt brought together beneath an oversized black jacket that hung her shoulders. She twirled her hair around her finger, and even from my position, I could hear her chewing on a large wad of gum. ¡°I¡¯m not that smart, but even I know that¡¯s impossible. I mean, come on, the windows like exploded, and ya, fire!¡±


    ¡°Hey now, let¡¯s be cool,¡± a guy with red-tinted skin and curly hair rose and placed a hand on his buddy¡¯s shoulder. ¡°None of us know what happened, and it could have been burritos in the microwave, especially if they were wrapped in wax paper.¡±


    I looked up and raised an eyebrow but didn¡¯t look back.


    Seriously?


    ¡°Wax paper?¡± said the guy in the blue shirt. ¡°I didn¡¯t say wax paper. I said tin foil. You know, because it''s metal.¡±


    ¡°Nah, dude,¡± said the curly guy. As he spoke, I wondered if he had been trying to be funny, but now he came off as defensive as if someone had just been backed into a corner. ¡°Wax paper will be the death of us all. I saw it in a documentary.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re so stupid,¡± said the blond.


    While the excellent wax paper debate continued, I carefully slipped the fragment into my pocket and returned it to the crowd. I heard cars honk in the distance, and it took several minutes for the ambulances to leave, and then another would come and take the previous one¡¯s place. As the cycle advanced, it wasn¡¯t long before the crowd began to thin but that gave way to new waves of people coming in to survey the scene or in search of their friends and loved ones. I kept my attention on the Valid Entry, but there was no reaction. I was quite sure I had applied enough, and disregarding that notion, it began to seem pretty unlikely that the attacker or attackers would have hung around. They¡¯d want to watch from somewhere secure. They wouldn¡¯t want to attract attention and need a solid escape route to get away at a moment¡¯s notice.


    I turned around and headed back up the street. This time, I watched the adjacent buildings and took a few moments to observe any parking lots nearby. A few families sat unhappily in vans, and a few solitary individuals watched people come and go, but none seemed a likely candidate. As I reached the first pocket, I slipped through the gaps, offering apologies as strings of profanities were tossed in my direction. There was action and trouble in this town, and they wanted to see it uninterrupted.


    I wet my lips; my feet and legs were beginning to ache. I opened my hand to flex my fingers, and several joints seemed on the verge of popping. I froze, the tingle becoming unmistakable. It must have activated when I passed someone in disguise. I quickly closed my hand and scanned the crowd. I¡¯d deal with people in large crowds. The closer quarters and being within hand reach of any potential hostage doesn¡¯t offer an assassin longer than a few seconds to make an approach and take a shot. Plus, these attackers would be watching for certain kinds of people. I stiffened, worried that one wrong look or going a few steps too far would betray my position.


    I felt my zap ring; it was easy to conceal, and if I got close enough, it would deliver a shock roughly equal to a Taser. I stalled in the middle of the sidewalk and took a few steps, carefully taking in the facial features and body language of everyone close by. All we needed was an ID. If one of these people didn¡¯t belong, who would it be and-


    ¡°Emma don¡¯t react and stay quiet,¡± Mom whispered as her hand touched my shoulder. ¡°Things have changed. We need to get back to the car right now.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡± I hissed, ¡°The Valid Entry just activated. Our target is here.¡±


    ¡°I am aware of that,¡± Mom whispered, ¡°but we¡¯re not ready to take on a dark witch on the fly.¡±

 The Dark Witch

    Some stories talk about evil witches, such as the Witches of Oz, the Queen of Hearts, and the witch who got cooked alive in her own oven because she had an insatiable hunger for children. They look human, and unlike many savages and unruly monsters that have integrated into modern society. Most witches have not. Witches in modern times are a secretive bunch; a covert political party and a lucrative business hidden behind dozens of small companies that prevent any kind of infiltration. When a Monster Assassin has the need to find a witch, or the select group of witches known as Dark Witches. They are often found running bakeries, in the sweet aisle at a grocery store, the host of a prime-time cooking show, or a contestant. Dark witches are well known as ¡°creatures of habit.¡± And Monster Assassins should use this knowledge to their advantage.


    If you¡¯re a dedicated thespian, you¡¯ll kill your career if your opening night goes poorly because you were an idiot and said Macbeth on stage. It¡¯s a superstition, but one that haunts those highly invested in the profession. For us Monster Assassins, everything that starts with ¡°dark¡± is terrible news. Even dark chocolate, the jury is still out on that one for some.


    I followed Mom. My mind was blown! Dark Witch wasn¡¯t just a word that you tossed around. It wasn¡¯t something people never hurled around as an insult, because actual dark witches would be the ones to take offense to it. Once we were back in the car, I welcomed multiple shades of relief to rain down on me. I hadn¡¯t realized just how much I¡¯d been sweating, and the smoke had really done a number on my nose. Mom immediately started the car and dialed Dad, who had answered before the first ring.


    ¡°I¡¯m assuming you both are safe?¡± Dad pressed.


    ¡°We are,¡± Mom said.


    After that, Dad assumed a nervous tone and a concerned expression. ¡°Jenna, are you sure about what you saw? A dark witch of all the monsters to be running around. Why?¡±           ¡°Positive,¡± Mom said, sounding a bit breathless. ¡°Pop¡¯s improvised IC3 filtered registered the use of a witch¡¯s glamour, but the image seemed distorted, so I didn¡¯t get a good look at them. Yet, in those few seconds. Sweetheart, I promise you that I saw the signs of a high concentration of the malicion.¡±


    The malicion. That was a word that had a heavy history and came with a huge price tag.


    Dad chewed on his lip. ¡°Most witches are tainted to some degree with the malicion, especially if they talk with spirits and the undead.¡±


    ¡°True, and there are plenty of mediums, phantomists, archivists, and librarians that you would find it on.¡± Mom said, ¡°But even for just a few seconds, and under extreme conditions. The results don¡¯t lie. Glamour is a common enough trick, but Pop¡¯s system was off the charts. There was a dark witch in the crowd, I¡¯m sure of it.¡±                ¡°Couldn¡¯t it have been a demon?¡± Tony asked.


    Mom dismissed the idea with a shake of her head, ¡°Witches can use glamour on a demonic henchman, but demons don¡¯t exhibit the malicion, they submit to it. Plus, a demon would have been jumping up and down, bouncing off the walls and there aren¡¯t illusions to hide that level of enthusiasm.¡±


    ¡°Some demons eat ash,¡± Pop added dryly.


    ¡°Or they snort it like a drug addict,¡± Grandma said, ¡°believe me, that¡¯s not a pretty sight.¡±


    ¡°All together,¡± Mom insisted, ¡°we have a dark witch in the area and that is bad business. I¡¯m not a mafia-level business.¡±


    ¡°Dark witches don¡¯t typically come out in public unless prodded, paid, or provoked,¡± Pop said, ¡°and it''s got to be quite enticing.¡±


    ¡°Your logic is sound,¡± Dad said, ¡°and while it¡¯s the first real lead. We don¡¯t have much to go on because it seems unlikely that a dark witch would expend her resources to challenge a governing body like M.A.G.E.  That means someone had to have put her up to it. That means there¡¯s another major player out there.¡±


    Dad''s tactical perspective really knew how to put a damper on a conversation, but the point was irrefutable, which put a rather somber mood in the car and Mom seemed eager to be anywhere else.


    There is so much about your past that you don¡¯t talk about.


    Most kids know their parents¡¯ love story. My parents, I barely knew the cliff notes. They often spoke about the days Tony and I were born. They talked about some fun trips they took around the United States, which had really been an undercover job, but everyone needs a pastime. Still, one might wonder if the Fosters were known as Monster Assassins. Where did in-laws fit into anything of this? I considered a question, feeling that we were on the verge of regrouping, but Pop quickly disregarded that idea.


    ¡°So far, there hasn¡¯t been a calling card,¡± he said. ¡°at least from what I¡¯ve gathered, the authorities are clueless and have noted this as a possible domestic terrorist attack or the work of some kind of gang.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t really have that kind of thing around here,¡± Dad added, ¡°but when you lack a considerable number of facts, it only makes sense to use the most logical theories.¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Dad held out the word and it turned into an abrupt pause.


    ¡°James, spill!¡± Grandma ordered.


    Dad chuckled. ¡°The thing that gets me is the level of the attack. I mean, in the past If considered ¡°dark¡± was on the verge of starting a war against M.A.G.E, they would have had a hit squad watching their every move. M.A.G.E would have known where every dark witch was, who they were talking to and if that created suspicious movement. This came without warning and now M.A.G.E the almighty is scrambling. How?¡±


    ¡°The clearest angle to the problem is what we¡¯ve gathered,¡± Mom countered, ¡°and for now the attack itself should be considered the calling card. Emma and I were both speculating about the potential perpetrators. With all the elements like traffic and the sheer number of people, what could be a better message to a governing body than, we can hit you anywhere and when you least expect it.¡±


    ¡°That does pack a punch,¡± Pop affirmed, ¡°but it doesn¡¯t get us any closer to an ID.¡±


    ¡°So where do we go from here?¡± I added softly.


    Mom took a hard look at the street. ¡°Since the IC3 system couldn¡¯t ID the witch, we must get into the scenes. The hired muscle had to have left some kind of evidence. We need to know what the cops know but want to keep under wraps.¡±


    ¡°For now, that¡¯s not going to be possible,¡± Dad said, ¡°given what Pop said about the authorities, if the local cops are worried about domestic terrorists and gangs, we¡¯re going to have the FBI and Homeland Security within the next few hours if they¡¯re not already in route. You wouldn¡¯t have time to search one location, let alone multiple. There would be too much scrutiny and decreases the enforcements capability.¡±


    ¡°Then we need to try and figure out who that dark witch was,¡± I said, ¡°do we have any avenues, or even a roundabout approach to make any kind of positive identification?¡±


    ¡°The IC3 is out,¡± Pop said, ¡°and with all the authorities on the ground. I doubt you¡¯ll get a second chance to splice into any live video feeds.¡±


    ¡°Are we talking an interrogation?¡± Tony asked. He sounded excited at the possibility.       ¡°That would be a last resort,¡± Dad said. ¡°Witches have a sense of anyone who dabbles with magic and the malicion.¡±


    I glanced at Mom, who was now pretty pale.


    ¡°I know Mom¡¯s a Phantomist,¡± Tony said, ¡°but we¡¯re good at being sneaky.¡±


    ¡°It has nothing to do with stealth,¡± Mom snapped with the sharpness reserved for kids who take cookies before dinner. ¡°As a registered Phantomist, I would be a stilling duck, and any dark witch, or even a C.O.V.E.N witch would have no trouble picking me out of a crowd, maybe even at a distance.¡±


    ¡°Nothing shuts a witch up quicker than a competition,¡± Grandma said, sounding bitter as she spoke. ¡°a witch would never tell the truth to anyone they could sense as a rival or working for a rival. It''s all about the secrets.¡±


    ¡°So, if we¡¯re going to get close,¡± I said, ¡°We need to find someone who would know if there are any dark witches in town and if there is any chatter about what they¡¯re up to.¡±


    ¡°Are we talking about who, a conspiracy theorist or a blogger?¡± Tony asked.


    I waved a finger at the screen. ¡°It''s an idea, but no, and we know C.O.V.E.N, the witch organization, does keep tabs on dark witches, but I¡¯m not referring to them. No, we¡¯ll need to find someone with their ear to the ground. Someone who has cut ties, and so they would be rooting for anyone when they¡¯re happier staying out of the way.¡±


    ¡°Are you talking about the reformed witches?¡± Dad asked.


    ¡°There wouldn¡¯t be anyone better,¡± Mom said with some shaky agreement, ¡°Most have regular jobs working at museums, law firms, and banks. They know what it means to go dark, and they certainly are going to be aware of anyone who would tempt them into using necromancy.¡±


    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m a bit rusty, but what¡¯s a reformed witch?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°They¡¯re witches in recovery,¡± Mom said, ¡°They reached a level of malicion that jeopardized their lives, and they want to recover something that looks like a normal life. They¡¯re far from being heavy hitters in the dark category compared to those with wanted posters. Most of them just dabbled in dark magic with curses, hexes, love potions, and a stint of missing children. Their evil deeds were considered impulses, so they work to quash them so they can live normal lives.¡±


    ¡°Tony, do you remember the witch that attacked the elves?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Muriel was a reformed case gone horribly wrong.¡± Mom said.


    ¡°Ah, that makes sense,¡± Tony said with a wrinkled nose and shiver. I immediately felt a connection and copied the movement. Muriel certainly had a recipe for her swamp, and it was beyond terrible and putrid.


    ¡°A reformed witch is the best option,¡± Dad said, ¡°but It¡¯s dangerous, so before we approach anyone, we need a plan. Jenna, do you have anyone in mind?¡±


    ¡°With hardly any preparation, there is only one I¡¯d consider trying to communicate with,¡± Mom said. ¡°She¡¯s a local, and about five years back, using one of my aliases, I helped her out of a jam. She¡¯s not my friend by any means, and I haven¡¯t spoken to her since. She is a dark witch, and she is still dangerous. If we find the right moment, there is a good chance she¡¯d at least talk to us first.¡±


    ¡°Before trying to kill us,¡± I finished.


    ¡°There is a chance of that, yes,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°If she¡¯s local,¡± Tony interjected, ¡°does that add an extra layer of trouble because if she¡¯s seen your face, and if the two of you get away, isn¡¯t that painting an unnecessary target on us if your encounter goes south?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s got a point, honey,¡± Dad said, ¡°you could try to catch her unaware. Most dark beings tend to keep one eye over their shoulder just in case a monster hunter comes to town. If you want to talk to her, that¡¯s fine, but I¡¯d keep your face covering and your alias out of it if possible.¡±


    ¡°Then that¡¯s what we¡¯ll do,¡± I said. ¡°Mom, where would we find this reformed witch right now?¡±


    ¡°The grocery store, probably,¡± Mom said, ¡°one of the nasty side effects of being reformed is a nasty sweet tooth. They must have some sugary treat three if not four times a day.¡±


    ¡°That should work,¡± I said, ¡°It¡¯s a large place where we could hopefully blend in. Let¡¯s go, and we¡¯re going to do what I call a Joey Jo.¡±

 Not My Day

    Field notes: When you have to approach an enemy, whose name makes you tremble, or you worry that the slightest slip-up will put you and everyone you know in jeopardy. The best assassins make their move quick and fast, but that won¡¯t work if you need information. To catch the more nefarious foes off guard. You¡¯ve got to make them question their senses. You have to put them on edge and not give them a chance to react.


    BIANCA


    Don¡¯t look outside. Don¡¯t ask questions. Today is not a day for idle gossip. What happened outside doesn¡¯t concern you.


    Bianca¡¯s lips curled into a sneer when she spied several best-selling ¡°self-help¡± books on a shelf in the store. The bright, cheerful colors felt like needles in her heart, and the smiling models made her loath her day, which had been pelted with stress and indecision. Bianca had started the day worrying about her outfit, whether she could get the reports in on time at work, and if she could get through the afternoon without saying or doing anything stupid. Bianca had avoided the prying eyes of her annoying co-workers, and it had actually amused her to merely imagine what it was like to curse them. Bianca let the daydream play out, and she happily enjoyed a rich, thick cup of hot chocolate.


    When she put her cup down, it rattled across her desk and then she felt it. No, out of any day for something to go wrong, why did it have to be today?


    Bianca heard her coworkers chatting in alarm, but she ignored them and sped out of the office. She spent nearly twenty minutes in her car before she found the brain power to move. She watched the smoke rise into the air and dozens of people, followed shortly by police cars and emergency vehicles. Bianca felt her mouth go dry. The absurdity! Numerous businesses were attacked, people were injured, and explosions. That wasn¡¯t supposed to happen. Not here.


    Conversations flocked the grocery store¡¯s isles and checkout stands like flocks of birds itching to snatch up every speck of birdseed. Bianca thrilled her lips. She tried to recite a poem, but she hadn¡¯t memorized any. She gripped her shopping cart and nervously completed the fifth or was it her sixth lap around the various sections in the grocery store.


    Show I just make a run for it?


    The front door was right there. Everyone was so preoccupied she could probably just waltz right out the front door. Bianca inched the cart to a stop, narrowly avoiding a table overstocked with plastic containers containing cakes, scones, brownies, and cupcakes. Bianca gave in and licked her lips, and she even tapped the tops of the containers, finding a moment''s bliss when she contemplated which one she could easily pick up and put into the cart. Bianca had always had a thing for chocolate. A marbled swirled brownie sat rather lonely on the table¡¯s far corner. She reached for it but then stopped when a flash of purple streaked unceremoniously across her knuckles. This realization made her skin sting as if she had been stung by a bee. Bianca pulled her hand back and hurriedly left the table as the marbled brownie began to bubble then smoke.


    It was not safe to be here. Bianca thought.


    She felt her heart race, and she felt her skin clam up. There were so many people! More than had been five minutes ago. Everyone was talking about it with mixed emotions. Some were excited, while others were terrified. Complete strangers wrangled passersby into their conversations, and Bianca twitched when comments or questions were thrown in her direction.


    ¡°I¡¯m ok,¡± she muttered if she didn¡¯t just ignore the invitation completely. Despite her avoidance, every comment, opinion, and theory seemed to glue itself into her mind, and it painted a grim picture considering what she knew but couldn¡¯t tell anyone about.


    It didn¡¯t matter. Bianca had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all! All she had to do was get what she wanted and then go home. To do that, though, she needed her mouth to stop watering so she could decide.


    ¡°Grumble,¡± Bianca huffed in annoyance, but she composed herself to avoid igniting any other treat or an object close to any of the shoppers.


    ¡°Grumble,¡± Bianca repeated. It was the most decisive curse word she could muster. She strolled past the ice cream in an undignified manner. A few people glanced in her direction and, with displeased expressions, graciously stepped away. Bianca welcomed the solitude as she considered her experience with a different variety of premade cookies and various sets of chocolate-covered nuts. There were many options, but none of the happy packaging seemed to hit the spot. Gloomily, she thought about the bakery, but at this time in the day, nothing would quite do compared to the taste when they put out fresh.


    Bianca thought about her shelves and seemed resigned to digging into her collection. She had a few special treats on hand; several were delicious and decadent. She weighed the option and gently tapped her long red nails against the surface of a few containers. Her nerves began to get the better of her. Surely someone had noticed the charred confection and its molten container. Bianca tried to focus on something else, a favorite color. She ignored the pain in her hand and looked at her nails. They were her favorite shade: licorice red. The application was flawless and smooth, except for the third finger, which was purple with glittering accents. This one had a deeper meaning. It was a small connection that kept her safe.


    Perhaps just one more, I could-


    Bianca froze and jerked her cart onto the shelf. She cursed as the cart crashed and rammed her hand into her hip.


    What in the world? Bianca glimpsed a shoulder peek out from behind the end cap, but a flash of light caused her to blink rapidly. Bianca grabbed her cart to steady herself and her senses reoriented themselves. A sinking indicated a presence. Bianca searched her mind for a response but found her body going rigid, and she gripped her cart''s handle as a red dot appeared above a box of cookies in perfect line of sight to her head. It bounced up and down like a mosquito. It stopped and remained stationary. The dot flashed repeatedly and then disappeared. Magic or no magic, tense and apprehensive. Bianca felt her stomach churn, but she didn''t dare move. The dot was gone, but the threat was present. An announcement came over the store¡¯s speaker system, but the words were ignored. When the manager finished speaking though, Bianca registered soft and precise footfalls. It was a practiced approach. Whoever was coming up behind her had taken precautions, and Bianca would be the first to admit that you can tell when people are casually walking, walking with a purpose, or walking with ulterior motives.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Whatever you want, it''s yours.¡± Bianca lifted her hands and tried to hold back her emotions as she expected a hand to grab her purse and then take off running. Surprisingly, it remained in place, and her visitor said nothing.


    ¡°Relax,¡± a woman''s voice said. ¡°All I want is information.¡±


    ¡°Information?¡± Bianca repeated as her chest began to swell with frustration. ¡°Why me? I¡¯m a nobody.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s our experience; it¡¯s the nobody who truly is somebody,¡± came the reply.


    Bianca flushed. ¡°Well, you¡¯re barking up the wrong tree. If you want information, gossip with someone else. There are plenty of people right here who would be willing to chat with you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not looking for a sale,¡± the voice insisted.


    Bianca¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re not. Well, I¡¯m sorry you¡¯ve wasted your time. I get my news from the internet just like anyone else.¡±


    Bianca tapped her cart¡¯s handle and considered taking a step, but the dot appeared, so she ignored the temptation.


    ¡°And another thing,¡± she hissed. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure sticking someone up in a public grocery store is frowned upon. What would you do if, I don¡¯t know, maybe screamed that I was in trouble.¡±


    The voice was quick and sharp, and Bianca felt her skin go cold when she heard the ominous cock of a gun. She was no gun expert, but it was sound that terrified her. ¡°I¡¯d appreciate it if you didn¡¯t. And, if you could just pretend you''re shopping, and if you answer honestly, we''ll be quick, and you can be on your way.¡±


    Bianca chewed on her lip, ¡°Fine, but be quick about it. These are not the kind of conversations you want to have out in the open.¡±


    There was a brief pause, and Bianca heard a hand messing with some of the products on the shelf behind her. She slowly turned at her hip, inching to get a look at her interrogator. The moment she did, the red dot returned and then blinked three times. The three-blinking red dot was a warning. Hunters, agents, and henchmen would set up elaborate traps to disguise their numbers. The irregular pattern and such a quick response told her that the interrogator wasn¡¯t alone. Whoever these people were, they were dangerous. Bianca vividly recalled how sorry she could have made her visitor feel. Bianca closed her eyes and pushed the memories away. This wasn¡¯t going to go south. She wouldn¡¯t let it, not today.


    ¡°What do you know what happened today?¡±


    ¡°More than I want to,¡± Bianca replied. ¡°Everyone¡¯s been talking about. Obviously, you think there is more to the event. Otherwise, you wouldn''t be here.¡±


    Bianca felt a wash over her mind that made the candor in her words feel hostile and cruel. The interrogator didn¡¯t immediately reply, and Bianca found herself wishing for someone to appear in front of her. Unsurprisingly, no one came.


    ¡°Is that it?¡± Bianca asked.


    ¡°For the last ten minutes, you have been on edge,¡± This time, Bianca noted some youth to the voice, which started a spiral of questions, and she hadn¡¯t been a secretary for as long as she had and not learned to pick up on vocal tells and cues. It was a gift and one she didn¡¯t need magic for. This realization made her wonder. If someone young and inexperienced was coming after her, how bad had the attacks actually been?


    ¡°Do you have any idea who was behind the attacks?¡±


    Bianca tapped her fingernails on her shopping cart handle grip. This conversation needed to end. ¡°Do I look like a conspiracy nut job?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Came the reply seconds before Bianca was about to add, "Don''t answer that.


    The interrogator continued with a bit more bite to her words, ¡°You are far from a conspiracy nut job, and I¡¯ll cut to the chase.¡± I know you''re a dark witch in reform. And I know you would be among the first to know if any other dark witches were running around town.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t exactly hang out,¡± Binca said with a snort of indignation.


    ¡°True, but I expect the last place you want to be is anywhere an active dark witch is. We both know you¡¯d have your ear to the ground, so let¡¯s not play games.¡±


    Bianca stiffened at the comment and then felt her entire body go rigid. The word dark witch was not something she wanted to hear every day, and she exercised a lot of mental control to keep it as far back from her mainstream thoughts as she could. These people were serious, but they weren¡¯t stupid.


    Or were they?


    Bianca grabbed her shopping cart and risked taking a step forward and then another, and then another. After about five seconds, she turned her attention back to the products on the shelf. It was time to get back to shopping.


    ¡°I hope you realize the tree you''re barking up or the beehive you decided to poke.¡±


    Bianca considered risking a glance behind her again, but she kept her attention forward. ¡°I have heard some rumors, but I¡¯m not sure.¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± the interrogator pressed.


    ¡°It''s your funeral,¡± she replied, ¡°and for the record, you¡¯re correct. There is at least one dark witch in town, but I don¡¯t have a name.¡±


    ¡°If you had to hazard a guess?¡±


    Bianca took another step and felt a sensation build in her chest, and after a moment, she found herself smiling. Her worries were gone; her hesitation was a fleeting thought, and she was ready to sink her teeth into some chocolate cake.


    Bianca cackled with delight, then relaxed her grip. ¡°Odds are rather good your culprit would be either Maya Elliot or Elise Meyer. COVEN has been after them both for a while.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t sound convinced.¡± The interrogator said.


    ¡°True,¡± Bianca said with a snicker. ¡°If I''m honest, Maya and Elise they are both nasty creatures, but they are dolls compared to Suzanna or Suzy Sourblood.¡±


    ¡°Suzy Sourblood?¡±


    Bianca shivered, but it was more about showing than genuine worrying. The simple idea of Suzy Bianca found the idea funny. She then added. ¡°If Suzy is in town, I''d take a vacation or maybe consider relocating. She''s one of a kind in all the wrong ways.¡±


    Bianca made a selection and then slipped it into her cart. At the same time, Bianca did a slight shuffle as a few hundred dollars fluttered to the floor. A payoff? A bribe? Bianca waved her fingers, and the money rose to her palm. The cackle rose to her throat, and Bianca let it out softly, which felt satisfying.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± the interrogator said with a note of hesitation. Was she scared of her? Was this whole thing a ploy with a mannequin and a laser pointer?


    ¡°You know,¡± Bianca said, feeling a little generous. Whoever these people were playing for her treats tonight. ¡°If you want to narrow that down. I¡¯d go visit with Mel Hart.¡±


    ¡°Who''s that?¡± the conviction felt forced, and the confidence was wavering.


    ¡°Go watch the check stand. Mel typically has a friend in town who will give her away if you pay attention.¡±


    Bianca sniffed and then stuck her nose in her air. They had a chance to leave, and they had better not waste it.

 The Surveillance operation

    Monsters often live with one eye over their shoulder unless they have an eye on their shoulder to begin with. It has taken decades, if not centuries, for them to relax from the medieval paranoia that plagued their being in their native homelands or environments. They see humans as prey, but most know how important it is to blend in.


    That said, tread carefully. Monsters are still dangerous creatures, and even now, they¡¯re watching, and if they get a hint of your hidden intentions, you¡¯ll never see them coming!


    Emma.


    ¡°Emma,¡± Mom hissed in my ear with shaky words and sharp urgency. ¡°You need to back away right now.¡±


    I complied without a second thought. Our target, a reformed dark witch mom simply referred to as Bianca, had been wandering around the grocery store and had come on as a nervous, timid wreck. That attitude completely changed in just a few minutes.


    Mom couldn¡¯t take the chance to get close, and there was the possibility that Bianca would have recognized her voice. I had made the approach, and we confused her. She had been preoccupied so we used that, adding pressure to the potential threats. I had been Joey, while Mom had been the Joe.


    Mom stayed close to my side, and we proceeded toward the largest congestion of people. I thought about glancing over my shoulder, but I had no idea what I would do if Bianca was watching for us. Most of the time, if someone is looking for you, you give yourself away by double-checking your rear. A pursuer can lose sight of you among a sea of similar hair colors, and different shades of clothing. Bianca had acted bitter and indecisive, but the woman that had ended the conversation. She had shed her timid demeanor like a snake shedding its skin. Her ego was woven through her words, and she bled with confidence and had a model-level swagger; she accented her hips and straightened her back.


    Then there was that crackle. A real soul-shredding witch¡¯s cackle.


    There are people who do impressions. There are people who command attention, and you respect the mood when they give the final word. Her cackle trumped any of those moments. Mom said nothing and tried to keep her pace even. For now, we had to simply be nothing more than a mother and daughter at the store. Mom''s complexion was pale, deathly pale. I pointed at a sale, and Mom nervously smiled, pretending to acknowledge me. The look in her eye had lost its usual twinkle, but I could tell she had one goal: we had to get out of there. Bianca¡¯s attitude had been volatile and if she got curious, she would pick Mom out of a crowd. We pushed through a chatting group who were being watched by security guards, and they looked tired.


    I scanned the crowd, and Bianca was nowhere in sight, but that could change at a moment¡¯s notice. She¡¯d just have to strike up a casual conversation, have a minor accident, or ask an innocent question, which we¡¯d impulsively attempt to avoid.


    It''s not a joke when I say that the things that start with ¡°dark¡± are bad news. We had no cart, and there was no masking the urgency and concern, so we headed straight for the door. Once outside, we crossed the parking lot, and Mom got color back into her cheek once she turned the car on.


    ¡°That was too close,¡± Mom hissed, but I knew she wasn¡¯t looking for a reply.


    We drove around for several minutes, taking random streets and stopping carefully at each intersection while glancing through her mirror.


    ¡°Are we clear?¡± I whispered.


    Mom nodded and called Dad.


    ¡°We have names and some information, but I want to look into it.¡±


    ¡°Roger that honey,¡± Dad said.


    ¡°And let¡¯s not do that again.¡± Mom said.


    I said nothing, but I was in complete agreement.


    Mom obeyed the speed limit, and we headed home without a moment¡¯s delay. There was an obvious police presence and multiple first responders, but the real slap had begun to die down. Once at home, Dad conveyed to us that authorities hadn¡¯t made any conclusive determination, but their initial investigation hadn¡¯t yielded any larger cause for alarm.


    Tony and I both knew that there would probably be no determination. If what we had determined was right, and a dark witch had been mastermind. We had to assume this to be the first step.


    Two uneventful days later, I glanced at my phone to see a text from Mom asking me to swing by her diner. I joined Tony in the hallway, and we immediately headed to the entrance of Mom¡¯s special domain, a door with a yellow stripe beside the washing machine. By outward appearance, the closet was a tall, narrow enclosure suitable for brooms, mops, and a thin vacuum and a little child playing hide and seek. I ducked inside, everything had been pulled out and three later I entered a vintage 50s diner complete with powder blue booths and a checkered floor; today, it was a mix of pink and green. There was a wide selection of memorabilia from sporting events to buttons and posters from both world wars and several presidential elections that were in display cases or tacked onto the wall. I could see a 50s street complete with people in the neighboring buildings, on street corners, and in the park partially hidden by a long line of shrubs. I had been here several times, and I knew it was Pop¡¯s handiwork, but even then. It really felt that I had been taken back in time. Tony for his favorite leather bar stool colored in a shade Dad called ¡°money green.¡± While Mom, meanwhile, worked at a shiny soda fountain while upbeat jazz music played from a neon jukebox while sitting in a far corner.


    I slid onto a stool next to Tony, who, unsurprisingly, was already halfway through his ice cream sundae. Once I was seated, it only took a minute before I had one of my own. Dad sat in a booth behind us, looking over something on his tablet, and graciously accepted a burger and fries from Mom as she strolled over and sat beside him. We enjoyed our food for a few minutes, and then Mom unfolded a menu and set it aside beside a metal rack where condiments were kept. Once in place, Mom put her fingers on select boxes titled Dinner, Drinks, and Desert. Upon contact, the ordering menus above my head vanished and were replaced by giant TV screens.


    ¡°Alright, everyone,¡± Mom said, wiping her cheek with a napkin. ¡°thanks to our haphazard encounter, we have reason to believe that at least one dark witch of concern is in this area. We were given names, and a hint as to where we could maybe start.¡±


    ¡°Melanie Black,¡± Mom said, ¡°But she goes by Mel on most of her public documentation and probably in her closest social circles.¡±


    A few details and an outdated picture appeared on the screens. The material was standard social media posts and law enforcement reports. She was far from a violent criminal, with several speeding tickets and some disorderly conduct citations. Mom cleared the screen as I sank my teeth into my food, but as new pictures appeared on the screen, the moment I saw them, my appetite went way down, even for any dessert.


    ¡°They are considered to be dark witches?¡± Tony asked with a hard gulp and a fist against his chest.


    ¡°Maya Elliott and Elise Meyer?¡± Mom said. Her tone was sharp, and she stirred her food around on her plate and then set down her fork.


    I could feel Bianca¡¯s underlying disdain for these two, and just looking at them, I felt like Bianca had embraced the nice vindictive girl while speaking to the new girl at the back of the class, with gum on her shoe and mud across her face. That possibly meant they had history, or they had at least crossed paths, much to Binca¡¯s distress. The simple memory of our conversation played in my mind, and I could see why these two would be at the top of Bianca¡¯s list.


    ¡°Both Elise and Maya seem like prime candidates as the probable mastermind behind the attacks,¡± Mom said. ¡°They were both registered phantomists and have a history of wanting to pick a fight with M.A.G.E. Elise, the criminal queen, and Maya was a politician. Both were overeager, overzealous and thought they knew more than she truly did."


    ¡°They¡¯ve certainly been around the block,¡± Dad said, cleaning his mouth and taking a drink ¡°And either of them certainly could have been behind the attacks, but we need to narrow it down.¡±


    ¡°That is where Melanie will come in,¡± Mom replied. ¡°And I¡¯m not a fan of this because it was Bianca¡¯s suggestion, based on what I found, I believe Melanie might have an ear to what¡¯s going on and would know or be able to pin down who¡¯s come to town and why.¡±


    Dad rested his arm on the counter and then motioned to the screen, ¡°You have a third name there, in the corner. who¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Suzanna Sourblood,¡± Mom said with a twitch. ¡°Bianca mentioned her by name, and she¡¯s a powerhouse, but for the moment, it''s unlikely. Maya and Elise have been a bit more active and based on reports, if someone has attracted Suzy¡¯s attention, she would have burned down the entire street.¡±


    ¡°So, what do you suggest to get close to Melanie?¡± Tony jumped in. ¡°Aren''t we on the clock to nail down a culprit sooner rather than later?¡±


    Dad pushed his plate away. We¡¯d probably refer to this conversation as the appetite killer. ¡°We¡¯re on a tight leash, to be sure, but this is far from a werewolf running the Boston Marathon or some ogres causing problems on a construction site. A witch, if they are on the scene, they¡¯re deal makers and skilled planners. They¡¯re not brash.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you giving them a bit too much credit?¡± Tony asked.


    Dad shook his head, ¡°You two have seen witches, but we¡¯ve dealt with them, my parents have as well. There isn¡¯t a one-fits-all label, but there are witches, and then there are dark witches. Their powers are untamed, and they don¡¯t take kindly to prying eyes.¡±


    Dad then leaned on his hands and took a careful look at all of the images Mom had assembled.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it smart to simply approach another witch until we have a little more information. We have names, but what we need is confirmation. Otherwise, we could be fighting someone¡¯s battle for them.¡±


    Mom ran a napkin across her cheek. ¡°I agree. Melanie might be a bit flaky or unwilling to talk to us unless we show indirectly that we know more than she thinks.¡±


    ¡°So, we¡¯ll plan it cool for the moment,¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°We have too,¡± I added, ¡°we¡¯ve got more people watching for suspicious activity then they ever have.¡±


    ¡°All good points to keep in mind,¡± Dad said, ¡°The hysteria has died down a little bit, so I think we¡¯ll back track to the Main Street attacks and see what people are talking about.¡±


    ¡°And hopefully we¡¯ll pick up on something that the authorities have overlooked,¡± I said.


    ¡°Or disregarded,¡± Mom added.


    ¡°That¡¯s the idea,¡± Dad said, shifting in his seat toward Mom. ¡°And from there we can assess the best approach. Hun, what do we know about this Melanie? Is she someone we need to actively be worried about?¡±


    In response, Mom removed the menu and flipped two pages. The screens changed when she returned it to the slot, and several more pictures appeared digitally dumped from a shoebox. Several photos, some polaroids, and others were more up-close portraits that were seriously sun damaged, nearly obscuring the entire image. There were subtle clues like a shoe, car, and outfit. I noticed some signs that hinted at historical events, fashion trends, and moments that undoubtedly had some relevance. Still, no phrase, title, or caption provided any detailed context.


    After the first dozen or so photos, Mom offered some commentary. ¡°To answer that. These photos are from the 80s. As you can see-¡±


    I straightened as Mom cycled through photos. In each one, I recognized the facial features from the first photos, but they were in different clothes and were all taken in other locations spanning a few years to even a few decades. When I put her effort aside, which was considerable in how she dressed and carried herself. With effort, I could tell that her face was identical each time. We knew a lot based on experience, ancestors, journals, and Pop''s handiwork. Dark wizards and witches tended to live a long time, leaving a massive footprint in history¡¯s footnotes, no pun intended.


    Mom settled on a picture of a riot outside a government office building and zoomed in to enhance the fading details.


    ¡°Mel is a tough case to crack, and she is probably a good suspect to offer information because she is a noted supernatural activist masquerading as an animal rights activist. She started fighting the typical endangered species: cows, goats, horses, exotic cats, and birds. After a decade or so, she quickly changed course.¡±


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± Tony said. ¡°She fights for troll rights. Is that even a thing? Don¡¯t most monsters have some kind of political rights and legal protections?¡±


    ¡°Most do, and M.A.G.E has worked hard to secure them,¡± Mom confirmed, ¡°which is why we¡¯ve only dealt with the nastier ones.¡±


    ¡°There are species of trolls, Imps, fairies, among others, who didn''t have the power to integrate into modern society.¡± Dad said, ¡°The nocturnal, the occult ones like a wendigo and demons. These species still lurk in the shadows. They cause problems for the unsuspecting traveler. And they''re the kind of creature that keeps the Monster Hunter demographic in business.¡±


    I rose to my feet and leaned toward the screen. ¡°Mel is fighting for the right to avenge the quote the brutal massacre of these misunderstood creatures. If she¡¯s a witch, wouldn¡¯t she be fighting to get C.O.V.E.N on board with the movement?¡±


    ¡°Based on what I uncovered,¡± Mom said, ¡°Mel did excel as a coven witch, but she didn''t have enough connections to secure a full-fledged job or gain any kind of recognition. She¡¯s a washout.¡±


    ¡°So, what is her real story?¡± Dad asked.


    ¡°On paper, she not a prot¨¦g¨¦ but rumor has it she runs a massive underground movement. She knows the heavy hitters, and she knows when power changes hands. She¡¯ll aid in a monster''s petty crimes and almost has a law degree in monster law, if that was a thing,¡± Mom continued, ¡°She''s potentially written the textbook of monster anatomy, customs, and habits. She was pretty knowledgeable about uncultured creatures, and there are suspicions that she has domesticated and protects several creatures who moonlight as her bodyguards. Some people think she has a secret society, but there are no publications or any indication of a secret network.¡±


    ¡°Did MAGE issue any warrants to confirm that as a possibility?¡± Dad asked.


    ¡°A few were issued in suspicion, but none were confirmed,¡± Mom replied. ¡°The best anyone seems to know is that she''s been present at multiple demonstrations, some even on the same day. She is politically aggressive and has been cited to have a violent streak. M.A.G.E has questioned her in a few times, but they could not connect her to any wrongdoing.¡±


    ¡°So, she¡¯s connected and dedicated with skills that match her zeal,¡± Dad said, ¡°that means we can¡¯t just waltz right up to her front door.¡±


    ¡°It would probably bite at our knees,¡± Tony added.


    ¡°It¡¯s likely,¡± Mom said, ¡°Mel has been at this for a while so like a zookeeper on the grounds. The good one¡¯s command serious loyalty.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like we need to run a play to get intel,¡± Dad said, ¡°We¡¯ll need innocent conversations and chance encounters to see what she knows.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to get creative,¡± Tony said, ¡°A lot of monsters would know and react if we had any enforcement active on approach. It might take too much to garner her trust.¡±


    ¡°If a heavy hitter is in town,¡± I said, ¡°she¡¯ll probably be nervous, and she could let something slip. We just need the opportune moment.¡±


    It¡¯s still going to be hard,¡± Tony said, ¡°one wrong move and there would be very little we could do to ensure she doesn¡¯t have some rabid wombat or pointy tooth goblins waiting to strike like a hit squad?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s an extreme, but it¡¯s possible.¡± Dad said, ¡°But Mel has been smart. I doubt she¡¯d be reckless to send creatures into a fight she wouldn¡¯t know they couldn¡¯t win.¡±


    ¡°And a dark witch is a big deal,¡± I said,


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Dad said in a reflective tone. He was putting pieces together, ¡°but we have a chance to see her in a perplexed state. The longer we wait, the quicker our interaction window closes. If she¡¯s worried, she might jump down a lair and wait it out.¡±


    ¡°I just filled Pop in,¡± Mom said, ¡°he¡¯s willing to join in.¡±


    ¡°That would be helpful,¡± Dad said, pulling out his phone. ¡°It would be good just in case things go wrong. Tony, we''ll start with a broken-down driver. Pop can help me break a few things that we¡¯ll take some time to fix.¡±


    ¡°Our camera feeds could be helpful,¡± Mom said, ¡°and if we could pass a few hours on her street. We could get a sense of her neighbors, her visitors and her general lifestyle.¡±


    Dad then turned to Mom, "That¡¯s a good idea and if we have an opening and could leave a vehicle overnight, that would be a great way to get eyes on her. Jenna, while we tackle this, will you and Emma take the press or law enforcement badges and do a follow-up on the Main Street attacks?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to split up to maximize the badge effect,¡± I said.


    ¡°As long as you stay in contact,¡± Dad insisted, ¡°you should be fine. I wouldn¡¯t linger for too long in one area, but see what you can do to press workers, owners, pedestrians, and anyone who is willing to talk. We need to see if anything jogs their memories.¡±


    ¡°Emma,¡± Mom said I saw her motion to me, ¡°let¡¯s go to the wardrobe.¡±


    ¡°Coming,¡± I said.


    ¡°And above all,¡± Dad said, ¡°keep an eye out for anyone loitering on the street. I would employ the usual measures to check for threats. Until we know more though, we must assume that whoever did this might come back for round two.¡±


    LATER IN THE DAY.¡°Thank you so much for your help,¡±


    Some phrases always seem hollow the twentieth time you say it. I handed off a business card with details and an alias that would come link to a special phone if they decided to call. No one ever did, but we needed to have multiple avenues active in order to get some information.


    After several hours and some strategically picked individuals, I set up shop in the corner drugstore. A few of the businesses had been completely cut off. I glimpsed portions of the destruction, but from a distance, there were no telltale signs of the villain and there hadn¡¯t been any suspicious characters hanging around. So far, it seemed that people were bouncing back from the attack.


    The customer, a woman with dark hair, took the card and hastily set it in her purse before she took off toward the cashier. The drugstore had fared better than its neighboring buildings. The smoke smell was mild and there were mild scorch marks across the ceiling and along the conjoining wall.


    I tapped a pen against a notepad, but I hadn¡¯t really noted anything worthwhile. Most people who had chatted with me had basically said that it had come out of nowhere. There had been a select few eager to speculate on any number of potential culprits and villains ranging from political figures, internet loudmouths, and some older high school teachers.


    Unlikely on all counts.


    Now, on my own, I relaxed my professional posture, quickly stashed my badge in an inside coat pocket, and moved to my knees, pretending to tie my shoe. After a moment, I rose and put a smile on my face. You can''t distract a large crowd very easily. There are too many variables to consider. I glanced at the options on the racks and shelves and kept an eye on the door to watch the woman leave. I wasn¡¯t worried about crossing paths again, if we did, she wouldn¡¯t have a clue who I was. It didn¡¯t work so well in large groups like a large group of police officers. It would have been idiotic to infiltrate the chaos in the moment. For small groups and a face-to-face, my badge was loaded with distractionary enforcement. With one of these on hand, its inner workings had a charged focus on a fictional idea, like being a seasoned detective instead of being a neighbor or a resident. I wasn¡¯t wearing latex, glasses, or a wig and thanks to the badge, I didn¡¯t need to. The badge needed to be charged for a few minutes, and its case kept it active. So, until I needed it again, or if the charge timed out, as long as I had it put away, as far as anyone else was concerned, I was just another patron shopping around. It was a fantastic way to get information in an area where someone might know me. This did present challenges because I couldn¡¯t fool anyone for very long, especially if they knew who I was, even the quickest of conversations could cause problems. In addition, if a subject had any ties to my parents or grandparents, I had to avoid any personable questions. Fortunately, since most of my high school teachers had retired, and we had a university that brought a steady influx of new people in their twenties I had a better chance of questioning people who had no clue who I was and would take the badge a bit more seriously. I was the furthest thing from an official detective or a federal agent, but they don¡¯t exactly have rules about dealing with mythological and supernatural creatures. My task centered on looking the part and as long as I could act, genuinely act and keep people¡¯s attention on the badge instead of the face holding it. I didn''t have to worry about anyone calling me out for being a phony.


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    After a few minutes, I checked my watch, and once I was sure that the coast was clear. I decided to head out to the parking lot. Mom had taken similar tools into other neighboring businesses, and it was about time to come back together. I waited for a few cars to pass the building and then I crossed toward a shaded area where I noticed our car next to a yellow fire hydrant sandwich between two large cement posts painted in a matching shade.


    ¡°How did it go,¡± Mom asked as I climbed inside.


    I padded at the pocket where I had placed my badge. "It worked like a charm, just like Pop said it would. Sadly, out of a half dozen people I had been able to interview, no one had any current information to share, and most weren¡¯t too keen on sharing; they were getting mad or were incredibly nervous. I got blown off a few times. There were some comments of maybe either a pair or group of teenagers came into a store and asked for directions, but no one was sure.¡±


    ¡°I heard something similar about directions but mine were adults,¡± Mom said as she pulled the car out of the stall and headed to the road, "Illusions and glamors can affect people in several different ways, so they could all be right and at the same time, they could all be wrong."


    I folded my arms, " I guess that is one of the perks of having a dark witch as your employer."


    Mom looked at me and nodded, "I won''t argue with you about that."


    Once we were on the road, Mom hit the gas, and we headed into a residential area where Halloween was now in full force. Several large yards were now proud cemeteries of grotesque skeletons, severed limbs, and Grim-looking statues. The further we ventured into the subdivision; I caught glimpses of witches riding brooms who had unceremoniously crashed into a tree. There was caution tape across some bushes and some lengthy fences. Mom crossed an intersection, and once we neared a School Zone, there were child-friendly displays with d¨¦cor ranging from plastic or real jack-o''-lanterns, along with witches who had crashed into one part of someone''s house instead of their trees. There were also large houses with inflatable decorations with licensed characters like Mickey Mouse or the cheesy yellow Minions who were dressed like clowns, wearing a Dracula-inspired cape or an oversized wizard''s hat.


    ¡°Did you learn anything else of note?¡± She had an excellent poker face, and I got the feeling that she was suspicious, but hadn¡¯t come to any conclusion. Mom tapped the steering wheel. ¡°I managed to find a reporter who willingly let me into the studio, which wasn''t too far up the street. There weren¡¯t a lot of people there, but I got worried that the badge¡¯s enforcement would attract the attention of the studio¡¯s in-house legal team.¡±


    ¡°Did you threaten a warrant?¡± I asked.


    Mom shook her head. ¡°Luckily, I didn¡¯t have to, and no one seemed suspicious of me. In fact, they were quite accommodating. I thought I''d struck gold, getting a chance to see the unedited reels.¡±


    ¡°Did the attempt go south?¡±


    ¡°It did,¡± Mom said, ¡°because the reporter was willing to help me, but he had to run my request up the chain of command, so he went to talk to a producer, who was on a conference call, and it got complicated real quick. I wanted to push, but I was afraid the badge might power down since I hadn¡¯t been able to close the case to charge it.¡±


    "I had a similar problem when I ran into a group from the campus. They¡¯re a bit more inquisitive despite- Oh hey, dad''s trying to call."


    I turned on the monitor as Mom cleared a new intersection. After about a block, we pulled over beside an elementary school¡¯s soccer field. A few balls had been left in the grass, and even from a distance, I could see shadows bouncing up and down inside the hallway, meaning the school was still in session.


    ¡°Hey honey,¡± Mom said. ¡°Any news?¡±


    Dad huffed, "Well apart from confirming that we have a ton of friendly people in the neighborhood. We had a good setup and a good vantage point, but we were unable to make contact. We caught a few quick glimpses of Melanie, but she never spoke to us, and she came off flustered, if not tense.¡±


    ¡°It stands to reason that she¡¯d worry about the dark witch,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°We came to that conclusion as well,¡± Dad said, ¡°but we didn¡¯t see any threats and she had no visitors, but she left in a hurry about twenty minutes ago.¡±


    ¡°Are you trailing her?¡± I asked.


    ¡°We tried,¡± Dad said, ¡°but we had to put everything back together and by the time we had done that, we had lost track of her.¡±


    ¡°So, it is possible that someone was following her,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°Possibly,¡± Dad said, ¡°We all agree that she looked super concerned and laser-focused about something, but it¡¯s anyone¡¯s guess what was on her mind. She¡¯s pretty good at evasive tactics because she was only ahead of us by two, maybe three minutes.¡±


    ¡°Where would she go?¡± Mom said, ¡°If no one came to visit and if she¡¯s not a target. Is she worried? Or is she planning to commit some kind of crime? Maybe she¡¯s supporting a new movement.¡±


    ¡°I think,¡± Dad began, but then Tony cut in and there were multiple cars honking off in the distance.


    ¡°Did you find her?¡± Mom pressed.


    I heard some more engine noises and multiple car horns before Dad could reply. ¡°It appears that she went up Main Street and blew through a few subdivisions; we found her loitering on a corner, which was annoying several people. My best guess is that she''s heading towards the high school."


    "We''re not too far from there." Mom said, checking her mirrors to move onto the road, "What is the make and model of her car and-"


    Mom trailed off as shadows overtook the sky, darkening it for several seconds while a swift gust blew leaves, twigs, dirt, and small rocks against our windshield.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Dad demanded, ¡°That gust! It wasn¡¯t natural! It knocked two cars onto the sidewalk.¡±


    I tipped my head to look toward the sky, feeling speechless.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Mom began as an eclipse engulfed the sky, washing the houses, the school, and the soccer field in thick shadows. The whole thing took place in a short span of just a few seconds, and then sunlight cut through the darkness. It appeared through some trees towering over the homes in front of us and then it webbed itself over the area until things were back to normal.


    ¡°Dad,¡± I said, ¡°I think this is round 2.¡±


    The words slipped off my tongue and seconds later, the entire street flooded with several dozen high school students, all coming around the corner in a full sprint. Several of them carried jackets, junk food, textbooks, and papers, which they discarded as unholy screams split the air, drowning out the traffic. Several cars pulled off the road, and a few faster students rushed past our vehicle, panicking, scrambling out of desperation and visible dread.


    I cracked the door just as one of the students yelled, ¡°Ghosts!¡±


    ¡°Did I hear ghosts?¡± Dad called.


    Neither of us replied as the students reached us, and the stampede of students rocked our car while some were knocked into the hood or our doors as they desperately attempted to get away. When a break occurred, Mom and I jumped out of the car at the same time some of the locals came onto the sidewalk or wandered into their yards to get a sense of the commotion. Mom and I exchanged glances and did our best to avoid the oncoming crowd as the temperature dropped. Autumn weather can be brisk, but I rarely had ever seen my breath this time of year before 5 pm in the afternoon.


    If the temperature drops rapidly and without warning. That is the telltale sign of ghosts.


    Ghosts break all the rules. The first visual incorporeal entities appeared beside some trees, and they soared through the air wearing long, tattered cloaks, and they extended thin arms with clawed fingers. After about the first twelve, a wave of young students appeared, and they were being taunted by marshmallow-shaped clouds covered in sheets. We hurried forward and several other adults hurried to save the kids from being plowed over. I helped a teenage boy to his feet and flinched when I saw multiple disfigured bodies that had once been soldiers, knights, and commoners from ancient history. With each new wave of ghosts, there were new waves of cold. I clenched my fists as they all came tumbling around the corner with eager smiles and arms over their heads as they made unholy and stomach-churning noises.


    ¡°Emma,¡± Mom exclaimed. Her face went white, and for a split second, her skin seemed tinted purple. ¡°This is no accident. The ghosts, they¡¯re here because they¡¯ve been compelled.¡±


    I don¡¯t think we need additional evidence that a dark witch was in town.


    I shot Mom a thumbs up as throat sounds drowned out additional comments, but I knew what she would say. Brisk cold washed over the street, and the high schoolers screamed in unfettered terror. The locals motioned to a few kids who graciously accepted the chance to get inside a home, which was honestly the safest place these people could be. Ghosts whether they¡¯re hapless visitors or compelled henchmen. They haunt buildings, and they can cause nightmares and insomnia when given a chance to interact with non-living things, like pots, pans, pipes, pianos, Bluetooth speakers, etc. It is a process, and unlike popular culture, monsters can¡¯t enter a dwelling unless sufficiently empowered or invited in.


    The cold and the sheer number of them. Along with the notion that they were here to do someone¡¯s bidding. That meant they would have more substance and could cause bodily harm.


    I dialed Dad.


    ¡°We have a literal herd of ghosts by the high school,¡± I yelled the moment he picked up. Dad said something, but my attention split as a few robed ghosts broke from the pack and began taunting small groups of kids bunkered down at the base of trees instead of trying to move through the crowd. One ghost in particular, a woman with wild hair and sunken features, centered her attention on some young girls. One older than the rest attempted to shield the younger ones. Who kept their eyes tightly shut, and they gripped their protector with trembling fingers.


    ¡°We¡¯re coming!¡± Dad bellowed. It hurt my ear, but I ended the call and sprinted toward the tree.


    I think I¡¯ll call you Hideous Helen. I thought as I hurried toward them. There were so many ghosts, but Helen stood out as one of the worst. Most ghosts tend to exhibit a growl, a howler, or some kind of cry. Helen smiled and let out a cackle that overtook her demeanor, and she cocked her head toward the sky. For one brief second, I caught sight of a malicious twinkle in her eye, along with a mostly toothless grin. A few students who had been close by shuffled in place or skidded to a halt in bewildered surprise or utter terror. A few students further behind managed to pull away while the rest fell to their knees or collapsed, wholly overtaken by unconquerable fear.


    I didn¡¯t like doing this kind of thing out in the open, but I couldn¡¯t just watch. Helen¡¯s glee was unnerving, and I wanted to sleep at night.


    Mom hurried up beside me and handed me one of Pop¡¯s inventions; a collapsible baton composed of iron alloys. From experience, I knew there were many ways to deal with ghosts, such as salt and iron. Pop built this baton with many features, from a dagger to extending several feet, nearly becoming a spear. The options were essential for close quarters combat or public spaces with many moving people, which could obstruct my field of vision. I opted to split my baton into two parts. That way, I could strike from either side.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got the ugly one!¡± I said, motioning toward Helen, who wiggled her fingers at a kid who was now heavily crying on the older student¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°It''s ok!¡± the older student said, but her consolation fell mute against the screams, wails, and cries of everyone close by. I rushed forward and vaulted over a car, swiping at Helen, who shot a glance over her shoulder and then rose higher into the air. I watched her move but couldn¡¯t do anything as my attention fell on Mom, who had split her baton in two as I had done. She hurried into the crowd''s heart, encircled by several ancient warriors wearing animal skins and carrying spears. Just beyond them, I spotted a burly lumberjack laughing like an evil Santa as he swiped at kids'' heads with an axe. The kids screamed and tried to duck for cover, and with each yelp or tumble, it only made him laugh harder and gear up for a new strike with more force and enthusiasm.


    ¡°Ha Ha!¡± The lumberjack roared, and he held up his axe as some Viking-looking ghosts, complete with animal skins across their shoulders and horned helmets. They pounded their chests and rushed across a field where, unsurprisingly, there were large kids, undoubtedly football players, ushering those around them away from the street.


    I sprinted toward the lumberjack, tightening my grip as I lashed out, catching his axe with one baton a second before striking at his chest with my second one. The lumberjack grumbled, spit, and then coughed before his form disintegrated.


    Ghosts tend to have a semi-solid substance. That lets them interact with the living world, and certain kinds of metals can counteract their ability to maintain their form. I felt several pairs of eyes on me, and I heard their footfalls as I straightened up. From the corner of my eye, I watched groups of kids hurry toward the closest houses, where they were all rushed inside. I ducked from view as Helen hovered in the air with her arms across her chest. She watched the distinct groups and then glided overhead, clacking and pointing at specific students who immediately became the target of new ghosts. Several looked like butlers, lawyers, and individuals who had all suffered gruesome and horrific deaths.


    Helen, I wondered. It had seemed realistic, but she was more in control than I had initially considered. Are you the ringleader?


    I made a note to check with Mom, but Helen had the undivided attention of her ghostly counterparts. Where she pointed, the nearest one responded. I moved back into the street, swiping at each ghost I could. The number of students just kept growing, and the fear everyone exhibited created mass pandemonium where several of the younger students were either bullied into corners or found themselves pinned to the ground as their classmates trampled them in a desperate effort to escape, but in the end, the most aggressive students only seemed to stumble and trip and then they were on the ground themselves.


    This is a well-coordinated attack. I helped some kids to their feet and knocked a musket-wielding soldier into a trash can. By now, I was breathing heavily and sweat plastered against my face.


    They just keep coming. Helen and the other ghosts, a bizarre combination of hooded figures, soldiers, and missing limbs. Individuals on horseback, both soldiers and Cowboys, all seemed pleased with the chaos.


    ¡°Mom!¡± I called out, but I had lost sight of her in the crowd. I jogged to the next house.


    ¡°Get out of the way!¡± someone yelled as I came within striking distance of another soldier who, noticing me, decided to heed the advice instead of attacking me. I took a quick look but couldn¡¯t pinpoint the speaker. I hesitated but then spotted Helen, who had decided to move down towards an unsuspecting group of students. I looked around for the speaker, but failing again, I set my sight on Helen, who had assumed a toddler-like demeanor as students rushed through heavy piles of leaves before taking refuge in a garage.


    This isn¡¯t fun for them, Helen. I advanced toward the open garage, and Helen, who circled this street a few times, grabbed a broad-shouldered boy and pushed him into a garbage can. Then she turned and looked at the house.


    Why are you looking at the house? I wondered. You can''t go in.


    I cleared the hedge, intending to put up a fight. But I hadn''t stepped more than a dozen. Steps onto the grass before I heard screams coming from inside the house. I looked at the door, and then I looked back at Helen, who put one hand on her chest; she put the other up in the air as though she was trying to dance with an invisible partner.


    How had they managed to do that?


    ¡°This is unexpected,¡± I muttered as two mummy ghosts appeared, and they had their attention squarely on me. I moved back as the mummies opted to pursue. Ghosts are a weight class all of their own. There are many kinds of spirits. In the standard human form, reflective from some period, there are zombie-like ghosts, flowing clouds of mist, some ghosts called seekers, haunters, ghouls, wraiths, phantoms, and poltergeists. Every culture has historical stories about them, and with the right amount of fear, and belief in superstition, they can do way more than just say boo, mess with your cabinets, and or change a room''s temperature. One of the mummies lunged at me. And I dove forward managing to come out into a roll to avoid getting tackled. Luckily the mummy duo moved slowly. And they were hardly able to bend their knees. It wasn¡¯t just a thematic look, they were the ghosts of real mummies, so they were limited by their form. As I came up, the second one launched an attack, and I knocked him down with my baton. I didn''t have the most incredible reach. But fending off one after the other allowed them to strike quickly and it afforded me a small window that limited my ability to get away, and that window was shrieking with each passing second. Us Fosters, we¡¯re good but we still get tired.


    I blocked several additional attacks, mostly swipes and using their thick arms as clubs. The first one came at me, and his attack was followed by his buddy. Then, with a single-moment advantage. I rushed the pair of ghosts. Their jaws hung loose, but I got the impression they were furious or maybe surprised as they disintegrated. True to form, ghosts and iron or salt just don''t mix.


    Now cleared, I spotted a mom fending off another lumberjack while three robed figures glided into view. They sat a considerable distance away, and surprisingly, Helen laughed when she acknowledged their arrival.


    Now, who are you three? There were other ghosts wearing robes, but unlike those that could be mistaken for monks, sorcerers, or bandits with clues highlighting how they died or the kind of life they had lived. These three looked different. They stood in a triangle formation; two stood a step behind the third and didn¡¯t look like zombies or poor spirits who had been ripped from the afterlife.


    These three were different, but Helen¡¯s cackle drew my attention back to her.


    One problem at a time. I took a long, hard look at the three-robed figures but then turned my attention back to Helen as she glided closer and closer to a window. If the ghosts could get into houses, something else would be in play, moving things from dangerous to deadly. I clicked my batons back together, then clicked a section that linked the two halves with a cable attachment. With this feature, they basically became nun chucks, but they had a much longer space between them. I grabbed one hand while I spun the other and cleared the distance to move in for a strike.


    I wasn¡¯t entirely sure if it would help, but I was confident Helen needed to go.


    Helen reached toward a window, and I had a split second to set the best position. I withdrew a portion of the cable and put my hand grip on it for the best use of force. I doubted I¡¯d get more than one shot at this.


    ¡°Get down!¡± I heard the same male voice call out. The moment he spoke, I felt that the command was meant for me. I pulled my tool back and dove to the grass as a firework-level shot cracked through the chaos. I rolled onto my back and got to my feet as Helen screamed in indignation. I worried she was about to throw a fit and cause even more trouble, but then I spotted the smoke, and Helen padded at her legs as sapphire blue fire engulfed her skirt.


    Ghost fire.


    I couldn¡¯t see the shooter, and the outburst hadn¡¯t sounded like Dad, but my gut instinct was to look at Mom; she had no gun. The fire engulfed Helen, who flapped her arms and tried to escape higher into the air, but she had lost all control, and the ghosts nearby panicked and began to flee, except for the three-robed ghost monks. They lingered where I had seen them and appeared content to watch the events unfold.


    I considered moving toward them, but something inside me made me feel twisted and uncertain. There was no dizziness or disorientation, but their mere presence sent chills up my spine. The screams, shouts, and cries carried down the street, and school officials were poking their heads outside. I spotted several running across the field to check the situation, and was of them was the school resource officer. It had all happened so fast and unsurprisingly, the street was beginning to clear. It was all moving really fast, and the shot. That was going to make headlines.


    As the street cleared, I felt my wits return, and I joined the crowd to hopefully avoid getting singled out by the oncoming help and I moved to find Mom to give her cover. While on the move, only a few feet ahead near a group of students in PE clothes, I spotted two people: a woman in a white fedora and a man wearing a heavy coat, which looked suspiciously like it could conceal a firearm. He kept one arm close to his chest while ushering students away from the area with the other. I pushed myself to get close. Their outfits screamed shady, and I got the feeling they were monster hunters. I scanned the street for Mom, but the duo appeared equally eager to escape, and she was nowhere in sight.


    ¡°Emma,¡± Mom said, coming up beside me.


    ¡°Those two,¡± I said, I tried to point them out, but the crowd had grown fairly large.


    ¡°They¡¯re not important,¡± Mom said, and I followed her gaze, which fell on the three robed ghosts who drew their hoods over their faces, and they turned to leave. Mom stiffened as she followed their movements.


    ¡°Mom, who are those three ghosts?¡±


    Mom didn¡¯t reply, but the look she gave those three ghosts could have frozen a blaze on a three-story building. I could see that she was genuinely disturbed that they were there. Once the three ghosts were a considerable distance away, I choked back a gasp as Mom pursued them. We typically didn¡¯t do something so rash, but I trusted her instincts nonetheless, and I wasn''t going to let her do anything alone, so I followed. We came to the next corner, and something about the ghost struck me as odd. They weren''t savage. They weren''t scary. Something about them was different, and the only word that came to my mind was powerful. But I did not understand why. After the first block and then into the second. The ghosts did not pick up speed. Nor did they seem aware that we were coming after them. Gradually, though, we began to wear down. As we came to a stop beneath a shade tree, I noticed several of the neighboring yards completely torn up. The skeletons had been ripped apart and thrown around like shredded paper. Monster statues had been pushed over or smashed. Some displays simply were missing hands. Then there were garbage cans. streamers. broomsticks. witch¡¯s hats. Along with multiple plastic bags, used tissues, wrappers, and moldy food had been discarded from shredded trash bags that now lined the sidewalk and the gutter. The undoubtedly pristine cul-de-sac was now in complete disarray.


    ¡°Emma, we''ve got to catch those three ghosts.¡± Mom began.


    ¡°Mom,¡± I interrupted, quickly ducking beside a large SUV. ¡°Look over there.¡±


    Mom hesitated but then pulled back to my side as I pointed down a second cul-de-sac equally torn up and destroyed like the first. The one big difference idled in the middle of the road: a garbage truck. It moved a few inches and then we watched six garbage men rushing across each of the respective yards, grabbing decorations that they tossed into the back of their trucks. One by one, each house was ransacked like children digging through a toy chest. A few workers considered using the garbage cans, but they only moved him a few feet before they tossed the contents onto the street.


    ¡°Those aren''t garbage men,¡± I said.


    ¡°Definitely goblins,¡± Mom confirmed. ¡°But what are they doing? They like getting dirty, but this isn¡¯t typical behavior.¡±


    The garbage men piled onto the truck once their job was completed and after a few seconds. It slowly began to inch forward. Once it moved a few feet, we saw someone, Melanie Black.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Melanie yelled.


    Over the deep, throaty purr of the garbage truck, I could barely hear her pleading with the garbagemen to listen to her as she questioned and seemingly offered warnings against their actions. Garbage trucks don''t typically move very fast. And Melanie didn''t have any problem keeping up beside it. Yeah, with each word she spoke, the Garbagemen just ignored her. As she drew closer, I could hear desperation and concern in her voice.


    ¡°You''re stealing decorations. There are a lot of people who aren''t going to be happy with this. This isn''t gonna go over well for all of you."


    The garbage truck moved into the street and began to pick up speed. Melanie stayed by his side for several feet. And she and she shouted plea after plea, question after question. But when that didn''t do any good, she moved to the other side to try to talk to the others.


    ¡°Talk to me, please,¡± Melanie begged. ¡°What are you doing? This doesn''t make any sense!¡±


    The truck speed was getting a bit harder for Melanie to keep up. She tried her best, and Mom and I watched it unfold.


    ¡°You''re going to undo all of our hard work. You''re putting this entire agenda in jeopardy.¡±


    We followed the rest of the block, and Melanie slowed down as we reached the next intersection. Her breathing was suddenly labored, and she had tears in her eyes.


    ¡°Mom, are you seeing this?¡± I whispered. Dad had reasoned Melanie had been up to something, but this had been the last thing I would have expected.


    Mom didn''t reply, and the questions seemed to hang in midair as a circle of glossy turquoise caught my eye. I hurried and plucked it out of the gutter. It was a coin roughly the size of a 50-cent piece. The surface was surprisingly smooth, but I noticed small indentations similar to sanded wood or weathered seashells.


    Where did you come from? I was intrigued. But then a steep chill washed over the entire St. I saw the darkness coming but didn''t realize what was happening. For 10 seconds, the cold lingered, and almost at once, it was replaced with a burst of intense warmth. In an instant, it was going in. The street plunged into darkness. The eclipse spread across the street, and it zipped over the houses and the trees, moving toward the sch-


    I felt impaired. I spread my legs and chanced, looking around to get a sense of my bearings. I heard a *whoosh and then the rumble of a weary engine. The darkness cleared, and I found my intention in a plastic Jack-O-Lantern sitting in the back of the garbage truck. I wouldn''t have noticed otherwise by the darkness highlighting it, smoking white eyes that glowed and struck my eyes like staring into the high beams of oncoming traffic.


    I felt a hand on my shoulder.


    ¡°Emma, it''s time we go.¡±


    ¡°Right behind you,¡± I said. I felt stupid as it came out of my mouth. It should have sounded similar, but I felt indecisive and timid. Then there was the strange coin I had picked up.


    I moved to put the coin in my pocket, but when I looked up, I stumbled and stuttered when the three robbed ghosts stood in my path. I could only see small portions of their faces. The rest sat obscured behind shadows, their translucent composition and the depth of their deep, almost monk or Jedi-like robes.


    ¡°No reservation Emma Foster.¡± The middle one said with a matter a fact tone.


    ¡°What?¡± I said. I blinked twice and then they were gone.


    ¡°Emma!¡± Mom called as sirens blasted through the neighborhood which shook me out of my stupor. I brushed it off the mixed emotions and followed Mom back to the car. There were a lot more questions than answers. Goblins were stealing Halloween decorations; a dark witch had attacked the magical government agents, and now, for some unknown reason, a large army of ghosts had been unleashed on the town.


    I climbed into my seat and was about to put the turquoise coin into the drink holder when I paused, feeling a subtle warmth tingle across my palm.

 Battle plan: How to Fight a Ghost.

    Like most monsters that go bump in the night, there are mythologically sound techniques in a monster assassin¡¯s arsenal. These have been well tested but certainly could be improved upon, so take this advice under advisement and with a stiff grain of salt.


    1: Coat your weapons in salt or iron.


    2: stay warm. Ghosts can do more damage the colder it is. You¡¯re toast if it''s supernaturally cold.


    3: Above all, this is not a joke. Do yourself a favor and avoid tangling with ghosts. It¡¯s just that easy.


    As a monster assassin, you don''t just do a job and go home. Seriously, it is rare to have what professionals call a clean getaway. With each encounter, you probably come within an inch of death, and once you¡¯ve made the kill, you must make sure that nothing is coming up behind you. Numerous journals and archives don¡¯t mention it outright, but the oldest entries tend to be composed of shaky handwriting and run-on sentences. Their words are reflective but are supercharged rambles instead of encounter-related facts. Some of the early Fosters were idiots, and I''m pretty sure one of my ancestors coined the phrase ¡°the things that go bump in the night.¡± Because they had to learn by experience just how vicious monsters can be.


    Dumb luck, plain and simple.


    Mom wasted no time in getting back on the road and out of the neighborhood. There were no signs of the three hooded ghosts, but a few marshmallow clouds lingered, but they vanished, and according to the car¡¯s dashboard, the temperature was equalizing and returning to its seasonal levels. Mom called Dad and reassured him that we were ok, and once we were back in the house, we activated every security measure we had in place, one button short of a Red Alert lockdown, and then we gathered on Dad''s bridge. Pop and Grandma Foster sat together on a dual video call while Dad displayed images and the follow-up news reports of the screaming kids and the bizarre claims about ghosts.


    A local reporter stood on the street near the elementary school, but there was no one with her. While she spoke, there were clips from the side streets where the Halloween decorations had been destroyed or stolen amidst layers of trash.


    ¡°We will keep you up to date on this twisted and rather disgusting turn of events,¡± The reporter said. ¡°As you can see from the images on your screen. About two dozen houses have been drastically vandalized. Their decorations have been ruined, and it will take several hours to get the streets cleaned up. There were reports that people dressed as garbagemen were responsible, but city officials have declined to comment, but one supervisor says that they¡¯re looking into it.¡±


    The news report ended, and once Dad ended the feed, Pop and Grandma¡¯s video moved to be front and center.


    ¡°I never thought I''d live to see something like this,¡± Grandma said, shuffling through several loose pages and multiple thick-volume books. ¡°Based on what I found, history would call today''s fiasco a Phantom Siege.¡±


    ¡°A real supernatural running with the bulls.¡± Pop interjected with a bit of amusement at the comparison.


    ¡°And that¡¯s no understatement,¡± Grandma said, as she settled in on a deep brown couch, wearing a heavy purple robe. I had fun memories of having great movie nights on that couch.


    ¡°Run us through what is a Phantom Siege?¡± Dad asked, ¡°What is its purpose, and who would most likely be responsible?¡±


    Grandma pushed her glasses up her nose and scanned a few loose pages. ¡°Its purpose is varied, and it is a high-level task, but over the years, there have been some self-proclaimed dark witches and wizards who have attempted it, but they were fanatics and if they were captured, they died because they lost control of the spell in the first few moments of its casting.¡±


    Dad shifted in his captain¡¯s chair and took in all this information while Grandma nodded to Pop who fiddled with a computer and then shared an array of digitized videos at various historical moments. The quality varied depending on the decade or moment it was captured.


    After a few moments of static, the first played. There were officers shooting jets of water into rioting crowds. Pop layered some filters to show how the water caused dozens of ghosts to flee into the sky or somewhere off-screen. The video displayed a large department store I pictured from holiday movies that had dozens of panicked people running in every direction. There were people on the floor; some were curled up by shelves, and the rest ransacked the most valuable areas. As the video bar ended, I caught glimpses of multiple ghosts, but they moved in and out of focus. I wasn¡¯t surprised at that. Technology has improved, but just like any old monsters, ghosts know how to mess with people who try to come and find them.¡±


    ¡°That store looks like a wild Black Friday sale,¡± Tony said in jest, but his eyes were wide in surprise if not a fair amount of shock.


    Then there was one that looked like a film reel. Grandma pursed her lips as she played it. The screen sat black for a few seconds, and when the footage began to play. I recognized tall hills in the background. There were dark figures, and for a few seconds, they moved quickly, but then they slowed. I couldn¡¯t tell how many people there were, but I could see the ghosts.


    ¡°Was that a battlefield?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Pop said; his expression was stern, and it was clear that he wasn¡¯t going to say anymore. The final video was a new report of suited agents surrounding a bus. They had it surrounded on a busy street in New York or maybe Chicago. The camera panned close to the windows, and I saw someone moving around. There was no audio, but then the doors opened, and multiple pages fluttered through the air and were pushed into the sky.


    Pop cleared his throat. ¡°The most recent attempt of a Phantom Siege was done by a blowhard necromancer named Pyron Fowler.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of him,¡± Dad said. ¡°Didn¡¯t he start a group in the eighties, the Black Hearts or something?¡±


    ¡°He did and the name changed a few times,¡± replied Pop, ¡°With him, unlike the other bonified necromancers, Pyron fashioned himself as somewhat of a celebrity. He did his dark work in secret, and while he was bad, others were more publicly bad, so he flew under the radar. By the time there was evidence remotely linking him to specific crimes and events, he was too big in the public eye to make a move against.¡±


    ¡°A real politician, if you can believe it,¡± Grandma muttered. ¡°It was foolish to most people how Pyron slipped through the cracks. M.A.G.E made a big deal, cracking down on dark magic and everything. They put so much information on the front page. So, what did Pyron do?¡±


    Pop cleared his throat. He shared Grandma¡¯s discomfort with this story.


    ¡°What?¡¯ I asked.


    Grandma curled her lips. ¡°He set out to become the best and he believed the Phantom Siege would level him to a supreme being. Through his connections, he secured secret information from the handful of idiots who were dumb enough to attempt it first. No one knew this because M.A.G.E leaders at the time thought they were cleaning up the world when really, they were handing people like him a doomsday itinerary.¡±


    ¡°Cataloged, color-coded, and footnoted to boot,¡± Pop added.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t he go into business after a while?¡± asked Dad, ¡°like a legitimate business?¡±


    ¡°It was where he garnered most of his support, but it was underhanded,¡± Pop said, ¡°He was soft-spoken and reserved, but he was smart, financially smart. Sources claimed that he secured millions in loans from supporters, which helped him secure airtime on a radio station, and he bought controlling interest in a publishing house and retail distribution channels.¡±


    ¡°That would have definitely fumbled any investigation,¡± Dad said, ¡°and hasn¡¯t M.A.G.E cracked down on publishing materials?¡±


    ¡°Not to the level of the Third Reich, ¡°Pop said, ¡°but it wasn¡¯t without its merit. There were wild books released before Fowler that caused a lot of problems.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a solid plan,¡± Dad assessed, ¡°he looks at everyone who comes before him, and he uses his skills to judge where they went wrong. If you take all that information and combine that without his own and if he has an unfettered ability to print what he wants. It''s like an underworld revolution.¡±


    ¡°Pretty much,¡± Pop muttered, his facial expressions showed that thinking about it made him uncomfortable. ¡°But in a way, Fowler was more of a modern Al Capone. People were shy of anyone who claimed to be a necromancer, but when word began to spread. That worry turned into genuine concern.¡±


    ¡°So, he hid out in the open,¡± Dad said.


    ¡°Essentially paying his taxes, and as long as he had solid lawyers. They preserved his reputation.¡±


    ¡°So, what went wrong?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°Like most villains, he let power go to his head and he thought himself untouchable.¡± Grandma motioned to Pop, who reluctantly put a few pictures on the screen. There was the bus, and Pyron was standing on the steps with disheveled hair, an untucked shirt, and hundreds of crumpled manuscript pages clucked against his chest.


    ¡°Pyron decided to escalate his timetable, but he wasn¡¯t strategic about it. He wanted to ascend, and he was ready to kill anyone who got in his way.¡± Pop continued cycling through pictures of Pyron desperately trying to keep a hold of his pages before throwing them into the air and attempting to flee on foot. ¡°For three years, he had dedicated base listening to his radio programs, and he proudly proclaimed his plans over the airways.¡±


    ¡°M.A.G.E was building their case, and they used his radio show as a basis to try and get ahead of him. We were actually involved, secretly of course and we found that Fowler had purchased safehouses, and farmland, and one house had a huge library, a library that no one had ever known about, and it was chuck full of the questionable books I mentioned, along with the writings of genuine dark witches, wizards and necromancers.¡±


    ¡°I remember a little about those last days,¡± Dad said, ¡°Fowler had gone off the radar for a while, and then there were some unexplained robberies. Most of the stuff stolen was junk, but a few objects had been under scrutiny.¡±


    ¡°Those thefts were the first domino that knocked down the tower,¡± Pop affirmed. ¡°It was later announced that several wannabe necromancers had popped up claiming credit for the crimes. When each one was discovered to have interned or had a low-level job at one of Fowler¡¯s businesses. They were worried he was making a home guide to dark magic and necromancy. No one knew exactly what Fowler might have figured out or stumbled upon, so the authorities decided to pursue him, and we were tasked to kill him if presented with the chance.¡±


    Both grandma and Grandpa shook and fussed over the unspoken, and probably gritty details. I began to wonder what the popularity of A Home Guide to Evil would have been like. I could undoubtedly picture lines filing out of a bookstore with people laughing manically while others attempted to kill each other out of amusement. I shook the thought away. No matter how my imagination spun the idea, it was not a happy picture.


    Grandpa rubbed his hands together and hesitated but continued. ¡°The wannabes had strange papers in their possession, and the writing was unreadable. M.A.G.E called the symbols and writing the Phantomic language, and there are only a handful of people who can read it so that made people¡¯s blood boil because they couldn¡¯t plan because Fowler was getting the word out.¡±


    ¡°Less than five nondark beings can read it, to my knowledge,¡± Grandma added.


    I closed the security sweep on my console as a question came to mind. ¡°I¡¯m assuming Fowler attempted the Siege and it went wrong?¡±


    ¡°He was captured on the bus along with a lengthy manuscript,¡± Pop said. ¡°He did call on some ghosts to defend him, and they were vicious, but the M.A.G.E. agents are well equipped to deal with four or five ghosts.¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°So, if Fowler is out of the picture,¡± I said, ¡°and we have evidence to suggest that this hardcore ghost event has taken place. The idea of ascending to some greater form has been debunked. So, I don¡¯t get why a dark witch would call so many ghosts into the public unless she wanted to kill someone or make a statement. It wasn¡¯t like M.A.G.E agents were posing as high schoolers, right?¡±


    ¡°Makes sense,¡± Tony said. ¡°Why cause it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a good question kids,¡± Pop said, ¡°as we all know, when you compel ghosts, spirits, and the undead, you become tainted with the malicion. A lot of the most dangerous necromancers and dark-titled beings always committed crimes using ghosts and the undead as their henchman, and it doesn¡¯t take much to compel a spirit to obey you. Where you would go beyond some kind of criminal act, I cannot honestly picture.¡±


    Grandma rose to her feet and placed a hand on Pop¡¯s shoulder. ¡°There is another option.¡±


    Grandma placed a few pages and a book in front of him. Pop looked it over, and his eyebrows raised at the same moment his jaw dropped.


    Grandma faced the video screen. ¡°Ghosts and spirits are fantastic henchmen, but they are also spies and informants.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that the same thing?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°Yes and no,¡± Grandma said. ¡°Ghosts if properly empowered by their master. They can infiltrate public buildings, and with planning a private residence. It takes some doing, but they can search for information, watch your enemies, and then report back.¡±


    ¡°They can also share your dirty little secrets,¡± Mom said, ¡°even when you¡¯re dead. If someone thinks you could still be useful, they could compel you to come back.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Grandma said. ¡°Our allotment of family archives and journals have speculated that a high-level necromantic ritual could draw out a high-level witch or wizard who may not respond to a standard phantom''s invitation. It takes practice, strength, and skill to call someone, and they don¡¯t have to reply.¡±


    Mom sighed, ¡°Are you talking about the dead diary theory?¡±


    Grandma nodded, ¡°The Phantom Siege is a way to draw everyone out because it¡¯s a show of force that attracts a certain target¡¯s attention, and then they¡¯d hopefully not strike you down when they pop out for a visit.¡±


    ¡°So that means the dark witch was looking for a friend,¡± Dad said.


    ¡°It could,¡± Pop agreed, ¡°and the rest of them were to cover up for a conversation. It''s brutal and cruel, but it is something villains these days would try.¡±


    ¡°Does the Phantom Siege cause an eclipse?¡± I interjected. And what do you think of the Jack-o-lantern and the glowing eyes? That I saw in the back of the garbage truck.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been wondering about that, but so far I¡¯ve got no idea about the eclipse,¡± Pop replied, ¡°And the Jack-o-Lantern could have been the focus point of some kind of enticement spell. That could explain why they ignored Melanie Black.¡±


    ¡°Enticements are typically a monster hunter MO,¡± Tony added. ¡°Could we have had some hunters in the area trying to draw out the critters for sport?¡±


    Dad cleared his throat and gave a dismissive wave. ¡°Monster Hunters would try enticements, but I doubt they¡¯d use one like this. Most I¡¯ve ever dealt with like to use scents and potions because don¡¯t trust magic.¡±


    ¡°Hunters could be branching out,¡± Mom said, ¡°monsters are a part of society and Melanie did say that the goblin theft and vandalism would hurt her movement. Maybe she has enemies who are willing to take risks to shut her down.¡±


    ¡°It''s a reasonable assumption,¡± Dad admitted after a moment¡¯s pause, ¡°And I¡¯d buy into it if it wasn''t for this Phantom Siege. The combination of ghosts just days after mass destruction and serious public panic. Then we have an activist trying to stop goblins from breaking character. What were they up to or dealing with that would have their closest ally¡¯s words fall on deaf ears? Then we have our Minotaur mail carrier, who has also broken character and been up to something. There has been sometime between the incidents, but it does make me think that something or someone is causing this for a reason.¡±


    ¡°Monsters do break character occasionally,¡± Pop asked, ¡°Where¡¯s the connection? The minotaur didn¡¯t steal anything, and we don¡¯t know why he was even at the farm.¡±


    ¡°We interrupted him for one thing,¡± Dad said. ¡°Plus, to my knowledge, we haven¡¯t had any garbage-related incidents before today; it''s odd and something the city council would have been up in arms about. These events simultaneously spell out a complicated and detailed plan.¡±


    ¡°With an outlier,¡± Pop acknowledged.


    ¡°Melanie,¡± Mom finished, ¡°She went looking for the goblins, so she¡¯s got to be worried about them for some reason.¡±


    ¡°She had the fervor of a dedicated pastor,¡± I said, ¡°she was desperately trying to stop the goblins.¡±


    Dad snapped his fingers, ¡°While we were there, she didn¡¯t get a call, and no one came to visit, but we know she has creatures who probably would help her. Melanie must have known something was about to happen, but she didn¡¯t know what.¡±


    ¡°We should have gotten bugs in her house,¡± Tony said, ¡°we could try to hijack her internet, rock it old school.¡±


    ¡°It would have been too risky,¡± Pop chimed in, ¡°people in the area have seen us and I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve already considered that she¡¯d have some kind of creature lying in wait to attack anyone that comes on the property without an invite.¡±


    ¡°We have, and while it¡¯s a good idea, it''s not an option,¡± Dad said, ¡°we¡¯d have to watch at a distance to see where she might go next, and if there are any additional situations.¡±


    ¡°Hey everyone,¡± Grandma said with a brief pause. ¡°I know this job has a lot of moving pieces, but have we considered the possibility that Melanie is the dark witch,¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s unlikely,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°True but hear me out.¡± Grandma continued. ¡°Everyone has their passions, and it¡¯s a thin connection, but what¡¯s to stop Melanie from being a new Pyron Fowler and doing horrible things behind the guise of some activist agenda? I don¡¯t think she¡¯s an evil genius, but what if the work she was referring to was the attacks and everything else she might have cooking behind the scenes? wouldn¡¯t she have the background and skills to accomplish the strike?¡±


    That rationale gave us all pause and put a stiff mood in the conversation. My first instinct thinking about Melanie chasing the garbage truck. I had to admit that doing what she did was dedication, and I was ready to dismiss the idea, but I couldn¡¯t. Her panic was real, but what if the goblin garbagemen were her henchmen instead of the weary victims she had been fighting for? Grandma had a point, and it was worth considering.


    Mom looked at her nails and narrowed her brow. ¡°If she hides behind her activism, she would be written off as a washout and a nobody. It¡¯s a pretty smart place to hide, and she would have plausible deniability if she had creatures working on some big-picture scheme.¡±


    ¡°Her creatures could help her get the resources,¡± Tony said. ¡°Her house wasn¡¯t spectacular, but it was a nice neighborhood. I bet she could send little thieves to pick off a few bucks here and there. The occasionally misplaced piece of jewelry. It would set her up pretty well.¡±


    Mom scratched her chin. ¡°There is one issue with this train of thought. It¡¯s logical and could be possible. However, Melanie would have had better command of the goblins. I¡¯m hard-pressed to believe they would have ignored her like they did. Plus, I didn''t see any taint of malicion on her, nor did she even glance in my direction, which she would have done if she had been practicing phantomism or necromancy. Her panic and concern, I feel, were genuine. She could very well be up to no good, but she has not gone the way of the dark side. At least not yet.¡±


    Dad glanced toward me and Mom. ¡°Did she try any spells to counter what was being done to the goblins?¡±


    Mom shook her head at the exact moment I said. ¡°Nope. She was just screaming at them.¡±


    Dad rose to his feet and started to pace. For a lap, he carried his hands behind his back for a while, and then he folded them across his chest before scratching his chin a few times.


    ¡°We can¡¯t dismiss the idea entirely, but I think we¡¯re back at square one. We have a subject who didn''t try to cancel or counter any kind of magic, so either she couldn¡¯t, or it was something beyond her ability to do so.¡±


    ¡°So, she resorted to a last-ditch effort to appeal to them to stop,¡± Mom finished.


    ¡°Then it seems, son,¡± Pop said with a note of conclusion. ¡°Our best course of action is to question her to figure out what she knows. We¡¯re all in agreement about her passions, so she¡¯s got to have a clue about who would be causing problems that would stir up trouble for the things she cares about.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll need to figure out how to get close,¡± I said, ¡°she¡¯s a target we¡¯ll need to isolate. She¡¯ll need to trust the space, and hopefully, it will be an environment that will put her at ease so we can avoid the alleged pets and their urge to attack.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡± Pop¡¯s voice carried as he moved off-screen. He shuffled some papers around and reappeared to motion to a table off-screen.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got some tools we could employ or more concrete surveillance, and we¡¯ll want to lay some traps that could give us a warning just in case she¡¯s worried about us.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll need to figure out something in rotations,¡± Dad said. ¡°We¡¯ll use disguises. Go on walks in her neighborhood every few hours. We¡¯ll need to blend in with everyone else.¡±


    I moved to my console, recognizing an opening. ¡°Speaking of blending in or standing out. What are we supposed to do about these guys?¡±


    I pulled up a crude drawing of the three rogue ghosts. I''ve never been much of an artist, but I figured the picture was clear enough to get my point across.


    ¡°Grandma and Grandpa exchanged glances and then looked rather stern as they turned their attention to me. Emma, are you saying you saw these ghosts during your encounter?¡±


    ¡°They were off in the distance, and Mom saw them too. She was determined to catch them before we saw Melanie.¡±


    Mom''s complexion had no color, and after a few seconds, she appeared composed enough to jump into the conversation. ¡°Every Phantomist knows who these three are. They are called the Omens. They¡¯re historically some of the most mysterious individuals known in the Phantomic world.¡±


    ¡°Like the boogieman, the Grim Reaper, and the Devil himself,¡± Pop said. ¡°I had an associate who mentioned how they rarely appear in the real world, but when they do, it''s bad news.¡±


    Mom challenged a shiver. ¡°That¡¯s putting it mildly, but you¡¯re not wrong. They don¡¯t unless they¡¯re invited, and they¡¯re not widely spoken of or written about, so you have to know things and people to cross paths with them. The Omens have links to the concept of fates in mythologies. Some phantomists have reasoned that they each stand for the past, present, and future. If one appears to you and you can decipher its meaning, the odds are your past is coming to haunt you. You¡¯ll have to face a present-day challenge, or your future is uncertain.¡±


    ¡°Would they have popped out for a visit because of the Phantom Siege?¡± Dad asked. ¡°An event of such power might have made them curious.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s possible, but not likely.¡± Mom countered. ¡°They don¡¯t just hang around waiting for events to happen, and if they¡¯ve been around long enough, a Phantom Siege is probably just as common as a 4<sup>th</sup> of July parade. The Omens watched everything take place, and then they turned to leave. They would have just vanished if they had come on their own accord.¡±


    ¡°So, the fact that they left meant they were going to meet someone?¡± Grandma finished.


    ¡°I imagine so,¡± Mom continued, ¡°It¡¯s one of the reasons I wanted to follow them. It was foolish because if someone had enough power to communicate with the Omens and live to talk about it, they aren¡¯t the kind of person you just want to run into.¡±


    ¡°But an ID would have gone a long way.¡± Dad said, ¡°Your logic is sound, dear, and knowing what you know, I probably would have done the same in your position. While it does increase the gravity of our challenge, these events offer us an opportunity to figure out who we are up against and why. I know this isn¡¯t coming off like a regular job, but if we want to stay hidden to keep doing what we¡¯re doing. We must eliminate the mastermind before these events reach a boiling point.¡±


    ¡°So, if we¡¯re going to throw things all together,¡± Grandma said, returning to her seat on the couch. ¡°We''ve got a dark witch in the area, and the marginal government had their agents attacked by forces unknown. Now we have a necromantic ritual cast by someone who can call on three heavy-hitting ghosts? And they had enough power to cause a public uprising, which the news stations are calling a criminal-level prank.¡±


    ¡°I''m seeing the same thing,¡± Tony said, with his attention on his console, ¡°The area will have a more significant authoritative presence, and some reporters are speculating about curfews, canceling everything but local trick-or-treating. It will be a race against the clock to stop whatever will happen next.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to have to get creative,¡± I interjected. ¡°If Mom is right and Melanie harbors deeper worries, rumors, or conspiracy theories because of her background. She¡¯ll be on edge because we won¡¯t want to get entrapped or involved. We won¡¯t be able to use our typical infiltration and intel techniques. As an activist, she¡¯ll know how to spot a ruse or a con.¡±


    Mom nodded in agreement, ¡°And we come off looking like a government outfit. She¡¯ll spook and be in the wind.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right about that,¡± Dad said. He hurried back to his chair and typed down his armrest keypad. ¡°We also must consider that Bianca putting her name out there means others might as well, and if any of our potential targets are in the area and see Melanie''s antics as problematic, they might go after her too.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± Tony said, ¡°we¡¯ll either need to save her or be present to ID her murderer so we¡¯ll know who to go after?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much,¡± Dad admitted. ¡°I¡¯ll admit it seems unlikely, but Melanie is connected to the world of our potential perpetrator and these goblins stealing Halloween decorations for a reason. She has to know or suspect why they¡¯re doing it; otherwise, she wouldn¡¯t have interfered.¡±


    ¡°So where do we start?¡± Pop asked.


    Dad folded his arms, ¡°I think I have a plan to answer these questions and hopefully put us at an advantage if we have an encounter.¡±


    ¡°Before you jump into your plan, honey,¡± Mom said, standing by the arch console and looking at a screen. ¡°This isn¡¯t just a criminal-level prank, but there are new reports that a drive-in movie theater and a renaissance fair being put on by the local high school choir has been destroyed. The decorations, the seats, and everything else have been trashed. The situation is larger than we thought. It''s now becoming quite a frenzy. One wrong move, and we¡¯ll have the entire county under some form of martial law until they can apprehend some culprits.¡±


    ¡°Someone had to have seen something,¡± I said. ¡°Unless these guys are invisible, how are they getting around?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to watch the news reports to see if people come forward with information.¡± Dad approached the view screen. ¡°There are creatures who can compel other creatures to do their dirty work, and our mastermind will probably want things to die down; otherwise, the next steps of their plan will be harder to put into action.¡±


    Dad turned and faced all of us. ¡°We¡¯re going to go out on solo missions and in pairs. We¡¯ll keep our focus on Melanie until there are new leads or if the news breaks with these recent attacks and the theater and the school.¡±


    Dad then laid out his plan, with specific details and objectives for each of us. We were all on board, but my mind strayed as Pop moved on-screen, only to come back a second later. He didn''t look nervous. Instead, he looked taken aback, bewildered, confused. Petrified, all mixed up in one blanket expression.


    Pop cleared his throat. ¡°Everyone. We may be up being something a bit larger than any Foster has dealt with or might be able to handle.¡±


    Dad spun on his heels at the comment. ¡°Like what Pop, what do you mean?¡±


    We all had practice masking dread or uncertainty in certain situations, but his paper held up, and I found the turquoise coin. I began to think this contract was taking its toll on us, and we were not going to hide things well.


    ¡°Based on the preliminary tests I''ve already run; I''ve concluded that this is a dragon scale son.¡±


    Grandma dropped her books, Mom gasped, and Tony nearly fell out of his chair. I was the first to repeat the thought as we were all stunned at the mere mention of it.


    ¡°A dragon scale.¡±

 The Strange Caretaker or supernatural whisperer

    Field Notes: Despite centuries of evolution, some creatures aren¡¯t meant for civil society; see the classification guide for additional details. You can¡¯t help them. You can¡¯t and shouldn¡¯t approach them. Several creatures are genuinely the scrum of the earth. This is in contrast to the people who feel that these select species are misunderstood and require special treatment instead of exterminating them like the pests that many of them are. These ¡°caretakers¡± are good at hiding in the open and go to great lengths to care for these creatures. A few are considered crazy cat ladies, but caretakers can be anyone. They are protective, and it''s unadvisable to approach them, assuming they could have anything hidden in their purse or pocket. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.


    I''ve seen things I wish I could unsee. You don''t go killing things, even supernatural monsters, and not have it leave a mark. I''m not bitter, outraged, or vengeful for my life¡¯s situation. Every Foster I''ve read about has wanted an average life at one point or another, but what is normal, except for the setting on a washing machine? Why would a dragon scale simply be lying in the gutter? They weren¡¯t something you make jewelry out of. They weren¡¯t something that you could find at a Farmer''s market and setting out on a quest to find a dragon. No one in their right mind would do that! If a scale was here that meant the eclipse had been caused by a dragon.


    The conversation ended and we made plans to follow Melanie, but Pop''s revelation hung heavy in the air. We dug into camera footage, watched news reports, and we checked everything to see if there was something that we had missed.


    Were we wrong about the dark witch?  I thought as I ran on a treadmill and pulled some time against a punching bag. Could the explosion have been caused by a dragon?


    No one had said anything about the sky, but it wasn¡¯t like a dragon stream of flame was common knowledge. Could one have just soared overhead and set them all on fire? I steadied my fists, firmed up my stance, and proceeded to practice envisioning past enemies that I had sparred with. I thought about the disorientation, the ghosts and the Jack-O-Lantern, and then my mind came to stir over the words of one Colonel Reginald Foster, a World War soldier who had one of the darkest journal entries I had ever read.


    Dust and debris, along with smoke from the most recent wave of artillery fire, have kept us pinned for several hours. And those several hours have felt like weeks. The Germans consistently shift their ranks. Our window of opportunity to advance has shrunk to just a few seconds. I feel that my brothers have fallen. I cover my mouth as a bitter haze brings tears to my eyes and hardens the saliva on my tongue and in my throat.


    There are explosive attacks in both the East and the West. This means support will slowly come if any of us are able to survive long enough to welcome it.


    There were no recordings of the colonel''s voice. Like any romantic, I could fantasize about it, but when you look at the words and know that there is double the fear, stress, and anxiety of secrets that he undoubtedly didn¡¯t dare convey, fearful that someone among his ranks might pry into his private thoughts. There is no pleasure or literary enjoyment. I pictured a frantic man scribbling down his entry while the world exploded around him. I had read it a few times, but with everything that had occurred and what we had uncovered, I found a new-found sense of dread and a nasty aftertaste as I considered his words and their meaning.


    To my surprise, but with thanks to the heavens, I am still alive. Although I don¡¯t consider my surroundings and my existence much of living. We are in mud up to our ankles, and our meager rations are bland to the taste. There has been no movement and very little noise for several hours. Leaders have sent out scouts, but they have not returned. The second wave is ready to move at a moment¡¯s notice, but there are misgivings at the request. I have not questioned, but I can infer the tensions and fears surrounding us as we await our impending doom. Many, I dare say, linger to the point of desperation and panic. They want to return home. They want their lives back and to put this bloodshed behind them.


    These nights will haunt my dreams, of that, I am sure.


    I ducked and flipped sideways. I then lifted my arm and thrust my other one forward, knocking the bag, and then I advanced to catch it again before it could hit my hip or my lower back. My mental presentation created the explosions and each time I made contact, the colonel¡¯s account sank into my chest. I hadn¡¯t committed it to memory, but there are things that just stick out to you. I pictured the smudged ink on the side of a particular page that had immortalized a portion of his thumbprint moments before he returned a time later to regale his journal with the climax of his entry and a pivotal moment that defined the family and our task as Monster Assassins.


    My regimen is weak in spirit, and I count myself among them as we have encountered an odd sight. For a time, it had simply been a comment, a mild fantasy to put a smile on the faces of our comrades. Many have assigned the story to weariness from lack of food. We have made no advance, and there have been bombings across multiple flanks, and we can practically smell the German beer from our position. They are coming, yet they prolong our torment, and despite our hellish conditions, the stories remain. Sentries monitor the field for any sign of advancement. The reports are full of the smells, smoke, and dust obscuring the obstructions that have killed our cousins and impeded our path. My men have also reported about embers and smoke and a sensation that I have found oddly placed, but I am not swayed from the notion as I have experienced it myself. We dream of home and love and long for the warmth we share with our cherished wives and children.


    The warmth. Rumors, comments, and stories have spread throughout our ranks, particularly among my men. I hadn¡¯t recognized it at first, but as of just a few short moments ago, I acknowledge the intensity of the warmth cascading over our camp. In small increments, a few minutes at a time, it appears randomly hour after hour. I have yet to see any further clues, but I am weary that there are suspicious activities. Not looming far from our makeshift barracks and trenches.


    To my friends, family, descendants, and those that come later. The colonel seemed more reflective as he expressed the following entry. My eyes traced his words, a few smudges, before moving to the subsequent page. The events of the last few days have yet to be laid to rest. My men and I keep talking about the warmth. Some have even called it the warmth of romance. I understand the sentiment. But I cannot agree because warmth equated to romance does not belong to the devastation of war, even in our dreams. I have reached out to my brothers. A few have echoed similar events that have taken place in their own regiments. Ghosts create an unholy cold, but the winged beasts of legend. They are the only forces save the devil himself who could cast warmth on a host of men.


    Did I come within inches of death?


    Those who had read the entry before I had concluded that the colonel had recorded the closest encounter with a dragon that anyone else had ever had, even though he hadn¡¯t fully realized it at the time. I didn¡¯t fault the man for that, given the circumstances. There was no questioning the clues. An enveloping warmth and heavy smoke lingering long after regular mortars and explosives would have been extinguished by the natural elements.


    Following the Great War, other records hinted at possible encounters with dragons, often linked to missing person cases and large-scale events like the fire that engulfed Montreal, out of all the accounts. They had one thing in common; a lingering warmth or heat that seemed unnatural to the environment and seasonal conditions. I thought about those moments before the eclipse, but both Mom and I had been in the car. By the time we moved outside, all that I could recall feeling was the cold brought about by the ghosts.


    The dragon scale sent us on high alert. Over the following week, Dad attempted to contact anyone in M.A.G.E, but his contact methods were now blocked, and the agents and authorities had gone to ground. We proceeded to make plans, but we found our efforts stalled as increasingly public attention was being drawn to our area. Pop and Grandma dedicated time to folklore and preparing enforcements that would be ready to use at a moment¡¯s notice. Meanwhile, the rest of us tried to go about our daily lives. I kept an ear out as I moved around classes and met with professors and some academic advisors to keep up my schooling. A few people gossiped about the trash, and the university published daily notices and had officials make public announcements that the local security would be working in tandem with the local police to ensure students'' safety. Some students had taken off, but I was glad that attendance hadn¡¯t dropped to death con 1. When I wasn¡¯t on campus, I ran simple errands taking an extra detour to pass by Melanie Black¡¯s Street. I saw her on occasion, but I had no indication of any visitors or if she was planning to go anywhere else. Tony would drive passed, but we both came up empty.


    ¡°Maybe we need to take a different approach,¡± Grandma suggested after I gave a report following my third pass down Melanie¡¯s Street. She explained a few details, and I agreed to play backup. I assumed a position two blocks away and kept a one-way bug active on Grandma¡¯s lapel. The thing people don¡¯t realize about their grandparents is that age does power down your body, it gives you gray hair and bouts of wisdom to share. It also can also give you a black belt in chit-chat and small talk.


    When you¡¯ve lived in the small area for thirty years, you¡¯re bound to make friends, and why wouldn¡¯t at least someone you knew at some point in time just happen to live right near a target¡¯s home?


    Within a few hours and into the following day, Grandma had secured visits with multiple neighbors, a few of whom she had known from PTA meetings, bingo nights, and the occasional run-in at the supermarket. I listened to their talks about chats, old TV shows, politics, and the grandkids. Grandma shared observations of Melanie¡¯s house disguised as the weather, and she flawlessly moved into talking about the neighborhood and the Main Street attacks.


    I guess we don¡¯t need bugs and gadgets anymore. I thought, not when you have a grandma.


    I sent a few checkin and kept my parents and Pop apprised of the situation.


    Tammy, a dog-loving neighbor, laughed, and I heard the clatter of teacups. ¡°I¡¯m so glad you came around. There has been quite a ruckus with all the crazy stuff taking place.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad I stay home most of the time,¡± Grandma replied, ¡°When I saw the news, I couldn''t believe it.¡±


    ¡°And it only gets stranger,¡± Tammy continued between sips of tea and putting something in her mouth.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Grandma pressed.


    ¡°My neighbor has been really odd,¡± Tammy said, though she seemed timid to share. Grandma presented some questions, the kind that you can use to come off as concerned instead of nosy.


    ¡°Fred, a guy who takes care of my yard said that he saw Mel near a law office and a copy shop. He didn¡¯t stop to say hi, but he was surprised when she was in the bushes and banging on the windows like a mad woman.¡±


    ¡°That is strange,¡± Grandma said.


    ¡°Fred said something was going on inside the office,¡± Tammy added, ¡°he couldn¡¯t tell what, but for some reason, he heard her say you don¡¯t have to do this! You need to be brave. You¡¯re better than this.¡±


    ¡°Dad,¡± I said, starting a video call, ¡°have you heard about misdemeanor theft, destruction of property, or tampering with confidential files at one of the local law offices? Or if client information at a copy shop?¡±


    ¡°Nothing has been reported to my knowledge,¡± Dad replied, ¡°but I¡¯ll get Tony looking into it.¡±


    Tony did find reports and employees had been fired, but there didn¡¯t appear to have been any lasting harm. Thanks to Grandma''s informal eyes and ears, we gained decent intel in order to track Melanie¡¯s movements, and the closer we seemed to get, the far more elusive she became. We all took turns, and we found ourselves driving several extra minutes out of our way to reach a destination. Melanie would go through various subdivisions and stop at random houses, condos, and apartment complexes, where she would leave notes in mailboxes or tap on the windows of city buildings. After three days of mindless driving, Melanie appeared in her front step with a cat carrier in tow and always had one wherever she went.


    She¡¯s quite thorough.


    With every stop, Melanie secured her front door and checked it multiple times, and then she¡¯d swiftly descend to her walkway and move to the garage, which she¡¯d open with tight shoulders and lips. She opened the back, stashed the carrier inside, and quickly drove away.


    ¡°She goes from warning creatures to what, kidnapping cats?¡± Mom asked.


    ¡°She¡¯s doing something,¡± I replied, ¡°but I¡¯ve never been able to tell if she has a cat inside the carrier as she goes around town.¡±


    As we neared the weekend two weeks following the Phantom Siege. Mom and I pulled into a hobby craft and supply store. Grandma had delivered cookies to some neighbors and had witnessed Melanie come and go three times, each time with the carrier and once with a plastic bag with the logo of the craft store.


    ¡± The carrier does seem to be weighted down,¡± Grandma observed. ¡°Melanie looks tired, but she comes off determined.¡±


    ¡°I see the family with the free kittens,¡± Mom said in acknowledgment. We had no clue what Melanie was up to, but if it involved cats, we figured we¡¯d track some kittens down. Thanks to social media, we knew of at least two families that had set up free kitten spaces. One sat on the corner near a pizza parlor, nestled among other restaurants that shared the parking lot with the craft store. The other family had set up shop by a bank a few streets away.


    ¡°We¡¯re in position,¡± Mom said as she texted Dad an update. After a few seconds, her phone vibrated, which obviously was Dad¡¯s reply, who, along with Tony, was down near the bank. Mom took a look at the parking lot and then turned her attention to a book she had wedged between her seat and the center console. I didn¡¯t recognize the title, but she had been reading it off and on over the past few days, probably to take her mind off the things she kept close to her heart. I had considered trying to bring up the topic, but each time it came to mind, I found a roadblock, like schoolwork or a random book.


    She¡¯ll bring it up when she¡¯s ready and or when it''s necessary.


    That was the unspoken rule. Monster assassins, we know not to pry because we may not be ready for the ramifications of truly secret knowledge. I shifted in my seat not having brought a book or some kind of distraction. My attention danced across the parking lot, so I scooped it to take in the lay of the land.


    Fall was now in full force. The trees had lost most of their leaves and several stores nearby had fall designs on their windows, but some of the larger buildings were starting to put up the first signs of winter and Christmas ads. The number of cars seemed a bit sparse between the restaurants and the stores in the area, but it was hardly 10:30 am, and reasonably, I figured it was bound to pick up at any moment.


    A few minutes passed and I glanced at my watch. It was silly to do it right away and I could see the clock on the car''s dashboard. I kept my ear out, paying close attention to the traffic noises; it didn¡¯t take long for workers to appear in the parking lot for their shifts; they were closely followed by customers ranging from parents with young kids, young couples, and multiple grandma-age people. There were people in suits and some people in gym clothes.


    ¡°Any sign of Melanie by the bank?¡± I asked Mom as she turned the page. She glanced at her phone.


    ¡°Nope, but many kids are playing with the cats. And there is a message from Grandma. She can confirm that Melanie is not at home.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good,¡± I replied, spinning my hair around my finger. After about twenty minutes. I slipped out and headed toward the line of stores. I didn¡¯t plan to go into any of them, but a little movement beat sitting in a car. After a few uneventful laps, I returned and found the stakeout a bit easier to stomach. Grandma had sent a few additional updates and had confirmed Melanie was on the move.


    Grandma and Pop have seen so much, yet they still have the uncanny ability to socialize and be normal people. I thought back to the sticker game and my run-in with Lauren at the mall. If my life had resembled something normal, we would have been best friends, if not sisters. We hadn¡¯t talked much, and the one guy Melvin had been nervous, smelled up, and just plain awkward, yet it seemed nice to have a chance to talk to real people for no reason other than what would you call it? Friendship. Goodwill? I glanced down at my hair. The vibrant chestnut brown had always been one of my most striking features. What was going to happen? Would all of this make me go gray before I turn 40?


    I glanced at Mom to start a conversation, only to find her turning the page, and she had a look telling me this was a good part, along with don¡¯t you dare spoil it. After a look at the clock, my attention returned to the parking lot as a family hurried past us moving at a rushed pace toward the store''s front door. I watched them go and stiffen. When the toddler in dad''s arms waved. I couldn''t see the kid¡¯s expression, and if it hadn''t been for the mom, I would have figured that the child was waving at me. I''m not nervous around kids. But I''m the last person you''d ever see working in a preschool.


    I freed my finger and shifted in my seat when a second glance toward the Craft store¡¯s entrance presented a tall woman with flowing hair and a long white coat coming out with one hand on a designer bag while the other was ready to wave at any and all admirers. She carried herself with respectable grace and then whipped out a pair of round sunglasses, which she smiled a pearly white smile on as she put them on, a final addition to her ensemble. I envied her boots, but my thoughts pulled back as she moved through a small group. No more than three people, a couple and a person wearing a green hoodie.


    Green hoodie? I straightened up as the hoodie immediately became white. I tensed as it lengthened, and after I blinked a few times and the person slipped through the doors, my mouth went dry. I acknowledged similar features to those of the woman who had just climbed into her car, completely unaware.


    I gripped the door handle and tapped Mom on the shoulder. ¡°Mom, get on comms.¡±


    I bounced out of the car and hurried across the parking lot. We had an unwritten rule that set the expectation that simple instructions, regardless of whom they came from, were to be followed without question. Mom was fully supportive, as I would be in reverse roles. The standing rule was to investigate under a brief time window and to report in so your backup would be aware of the threat, just in case the unknown target got the better of you. Sometimes, your eyes play tricks on you, and there can be an innocent explanation.


    That rarely happened in our line of work, and my time window was shrinking fast. I only had a few minutes before I needed to explain. Letting one job go by the wayside while chasing a possible second wasn''t wise and always dangerous. At the same time, when dealing with monsters, you often don''t get conversational luxuries. Not unless you want to get your head chopped off.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Emma, I''m here,¡± Mom confirmed over our small earbud. This was a situation where I couldn¡¯t chance talking too much. I had to blend in, and I considered the possibilities.


    There are beings who could use magic to change their clothing. Was that what I had seen? Or had it been a simple quick change?


    ¡°I''m on the prowl. Stand by,¡± I whispered, which was code for I was going into a new situation with an unknown enemy.


    I passed by a few displays, some large canvas artworks, and several floral arrangements. Some individuals pushed past me heading toward their cars. I took a cart and proceeded through the main doors. I counted a dozen workers and nearly double that in customers within my line of sight. I passed the cash registers and everyone present seemed to be happily looking at the different sections and mulling over if they wanted to buy anything available.


    Where would you go?


    I moved relatively quickly down a few empty aisles and pretended to be interested in studio-quality paints and then varying sizes of poseable models displayed on a shelf beside boxed-up versions. I read the names and then looked at the prices. When you¡¯re on the prowl, you¡¯re a hunter and you need your true actions to go unnoticed. Employees tend to look for lost or uncertain customers. I spent a few seconds looking at a few products and tried to seem disengaged from any need to be approached by the proactive store employees. My shopping cartwheels rattled as I advanced from section to section. It was annoying, and it felt like a clock counting down to an explosion or a surprise attack. The small noises offered a layer of authenticity, but it presented a tick or worry that could put a monster on edge.


    As I reached some seasonal wreaths, I quietly dismissed some waves and offered assistance. As I reached the fabric section, I ducked in among the thick rolls of fabric which were arranged in a variety of styles, designs, and textures set at prices that went up to premium once you reached the external wall. A few elderly women stood near the preparation table, chatting about the happy quilts they were putting together and their lovely grandchildren. I listened momentarily and then continued to the back aisle that moved into a corner. I was beginning to think my imagination was getting the best of me after a few minutes and a few comments about the ridiculous attitudes of their garbage man. I want some workers to head to another area. Sometimes, you see danger when you don''t mean to or when there''s nothing to see. Perhaps they have been the trick of the light. We don''t typically disregard those. Because we do it at our own peril. Or at least a considerable amount of pain.


    ¡°Mom, stand-¡± I loosened my grip on my cart and was about to abandon it. But then I paused when I heard the distinct click of a gun, small caliber, easily concealed.


    Seriously? Who would draw a gun and make such an obvious show in a retail store?


    I ditched the cart and promptly approached the end cap, careful not to knock anything off or out of sync to draw attention to me. There was a break between the fabric section and a large decor display. Which led to the framing area. There were frames on display and workstations where people could have their pictures professionally framed by a store employee.


    There she was, the same fashionable jacket, boots, round sunglasses I had seen, and the woman in the parking lot. She assumed a rather model pose and had one hand forcibly in her pocket, which she extended towards a worker, a wiry boy, probably around 18 years old. He had a lean frame, pale skin, and a thick upper jaw.


    ¡°Two teeth,¡± I muttered with a compounded sense of dread.


    I had no idea who the woman was, but her identity came second to the clerk. He was of an average build; simple features were slightly elongated. I gulped when I took in his pale skin and a bleached tint to his hair. It was a look that some would assume to be the salt and pepper look in older men. It was beyond strange to see it on a guy in his twenties. However, he had probably been in his twenties for a while.


    The woman rather idiotically had decided to pull a gun on a vampire.


    I choked, and Dad gave over the comm, and I pulled back as he spoke cryptically. He had to. Vampires, if they¡¯re paying attention, can eavesdrop on phone calls. We were encrypted to prevent being hacked digitally, but there wasn¡¯t a buffer in existence to prevent a natural incursion, like enhanced senses.


    ¡°Emma, I think we¡¯ll get cat food later,¡± Dad said, ¡°please keep an eye out for the sale we¡¯ve talked about. I think Mom would die for it.¡±


    The simple translation: Melanie was going to wait. If something was going down. I couldn¡¯t just leave. If I had an opening, I was supposed to take it, and everyone would get into place to provide support. They didn¡¯t dare come in right away. If one vampire was in the store. There was a chance more were present. They don¡¯t move in packs, but vampires are exactly introverts.¡±


    I returned to the previous position, with my attention on the woman, who was employing typical maneuvers to hide her firearm. She didn¡¯t check her six and her body language didn¡¯t come off as nervous or concerned. Instead, the clerk gave her a stare-down and then recoiled as the woman pulled a clear tube from her pocket with a circular metal device attached to the top. She kept it mostly obscured in her palm, but its mere presence was enough to put the boy on edge.


    ¡°I can''t do what you''re asking me to do,¡± he hissed harshly, but his mood had peaked, and he was getting angry. ¡°It''s not going to happen. Not under that time frame.¡±


    The woman gave a dismissive nod and said, ¡°That''s not what I''d call good customer service, especially when I called in my order two days ago. Do I need to report you to your sire?¡±


    She¡¯s got some nerve to speak so opening about supernatural things. Anyone could waltz up and hear the exchange.


    The boy shot her dismal glare, which was almost carnivorous in nature. It also carried a look of not this BS again. She had said the word sire, so she obviously knew what he was, while surprisingly, as far as the customer was concerned, her body language conveyed profound superiority. And it made the worker''s discomfort and position no more severe than a toddler complaining that he couldn''t have a cookie.


    ¡°She has a gun. She has weapons but why would you talk down to a vampire?¡±


    There were plenty of hunters who would do it, and they¡¯d have the knowledge and tools to keep a vampire¡¯s tendencies in check long enough to subdue them, behead them, or get the information to lead them to the bigger, badder vampires.


    ¡°You can do what you want. He''d laugh you right off his porch,¡± the boy retorted. ¡°The old fool doesn''t care about anything these days, and before you go remind me that he owes you a favor. And since you can''t find him, that debt falls on me. I''ve heard that several times from you, and I don''t care.¡±


    The old fool?  You only throw an insult like that around when you really have an impression about somebody. This kid, or rather this being, was definitely older than he looked. Meanwhile, the woman didn¡¯t seem phased or defeated by his comments. Instead, she looked annoyed but wasn¡¯t about to back down.


    ¡°As long as you get paid, why do you care?¡± She hissed.


    He narrowed his gaze and flashed his teeth to prove his point. ¡°Because I¡¯m smart enough to know when I might be a scapegoat. Amy, like I told you on the phone, we''re not a high-quality chain. These frame materials are cheap and mass-produced by the thousands. These days, multiple frame sets have serial numbers, so the company can track sales and discontinue certain styles depending on the season. The police would easily track them back here, even if you had a chance to get away. These frames aren''t museum- or gallery-grade. With everything that has happened. I don¡¯t want the attention. I like my life as it is, and I''m not about to put my neck on the line. Just because you think. I owe you.¡±


    Frames? Museum and gallery grade? I looked at the woman and tried to size her up and her


    ¡°That is one aggressive shopper,¡± I whispered with some forced theater to make it seem like a fleeting comment instead of a situational assessment.


    Translation: we have an armed thief in play.


    Mom offered a cryptic response. ¡°Do you see any purple shirts? We should check the sizes for the Christmas party.¡±


    Simple translation: The woman had a gun, but did she have any powers? And how much of a threat was she?


    Their dialogue continued and it fueled my speculation. The woman was in a mediocre craft store to have something framed. The journals documented that, on occasion, monsters had committed large-scale heists and burglaries. There were museums in town and some in neighboring towns and slightly larger cities, but none had paintings and pieces on display that were of any significant value.


    I logged that away and it brought a core question to mind. You want to get something framed, and you''re gutsy enough to bully a vampire into helping you. Even some of the most inexperienced ones could rip a person''s head off. How and why are you so calm? That told me she was a threat, and she was hiding her real potential.


    The woman set her hands against the counter and danced, shifting her weight from heel to heel. The clerk meanwhile maintained a firm demeanor, and as far as he was concerned, the issue was closed, and the decision was final.


    The woman held her head low, and she was letting her emotions show, ¡°Please don¡¯t use my name in public. You came to name your price! I¡¯m on a time crunch and this job is important enough to where I don¡¯t care how much. You listen and listen well. I need this done now. You¡¯ll outlive any trouble that might come your way.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pass, and good luck committing a high-profile crime in,¡± the clerk began, but the woman pulled back and, seizing the vampire by the throat. He coughed and choked, and as expected, he reached for her hand to pull it away, but she slapped his hand down and then landed repetitive punches squarely in the middle of his face. I tensed as I recognized the disorientation and the dazed expression. The clerk¡¯s vampire features flashed across his face, and he slowly lifted his arms, but his muscles constricted, and his eyes began to droop.


    The woman maintained her grip and moved around the counter, where she put a silver object in his face. Upon contact, the entire body went limp, and she allowed him to collapse in a heap at her feet. I pulled back, hoping the products on the end cap wouldn¡¯t betray my position. For now, seemingly alone, the woman took a quick look around the section. I couldn¡¯t tell if she was waiting for a reaction, or if she was worried someone was going to cry out in alarm. When no one appeared, I advanced into the open space beside some tiered displays, and seconds later, I heard some mumbled concerns. I picked up a frame, and in its faint reflection, I saw a woman in her late forties hurried over from the back of the store accompanied by men in blue button shirts wearing police-style belts complete with a taser, a gun, and a walkie-talkie. I didn¡¯t freeze or hold any pretense of alarm. The woman had a stern expression, and I moved to a separate display; this one was stocked with motivational posters and pictures of exotic animals from the African Savanna. The woman and her security guard passed my position, and they approached the framing section, where I watched the vampire hop from behind the counter.


    Only it wasn¡¯t the vampire.


    He hadn¡¯t removed a pair of designer sunglasses.


    ¡°Chad, is everything alright?¡±


    ¡°Peachy,¡± Chad replied. The cadence, pitch, and personality were all there. Even the skin was pale, but it didn¡¯t quite have the same sickly stain vampires were known to have. I pretended to shop while the woman, who I assumed was the manager and the security, began to ask some questions.


    ¡°Did some woman attack you?¡± the manager asked.


    ¡°No,¡± Chad said. ¡°It¡¯s been pretty quiet back here. Except, sorry. Did you need help?¡±


    I felt all eyes fall on me, so I pulled out my phone and shook my head. ¡°No thanks.¡±


    Satisfied, I felt their attention return to each other. As I passed into an aisle full of tubes of paint and canvases, easels, pencils, and sketchbooks, I glanced, and the concern lingered, but Chad seemed to ease the tension.


    ¡°Emma, what¡¯s going on?¡±


    I faked the call and put my phone to my ear. ¡°Hey, Mom, I¡¯m sorry if I¡¯ve given you the wrong impression. I need to work on not being such a copycat.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a first.¡± Mom said.


    Simple translation. Our thief was a shapeshifter.


    ¡°And it looks like something big is on the schedule,¡± I whispered. ¡°The store has a vampire on the payroll, and she was trying to get him to frame something. He wouldn¡¯t cooperate so she decided to play the part.¡±


    ¡°A shapeshifter thief is here,¡± Mom said, ¡°Let ''s hold on.¡±


    Mom messed with the communication system to link Pop and Dad into the call. Mom filled them in while Tony stayed alert on the family with cats just in case Melanie decided to show up.


    ¡°I¡¯m impressed at your observation skills Emma,¡± Pop said. ¡°You caught a shapeshifter lifting a form without thinking about it. That is no easy feat.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s also really bold,¡± Dad said. ¡°If a shapeshifter is willing and capable to make a show of it out in the open. That¡¯s some real skill.¡±


    ¡°So, Dad, what do you think I should do?¡± I said, ¡°The shifter took out a vampire, but I¡¯m not sure if she killed him or not and-¡±


    I shot a glance back toward the frame section where the shifter was still posing as the vampire. Chad was looking through frames, and I caught sight of a shoe sticking out from behind the counter along with a duffel with two or three aged rolls of canvas stuck inside. The managers and security were gone, so apparently the shifter had talked her way out of the situation, and the official had bought the act.


    ¡°The options are to intervene or let it go,¡± Dad said, ¡°I¡¯m not a fan of letting a criminal get away, but is this something we really need to worry about? They could just be passing through.¡±


    ¡°Unlikely, the shifter was really pushy, and they knew each other,¡± I replied. ¡°at least there was talk about a sire and a name drop.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Pop said, ¡°who?¡±


    ¡°The clerk said the name Amy and she got on his case about it.¡±


    I moved to some decorative boxes and felt that I could put my phone back into my pocket, and I proceeded to browse while the conversation seemed to have stalled, but these were moments when someone could be looking for information, and it doesn¡¯t bode well to be impatient for information. In our line of work, the whole family is aware of the stakes.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t ring a bell to me,¡± Dad interjected, ¡°Pop, who are the shapeshifters of note?¡±


    ¡°Well, there are four big winners,¡± Pop said. ¡°Everyone, Someone, Anyone and No one. Only they go by Everett One, Samuel One, Amy One, and No One decided to be a bit more mysterious and maintain the moniker without a realistic alias. No One stays under the radar better than any of the others.¡±


    ¡°It can¡¯t be a coincidence the clerk said the name Amy,¡± Dad observed, ¡°and ouch! This is a stretch, but I wonder what if word has gotten around that M.A.G.E. is in a frenzy, and I bet a high-profile shapeshifter came here for anonymity. This is the last place any agents would think to look for them, and why not spend a few hundred bucks to prep for a job when your end goal is worth millions.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a reasonable conclusion,¡± Pop agreed. ¡°It¡¯s sort of a silly irony that shapeshifters become forgers and antiques thieves. Emma noted that the shifter is trying to get something framed, so clearly, she wants to substitute a forgery for an original piece.¡±


    ¡°If word has gotten around the criminal underworld,¡± Mom said, ¡°this shapeshifter might have some insight on what some of the heavy hitters know and are planning to do.¡±


    ¡°Including the name of the dark witch,¡± Pop said.


    I moved some decorative boxes around. ¡°Sounds like I should extend an invitation.¡±               ¡°Not yet,¡± Pop snapped firmly, ¡°I agree Amy would be worth interrogating, but we need a better playing field to take her down.¡±


    ¡°Ok,¡± Dad said, ¡°Pop, break it down.¡±


    ¡°Clif notes version please,¡± I hissed. ¡°I can¡¯t just sit here. She¡¯ll get suspicious if I don¡¯t move.¡±


    Pop sniffed, ¡°Shapeshifters usually go into entertainment as impressionists or comedians. A fare few worked as stunt doubles since their physicality gave them a slight edge against the average human. They could take a harder punch and fall a considerable distance without worrying about damaging internal organs or their skeletal structure. They¡¯re not gelatinous blobs, but the most skilled shapeshifters stretch up to several feet and can move things around, expand their mass, or contract their size at will. The dangerous ones are smart. They¡¯ll play it cool and if they¡¯re given the chance, they¡¯ll torture you. Make your life miserable and then take you down. Emma, are you wearing a jacket or long-sleeved shirt?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said.


    ¡°Get one on; steal it if you have to.¡± Pop urged. ¡°Shapeshifters can mimic a person by sight, but they wouldn¡¯t fool anyone like a family member or close friend. The impression would come as vague similarity, or you look like my buddy. Physical touch is the key if they want a good and lasting impression. They can brush up against their target and have the form. If they have any kind of prolonged contact, they¡¯ll build a mental profile that lets them sell whoever they¡¯re trying to impersonate.¡±


    ¡°Are we talking intimate or a hug or handshake?¡± Mom asked.


    ¡°That and more,¡± Pop replied. ¡°If a shapeshifter gives you a high five, you might as well take your money and run because your life is over. They can use your face over and over. The impersonation can degrade over repetitive uses, but the damage will be done.¡±


    ¡°That makes sense,¡± I said, ¡°but that doesn¡¯t help me get close. Do I have to worry about Amy knowing a move before I make it if she becomes me?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Pop said. ¡°They can''t read your mind. But. With enough exposure, they can determine your heart rate and hormone level and how long you¡¯ve been in the sun within a few hours before contact. Mentally, they¡¯re great at interpreting these impressions. Give me a few minutes, and they¡¯ll know about your activity level and fatigue. Some of the most skilled will know the last thing you ate because they¡¯ll have residual clues in their mouths.¡±


    ¡°That is disturbing,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°It gets worse,¡± Pop said, ¡°their unique perception offers a mental blueprint to copy movements, accents, and possibly personality traits. To the untrained person like a police officer or security guard, they¡¯ll believe the shifter is you or whomever they¡¯re impersonating. If they¡¯re hired to pose as a public figure, a celebrity, or a political leader. The shapeshifter would need to conduct interviews and spend some time observing their subject if they want to pass off the impression as anything close to the real deal.¡±


    I ventured a bit further away from the frame section, but I doubled back and came toward it from another angle. I hated the idea of being out of the line of sight from the shapeshifter and my heart raced as I pictured him appearing randomly behind him and having the pale face melt into my own. Mom posed a few questions, and I glimpsed a few shoppers, but none appeared to be heading in this direction. Meanwhile, the shifter seemed content to be engaged in his project. I fingered a few frames and looked at the prices of d¨¦cor items. There wasn¡¯t anything I would buy, but there was enough stuff to at least genuinely perk up my interest. I moved around further, pretending to browse. My window of opportunity was shrinking fast.


    ¡°Pop what are their weaknesses?¡± Mom asked, ¡°How you do take something out that learns if it comes in contact with you?¡±


    ¡°They have two weaknesses that are easy to exploit with proper planning and backup. We probably will have to fudge some things, but we could use either option.¡±


    ¡°What are they?¡± Dad whispered while I kept glancing at the shapeshifter, who didn''t seem bothered by the body under the counter, and he hadn¡¯t let on that he was aware that I was still around. I was grateful they didn''t have super hearing. But at the same time, I didn''t know if she could also copy any of the vampire''s abilities.


    ¡°A shapeshifter is a great impersonator. But physically, they can''t sweat, and they can''t shiver. Some of the better shifters can become inanimate objects, but they only do that under the direst of circumstances. It takes a lot of control, and it physically is pretty taxing, so they¡¯d want to get away.¡±


    I considered Pop¡¯s breakdown as a mom and three kids approached the frame counter; I turned to the side. One kid, who I assume was the oldest, looked visibly annoyed while his siblings were screaming at each other. The mom shot show she perceived as the clerk an apologetic glance and then proceeded to play referee while she fished in her purse for her list or possibly a receipt.


    ¡°So, there is a physical response we could exploit, and we know a failsafe strategy,¡± Dad said, ¡°that really only comes into play if they¡¯re in a crowd and we¡¯re trying to ID them. What¡¯s the second option?¡±


    I watched the imposter stare blankly at the mom before he visibly snapped like he had been momentarily disoriented and casually asked. ¡°How can I help you?¡±


    ¡°Is the second weakness something about emotion and reaction time¡± I whispered.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Pop replied. ¡°Shapeshifters can mimic a range of emotions, but they have an obvious tell if you make a fool of yourself. Or if something unexpected happens?¡±


    ¡°Like if you haven¡¯t worked retail,¡± I joked. ¡°you can look the part, but it takes real skill to provide quality customer service.¡±


    ¡°Spot on,¡± Pop said. ¡°  They can''t process regular emotions at the moment, so if someone screams or is angry, they¡¯ll ignore it or have reactions that are beyond awkward. It''s-¡°


    A scream drowned out Pop¡¯s further commentary. I stiffened in alarm as the mom desperately pulled close to her, and she backed away in alarm. I scanned the space for the source before the imposter clerk, who looked at her bewildered for a simple second before being launched through the air like a ball flying to the outfield. My shoes squeaked against the floor as I shifted in alarm. I clapped my hands to my face as the shifter came down with a resounding crash beside some floral arrangements and some holiday signs. The mom held her kids close, and I covered my ears as the exclamation carried throughout the store.


    ¡°Emma, what¡¯s happening!¡± Mom exclaimed. She yelled, but the commotion made her sound hardly louder than a whisper.


    ¡°The imposter was punched into the air.¡± I stammered over some grunts and a flurry of commotion. I watched some displays tip over and some glass bottles break on a delayed reaction from the impact. The disbelief was staggering and then a snarl followed a second later, and the real clerk pushed himself to his feet, baring his teeth. He shook his head, disoriented. His arms and face were placed, and he wavered but managed to brace himself on the counter. I grimaced as his attention fell on the mom and kids. His teeth and claws were in full display.


    ¡°Oh, this isn''t good,¡± I said. ¡°The shifter didn''t kill the vampire; she just knocked him out, and now he''s awake and angry.¡±


    ¡°There are only a handful of things you can use to knock out a vampire,¡± Pop said, ¡°and each one causes a nasty hangover. This isn¡¯t good!¡±


    ¡°Emma, the vampire cannot be allowed to feed on a customer!¡± Dad ordered without delay or a moment¡¯s hesitation. ¡°Take him out now! Then get out of there. FAST!¡±

 Fangs and Blades

    Like a jaguar with congestion, Chad the vampire lifted his gaze and put his teeth and bloodshot eyes on full display. There were veins across his face, wrinkles that captured his bestial age. His arms wobbled as he held himself up to move around the corner. His jaw dropped and he let out gurls and snarls that made the mom and kids scream and cry out hysterically. They hurried away from the section, pushing past me without a second thought or a comprehensible comment. I heard movement and outcries in alarm.


    ¡°Cameras down!¡± Mom said in my ear.


    ¡°Roger that,¡± I said.


    For the moment I was alone. The sounds would certainly cause a stir and the woman¡¯s frantic outburst would give me a few seconds, to maybe a minute. The security guards would tend to the woman first, and they would probably shepherd the customers toward the outside doors. Then they¡¯d come and investigate the problem. The sounds were animal in nature, so that would raise their heart rates and challenge their routine.


    I¡¯ve got to stake him. I reasoned. Anything else would be too messy.


    Chad let out some sounds and put a hand up beside his head.


    His reaction time is slow. I hurried forward hoping the coast was clear. I saw the shapeshifter stir, and she still maintained the clerk¡¯s physical appearance, which was off-putting since I knew they weren¡¯t twins.


    Chad¡¯s fingers curled and he leaned forward, almost to where I thought he was going to collapse. He stayed upright and glared at the electric lights overhead and I grimaced at the long string of saliva that fell from his lips and stained the front of his shirt.


    Whatever compound or substance the shapeshifter used that kept him out this long probably won¡¯t hold him back much longer. Vampires have the typical senses: bursts of speed, strength, coordination, hearing, and night vision. Their hunger is a driving force that helps them keep their sanity. If you don¡¯t physically apprehend them, the only thing to do is to incapacitate the hunger. Which, based on his reaction and current condition, was warping his mind and charbroiling his senses.


    I was the only thing standing between the store and a bloodbath.


    I reached the framing section, grabbed the mom¡¯s discarded cart, and thrust it out forward like a battering ram. A vampire requires focus and mental stability. Otherwise, their enhanced senses become fuzzy, and it stresses them out. You can out last a vampire because they might decide to give up because you¡¯re not worth their time.


    Chad had the same limitations, but he was different. His sole purpose would be to deal with the blood hunger and that would make him brash, hostile like a rabid animal. The shopping cart caught Chad in the side. He stumbled and slashed at the air with wild drunkenness. Chad caught his footing and rushed me, but I still had the cart within reach. I pushed it forward, and he toppled headfirst into the basket. I considered it a win, but the simultaneous movement coupled with unplanned weight displacement. There was a moment¡¯s surprise that caused the cart to swerve. Chads twisted a second later, and it caught my wrist and brought the cart down on its side. I pulled away and tested my fingers. My wrist joint hurt and I got small bursts of pain up my arm, but I didn¡¯t anticipate considerable damage. With the pressure mounting, I unclipped a tool from my belt. I twisted the grip and released a jaggy spearhead. I moved in a circle staying low to avoid being seen. The lights blinked, an action I assumed Mom was responsible for.


    I rushed the cart it came barreling toward me. I dove to avoid it, and my spearhead fell from my hand, shattering as it hit the floor. I cursed and scooped up the handle. If I had been able to spear his heart, he would have assumed a human-like appearance, and that would have at least saved the situation, and I could have dragged him outside. Without the spearhead, I only had one option.


    Chad rolled onto all fours; unsurprisingly, he twisted and failed his head like a rabid dog trying to free himself from a muzzle. He then stopped and got to his feet. His hunger had focused itself into some sort of composure, yet his instincts were untamed and there was no reasoning with him. I held the baton and hit a secondary feature which released the external shell that encased a narrow blade. I gripped my weapon with both hands as his attention fell on me. My blade was roughly 13 inches in length, and it didn''t look super intimidating, but the thing was Fruit Ninja Sharp. Chad would advance, he undoubtedly heard my heart beating and considered me a prime target to feast on.


    Chad dropped his jaw, flashing his long teeth and I heard joints crack as he swiped wildly in front of him. I danced backward two steps and kicked an art kit at his feet. It hit his shin, but the plastic case merely bounced off and slid into the middle of the aisle.


    He plowed forward, knocking down several items and he let a long, leathery tongue drop as he jabbed at my shoulder. I pulled away seconds before he would have made contact. I kicked a few more things in his path. Chad hissed in outrage and swiped several times at my arms and then at my head. I blocked a downward right swipe, my blade slicing partially through his arm. The cut sizzled, and Chad spat at his injury. He followed it up with an angled slash and I cut in the opposite direction, catching his arm and nearly severing it.


    You¡¯re being cautious. I realized, but any further analysis evaporated as Chad rebounded and charged at me, hoping to bury his head right into my chest. He was fast but did not blink, and Superman was right behind you fast. I set myself up and landed a punch across his cheek. He stumbled and seemed disoriented. Yet as I pulled back to unleash a kill strike. His nostrils flared and I heard his jaw pop back into place.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Sorry man. I thought.


    I lifted my blade and shifted my grip, suitable for swinging motions and quick swipes. Chad feebly pushed away, and he shook his head once to focus and then he rushed me. I set myself on his path. This was my moment. If I didn¡¯t make it count, he was either going to barrel away or land his own killing blow.


    Come on!


    He jumped and tucked into a roll. It wasn¡¯t the move I would have expected from a huger-frenzied vampire. I kept a solid stance, and I put all my strength into my strike. Time seemed to slow around me and my blade sang through the air. I held my breath as his flesh sizzled upon contact right at the back of his neck. I forced it all the way through. When the resistance surrendered, I pulled back and heaved with all my might. The body¡¯s arms flailed, and the palm caught my arm, but it didn¡¯t break the skin; in fact, it just felt cold. The sensation startled me, but I was eager to pull away. I couldn¡¯t risk getting any of his blood on me. Chad¡¯s head fell to the ground, and I kicked it away. I held my blade away from my body and immediately stepped back and I was ready to duck for cover. The job was done, and I wasn¡¯t eager to talk to anyone. I took a step, mentally charting my path, but stopped when I realized someone was sitting on the ground staring at me.


    The shapeshifter had been seem kill the vampire!


    My entire body went rigid and like anyone holding a murder weapon, I looked at the weapon and then looked at the shapeshifter. I quickly got upright, and I watched the surprise vanish as Chad¡¯s features melted away, replaced by a dark-skinned woman with curly hair still wearing the store employee attire.


    She looked at me, smiled maliciously, and then assumed a look of abject horror. Her eyes trembled, and she pointed at me and screamed with blood, curdling terror.


    ¡°Murderer!¡±


    ¡°Emma, destroy the blade,¡± Pop ordered. Everyone on my line had undoubtedly heard the cry. I hurried away from the section. I wasn¡¯t about to start another fight, especially not one I wasn¡¯t sure if I could win or not. Pop had also said that I wouldn¡¯t want a shapeshifter to touch me and the last thing I needed her to have was a mental impression of my face.


    ¡°On it,¡± I huffed.


    ¡°You can hit it against any solid surface. It will shatter, trust me,¡± Pop replied.


    I cleared a few aisles without anyone spotting me. I could hope Mom had caused some kind of distraction or added to the chaos and distress to buy me some time. I could hear concerned voices, and they were beginning to fan out. I ducked down an aisle and smashed the blade against the floor, and then I ditched the handle in a gap beneath some items hanging on pegs. I didn¡¯t have the murder weapon. I was positive the vampire hadn¡¯t gotten any blood on me, so I was close to home free, but the shapeshifter had seen me, so they would be on the lookout for someone sweaty and panicked. Plus, I had decapitated a store employee. That was brutal and that was messy. The two big pieces that kindle hysteria and make headlines.


    At least people are safe. I thought getting attacked by a vampire was a horrible way to go.


    The shapeshifter had put these people in danger. I had killed him, but it was her fault for creating the scenario. For now, though, she had the upper hand and would certainly try and use me as a distraction. I ducked into a corner and had a few people hurry to the frame section. And I grabbed a jacket from a discarded cart and put it on. It was a bit tight across the shoulders, but I didn¡¯t feel awkward wearing it, and at first glance, I doubted it would seem misplaced. Quickly pulling my hair up into a ponytail, I grabbed some toys to appear as a presumed shopper concerned about the noise. Thirty seconds passed, and I spotted a man wearing a long-sleeved shirt holding the phone to his ear as he came from the back room in a full sprint.


    ¡°What''s going on?¡± I called out to him. But he didn''t reply, so I spoke a little louder. ¡°Did I hear someone screaming?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing to be concerned about,¡± the man declared a moment later. ¡°If you go up front, my associate can help you get outside.¡±


    The associate came up beside me.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± I began. But I got cut off as an associate took my arm, and we proceeded towards the front.


    ¡°You''re perfectly safe,¡± the associate said, but he sounded tactless, and his delivery seemed rigid. He was either new on the job, or secretly, he was a bit bitter for a reason assignment. ¡°We''ll ensure that nothing is going on, and then you''ll be safe to continue shopping.¡±


    Shopping is the last thing on my mind. But I thought through some options in case I was asked why I was there. I faked a stumble as the associate guided me toward the registers and the front doors. I asked some questions, but I got simple answers. Thankfully, my questions gave Mom enough clues to know what was happening. I avoided glancing to my side or behind me, and I set my story as my family offered a plan. I got worried, though, as once I saw the front door, I couldn¡¯t say anything about it.


    The shapeshifter had seen my face, but it had only been for a moment. Was that long enough to turn into me?


    ¡°We can''t let the shifter get away.¡± Mom said in my earpiece. ¡°Emma, you need to get clear of any store personnel.¡±


    ¡°On it,¡± I hissed.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± The associate asked as I steered our advance down an empty aisle.


    ¡°Hey, what''s going on?¡± The associate began as he reached for a walkie-talkie. His concern still was robotic. He probably assumed I was going to throw up out of fear. Realizing this and playing into it, I began to double over, but then I spun around, catching his neck point of my elbow, and carefully lowered them to the ground. It didn''t take long before they were unconscious.


    ¡°We need to regroup and figure out what to do,¡± Pop said. ¡°Emma, are you outside?¡±


    ¡°No, I''m not. And I¡¯ve got no time to get outside.¡± Snatching a pair of glasses from a rotating rack.


    ¡°Emma, the shapeshifter saw you,¡± Dad interjected. ¡°You need to get out of there.¡±


    ¡°Mom, I need you to get to the power controls and shut the lights out.¡± I glanced around the end cap, and as far as I could tell, I was still alone, but I figured that wouldn¡¯t last very long.


    ¡°Pop, does the kit still have the sticker you made to find your glasses in the dark?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I typically keep them in there,¡± Pop said. ¡°Oh, that''s clever, Emma.¡±


    ¡°I''m glad you think so,¡± I said quickly, fishing for the kit. ¡°You said that shapeshifters can mimic by sunt. She saw my face, but it only took a few seconds. If I''m going to get close, we need to take out her ability to see. Mom, when you''re ready to turn out the lights, cover the back end. And Dad, if you can get to the front, we''ll flush the shifter out and turn the tables.¡±


    I also wanted to make sure that she paid for the fact that I had done her dirty work.


    It finally made sense what Dad meant when he pushed us so hard on a case.


    ¡°Let¡¯s finish the job,¡± Dad confirmed.

 Challenge the Foe

    Amy One


    Shapeshifters have to prepare for numerous possibilities, situations, and circumstances. It doesn¡¯t matter if one is preparing to give a monumental presentation or snatch a Rembrandt out from under an elitist nose. The effort requires attention to detail, the ability to adapt to a situation faster than someone can blink, and to be a smooth talker.


    Amy One watched a vampire killer flee. She had expected resistance, and some retaliation would have been verbalized or attempted. Amy had set several contingencies in motion before coming into the store and she had proceeded to ensure that her task was completed. There had been one moment when she had been working. There had been a few signs, but she had written them off too quickly. The next thing she knew, Amy One, an art thief, was regaining consciousness; and she had found herself in the front row of the showdown.


    What is this?


    The movements were controlled. The weapon was unique in its construction. A human female displayed control and self-confidence with complete awareness of the type of creature she had come face to face with. Amy felt impressed by the discipline. The fight proceeded and Amy quickly ensured that she had maintained Chad¡¯s form. Her body ached from the punch and the resulting impact. The female charged but then lost some kind of armament. She then proceeded to release a second weapon within seconds of realizing her error. This weapon, Amy observed, had a thin blade and had been concealed inside a tube or rod. The attacker muttered something under her breath, and her shoulder stiffened.


    Who has the skills to take on a vampire, and what kind of blade was that?


    A hunter? A government agent? Some kind of independent contractor?


    The third one seemed unlikely. Amy felt certain that she would be aware of independent contractors. Hunters were a dime a dozen, and one could pin down a government agent by their rules or powers. Amy glanced around the second. There were noises of distress, but no one had dared come over.


    Amy singled her attention on the fight. The government, M.A.G.E, was supposed to be licking its wounds. Amy had carefully planned her movements and actions while in this quaint area. Hunters had skills and weapons. The woman didn¡¯t show any powers, and she was gutsy to take on a vampire. At the same time, hunters move in packs. There was never just one in a town. Not if the hunter wanted to survive.


    This raises questions about the area and whether or not I can-


    Amy¡¯s thoughts trailed off as the hunter lashed out outward with a fist. She caught Chad right in the mouth. He flew and in a flash. Amy coughed as Chad¡¯s head rolled across the floor.


    You¡¯re a hunter I¡¯d rather not tangle with. That strike was quick and agile! Who are you and why haven¡¯t I ever heard of you before?


    The hunter looked fatigued, but understandably moved to make her escape. Amy had been so caught up in the evaluation and regeneration that when their eyes met, Amy felt her innate abilities kick in. Eyes were windows to the soul, and shapeshifters were well-equipped to see through the fluff. The hunter displayed anxiety, and there was a look of genuine surprise. Amy felt her mind stall. She hadn¡¯t quite recovered from her assault. A moment passed, and she shut things down as noises and commotion carried across the store. The lights flashed and Amy didn¡¯t waste a moment and immediately changed form. It was a basic form, one that she had picked up on the street in the inner city. Amy had selected it because it had seemed innocent and careful observations had proved that she would be warmly welcome among a group. Chad was dead, and it would raise too many questions for any worker or one of the security guards to see a twin.


    Amy thought about her prize hidden behind the counter. Was there any chance to salvage the operation?


    There was a way. Whoever this hunter was, she was unwelcome news. Her first task was the rightfully pin the fiasco on the guilty party.


    ¡°Murderer!¡±


    Amy unleashed the theatrics as she readied herself for the encounter. Big eyes, hysterical rambling, and soul-chilling horror centered on how someone had cut off another person¡¯s head. Within seconds, half a dozen employees and the two security guards from earlier appeared, and the workers hurried to her side, while the security guards, with hands on the weapons, took in the scene but then pulled back in astonishment.


    ¡°That¡¯s a body!¡± one exclaimed. ¡°Without a head!¡±


    ¡°What the!¡±


    ¡°Oh my GOSH!¡±


    This was certainly a new level of crime for the store apart from the random vandal and the occasional shoplifter.


    Amy let her form tremble, and she placed a hand over her mouth. The employees all went pale as they took in the body and the expanding pool of blood. The employees chatted, and Amy allowed them to fill in the details themselves, which helped as more people came over and there were new exclamations and outbursts of alarm.


    ¡°Who would do such a-¡°


    Amy ignored the speaker but cheered inside as a large, broad-shouldered man vomited at the sight of a severed head. Amy knew she struck gold. Everyone¡¯s attention would be on the attack. Questions about her employment would be secondary thoughts.


    By the time they dig into me, I¡¯ll be long gone-


    Amy¡¯s eyes fell on the ground near where she had impacted the display and lying beneath some debris, she spotted the drug tube. Amy bit her lip and kicked it under a round display base. M.A.G.E didn¡¯t need to get their hands on that, at least not anytime soon. The hunter didn¡¯t need it either. There was enough residual in the container. Someone with enough chemistry knowledge, along with some potion making would be able to figure it out. Its poor reaction made her skin crawl. When you pay top dollar, you expect to have premium results. It should have kept him out for hours, but it had worn off in a matter of minutes. The oversight and inconvenience! She wouldn''t make the same mistake next time, and the Chemist would answer for shoddy work. No one cons a con artist.


    ¡°We need to get everyone outside!¡± an official person said. Amy felt their voice was na?ve and the authority they were asserting was fresh and untested. Still, Amy didn¡¯t resist and assumed a submissive persona. For the moment, her face was the face of a victim, and a traumatized victim. There would be considerable attention on her, but the actual employees, guards, and the forthcoming police officers. They would ask questions, but the situation was as simple as someone wearing a mask and holding a gun. No, the hunter had been quite expert in their execution, maybe even masterful. This was a back alley or some deserted street. That had been a foolish choice, one with too many variables.


    Amy paused and gritted her teeth, her insides felt twisted. Fortunately, the people around her assumed it was absolute shock and fright.


    It was brash, but where had the hunter gone? She was young, but the things she did. Those were things you can¡¯t just do. They must be taught and practiced. Then there was that blade.


    Even if she had help on the inside, the hunter wouldn¡¯t have been able to predict the outcome, and the store would have been full of people. Amy had hoped the people would have been sufficient cover if Chad had attempted to get even, and it would have worked. This hunter was an outlier. When had a new player come onto the scene? And in this town? Who could take out a vampire and not have a reputation?


    ¡°Everything is going to be alright,¡± said a red-headed worker with braces. ¡°The police are here, and I¡¯m sure more will be in just a few minutes.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re incredibly lucky,¡± a second worker said, a boy with curly hair. He cut off with a grunt and Amy figured someone had elbowed him in the shoulder. Amy turned and did her best to show a teary smile. He had no idea just how right he was.


    I know the people monster hunters and M.A.G.E agents who would have the skills I witnessed in action. I know their faces, their schedules, their contacts, and those who would disclose information for the right price.


    They were good, a true mixture of masters and experts. Amy always had to be on her guard, but it was a system that worked. Amy thought back to the scene, she needed something to give to the officers. Some key details they couldn¡¯t overlook or set aside.


    Amy returned her attention to the scene. It wasn¡¯t flawless, but she could remember a landscape nearly as good as she could remember a face. You couldn¡¯t enjoy French impressionists without some internal understanding of the marriage of emotion, color and detail.


    The blood was centralized in one place. The crucial moments before Chad¡¯s premature death played out in her mind.


    There were no streaks or splash marks.


    The hunter had been wise to push the body away to avoid getting any blood stains on her clothes, and she hadn¡¯t appeared injured when she had fled. The lights flickered overhead.


    The help?


    An alternative option was generated in her mind, and she cursed at the oversight. Monster hunters tend to work in pairs or trios, but why were they there? Chad wasn¡¯t the kind of vampire that chased small children or had some kind of bizarre fetish. The hunters wouldn¡¯t waste their time on him. The only other target was her, and a shapeshifter would be a big prize. It would be something worthy of name recognition.


    Amy scanned the crowd and even began to feel suspicious of the employees around her. Was this a prize hunt? Had someone tipped off hunters that a shapeshifter was going to do a job outside of their territory?


    No one had known she had been coming, but she could think of at least three people who would put a target on her back. Amy could list plenty of people who would come after her, and there was a smaller list of people who she would prefer to stay away from, halfway around the world, or would if possible. Her first list stayed true in her mind. The area was supposed to be remote and unassuming. The earlier chaos had rightly put the government into a frenzy, and this wasn¡¯t going to help. At the same time. Amy was sure this wasn¡¯t a chance encounter. Someone had put the hunter up to it.


    Someone special and vindictive.


    ¡°The cops have asked that we clear the store while they secure the scene,¡± a coworker said softly. ¡°There are paramedics in case anyone is hurt if you feel that you¡¯re going to vomit or faint. They would like to examine you.¡±


    ¡°Great idea,¡± Amy said, focusing on a sinking feeling that was sparking her flight or fight response. ¡°I need an exam.¡±


    Some workers commented on her bravery, while other coworkers offered some words and comfort while hiding their disgust for the horrific scene behind them.


    Severed heads tend to do that. Amy thought.


    Now they were free from the murder scene, and Amy began to formulate a plan. The police were there, and she hadn¡¯t thought about the people who came to see what was going on. Someone could be in that group, and unwelcomed Someone, and while it would take some time for the hysteria to die down. Amy thought about her story, and her mind went blank. She chalked it up to the results of her collision, but at the same time, she hadn¡¯t planned on infiltrating the store. You can¡¯t just walk around and take people¡¯s clothing and pretend to be someone you¡¯re not; maybe in the big cities, but you need to have the right target knee-deep in the right kind of stress.


    They¡¯ll pick apart my story because their case would tank if my credibility got shot. I can give a basic description of the hunter, but there were plenty of people in the crowd by now. The hunter could easily have escaped.


    ¡°Hello,¡± a man in a suit called out, ¡°let¡¯s calmly proceed outside and we¡¯ll take statements and-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry detective,¡± one of the security guards said, ¡°but this situation is critical and¡±


    Amy relaxed slightly as they stopped beside glass shelves full of decorative statues like animals and furniture along with racks of floral greeting cards. The security guard and the employees, even though none of them had been present, began to break down the series of events. The lights flickered, and someone commented that the cameras were out and Amy pretended to cough in an effort to hide her amusement as one employee spun details, some of which included an axe and a big, hulking giant.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°I better call it in,¡± the detective said, ¡°if we¡¯ve got an axe-wielding killer on the loose!¡±


    ¡°No, it was,¡± Amy began, but the security guard stepped aside, and he began to talk over a radio. While the detective pulled out his phone and stared at the door, undoubtedly keeping an eye on his officers who were securing the external doors.


    It''s impressive that she was able to get away from the scene.


    Amy wrinkled her nose and skidded her feet across the floor a few times to implant the thoughts of nerves and worry.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± one of the workers said with some motherly reassurance.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Amy said adding a sniff. It seemed unlikely that the hunter was still in the building but the comments about the lights and the cameras struck her thoughts. It was likely that she had help, but why was she here? Had Someone tipped her off? Was it worth going outside and attempting an escape? Amy hadn¡¯t seen the help, nor did she know if Someone himself might be hanging out as the woman with the stroller, or the teenager in the dark green hoodie.


    ¡°Please head up front,¡± he said dismissively. This was probably the most action he¡¯d ever seen on the job in his entire career.


    ¡°Be sure you give your statements to the police. There are some officers outside.¡±


    Amy studied the guard¡¯s uneasy reaction and then complied with every order without complaint. It wasn¡¯t time to make her move, but that window of opportunity was closing fast.


    ¡°Hey get the manager over here,¡± the detective said. ¡°what is going on with these lights? Did you guys forget to pay your power bill?¡±


    Amy lurched forward and was immediately surrounded by supportive employees. It was fortunate no one wore any name badges, and for now, her name would be the furthest from people¡¯s minds. In a store like this, people often don¡¯t know their coworkers. It was a great cover.


    Lights? Pay the bill? Someone you are a devil.


    The hunter was gone, but her help was, without a doubt, still here, and why would that happen? Amy thought about her ill-placed duffel back and a few other pieces of incriminating evidence. The police might ignore it because the hunter had cut the head of a worker. That was going to take precedence over a few canvases held together with rubber bands. The hunter? Would she try and steal her bag? Why not? Hunters were generally strapped for cash unless they used fake IDs or stolen credit cards. A few thousand bucks, that was a few thousand bucks and Amy had a reputation for being one of the best forgers.


    They¡¯ll probably take it and slip out the back. Amy reasoned, Or, if Someone is really feeling overly cheerful, he might just wait until it''s logged into evidence, and then he¡¯ll produce a warrant to get it out for some high-profile case.


    If there was one thing Amy couldn¡¯t stand, it was to have Samuel One, aka Someone, have something else to hold over her head.


    I¡¯m not going back to the drawing board. Amy thought adamantly. I¡¯ve got too much riding on this to give up now.


    Time was money, and Amy hated losing either, but she loathed losing both. It was time for some drastic action. Amy fingered a ring on her right hand. Then she looked out the window and pressed down hard on the band.


    A small mushroom cloud erupted from across the parking lot. A car, which was now unidentifiable, ballooned into the air and came down with a fervent crash that several windows bowed from the shockwave and had spiderweb cracks spread across the surface. Everyone in the store went berserk. Amy meanwhile dove for cover behind one of the nearest cash registers and assumed a new form, a bald male police officer. He was in his late forties and came from a military background and family, but from her recollection, he hadn¡¯t seen any combat. He had been stationed at a base and had been on the perimeter patrol. Amy felt her muscles expand, and she coughed once to make sure the digraph would give her the commanding voice she would need to bypass any security.


    Someone was smart to put a monster hunter on his payroll, but hunters are always looking for a quick payday, and no hunter would stick around for the police to arrive unless they were desperate.


    Now ready to move, Amy conducted a quick search beneath the cash register and found a pair of scissors beside a roll of black trash bags. The hunter was well-armed, and scissors were comparable to throwing a small rock at an oncoming train. It would have been preferable if she had a gun, but real weapons weren¡¯t something she couldn¡¯t simply create. If necessary, shapeshifters could generate the appearance of something like a gun in a holster, but it wasn¡¯t something that they could actually use. Amy jumped over the cash register and knocked her now broad shoulder into a rack of candy bars, which spilled across the floor, but she ignored the poor excuse for pain and made a steady advance deeper into the store. Amy checked a corner and put her back up against a display as the lights went completely out and she heard someone from upfront say, ¡°Is everyone alright?¡±¡¯


    Amy heard no replies but didn¡¯t pay the group any further attention.  If I hurry, I can grab the duffel and head through the loading dock, or a back employee entrance.


    She was sure it would be easy to find. Most public buildings had emergency lights on the walls or on the floor to guide customers and workers to areas of safety. Amy tightened her grip on the scissors and charged back toward the frame section. There were inaudible screams, probably some confusion as to where their distraught, but unnamed co-worker had disappeared to. It was unlikely that they would suspect that she had raced back into the store. If anything, they would probably assume that she had made her way outside. It didn¡¯t matter, because Amy One was going to be gone. The crowd would delay the search, and the car bomb would cause some serious disorientation and wild speculation. Amy kept her grab up and thin blade angled downward so she could strike at the first indication of trouble.


    When the frame section came insight. Amy tensed. There were plenty of shadows and lengths of darkness and the emergency barely covered more than a few inches. She wasn¡¯t particularly fond of cat-and-mouse games. Where could the agent be hiding? The guard she had determined was physically in his prime. He had decent muscle mass despite several hours of consistent sitting and hardly lifted anything heavier than a few boxes for older neighbors or helping his kids move into their college dorm forms. The form was suitable for infiltration but for a face-to-face encounter. Amy needed something else if she was going to put up a fight. She steadied herself and considered some alternatives but disregarded the thought when she spotted some mannequins. The faces had all conveniently been turned away. There were five in all and three of them were a similar female body size. Amy did a quick assessment of the moment when she had awoken and had seen the hunter kill the vampire.


    What did she look like? Amy wondered. Was she blonde? Brunette. Redhead. It all happened too fast. Shapeshifters had fantastic memories, and fragments came forward as she pieced together the memory. Shapeshifters have a high tolerance to pain and injury, but the impact had made her mind go blank. If she had stayed unconscious longer than a few minutes, Amy tensed as she considered how she may have reverted back to her original form, which she could not risk using save for the direst of circumstances.


    This has got to be a trick. The faces would have been forward for everyone to see no matter which way through the store they came.


    Amy held the scissors, ready to strike. She turned her feet sideways and kept her free hand before her. Her boots squeaked across the tile floor, and her solid movements quickly turned into a shuffle. The indecision pushed her a bit faster. This was ridiculous. She was Amy One. She didn''t twitch, and she didn¡¯t get nervous.


    ¡°Surprise,¡±


    Amy tensed as something cold, and metal clicked down hard around her free wrist, and she felt her weight shift when her arm was jerked and pushed in a sudden motion that caused her body to twist and come down hard on her chest. Some kind of cloth was immediately pulled over her head and the scissors slipped from her fingers, but they were of no use anymore. By instinct, a new form came to her mind, and Amy immediately began to change but she didn¡¯t want to draw attention to it. The hunter could have some insight into Someone, his movements, and plans. A gold mine opportunity wasn¡¯t something to pass up. Amy slowed her process and allowed her now captor to continue. Most shapeshifters transform the inside out, and it wasn¡¯t too difficult to keep the external change dormant until she was ready to spring an attack.


    Let¡¯s see what I can learn about these people. Amy thought. Due to the hood over her face, she only had a few clues to cue her into her surroundings. Amy waited for words, sounds, and anything indicating her attackers were in a false sense of security. The situation was tense, and whatever they planned would have to take shape fast, leading to mistakes Amy could exploit. Amy stumbled, and her assailants pulled her upright. Amy clenched her teeth, and her body went rigid when a third set of hands came down on her shoulders, she heard a click and found her arms now properly secured behind her back.


    ¡°You''re making a mistake.¡± Amy hissed, ¡°I may be alone, but I¡¯ve got a deadly bag of tricks up my sleeve.¡±


    ¡°Shut up and move!¡± a second voice ordered. Amy blinked twice. The speaker had masked their emotions pretty well, but there was an undertone that was hard to replicate and equally hard to hide. Amy mentally chewed on the command.


    Genuine concern. Amy noted as she complied with the order; and was there some maturity in that voice?


    That was it. A maturity that comes with age in the voice. A trainer? A mentor, perhaps? Amy began to build a profile, and then she began to assess the situation. There had been three distinct grips and the isles were pretty clear. Were the still by the frame section? Amy closed her eyes and focused on the noises; would she be able to judge distance if she could hear the employees and security from earlier?


    Nothing!


    The store would have been evacuated, Amy noted, and the police were likely setting up a perimeter and gaining initial information to assess the threat and if there were any other things to be concerned about.


    Someone certainly pulled out all the stops to catch me in the act.


    Who else would have known to attack a shapeshifter in the dark? Amy heard a phone vibrate and a hand urge her onward, but her captors remained silent. They were texting each other. Who were these people?


    Amy closes her eyes and focuses on her attackers. There was plenty of contact and anyone smart would not maintain contact with a shapeshifter. Amy reached out but found her mind drawing multiple blanks. No stress level, no age, gender. They were wearing gloves.


    Amy tensed and inched her new form onward. Time to make my own threat assessment.


    There were a few more phone alerts, but then the sounds of the floor changed, and the prodding became a bit more frequent. Off in the distance, they were in a wider space, and Amy heard some noises and several pairs of feet fanning out in control of the situation pattern. Then, there were two doors and a change in temperature, even though the mask or hood. Amy recognizes this style. It was a play right out of the era of a loading dock. Amy relented any attempts of resistance, but several plans were coming together. She took a few different pieces and a picture formed in her mind. It wasn''t perfect, but a few moments of chaos would be enough to drive a wedge among these hunters. All she needed was a few moments and then, someone was going to pay and pay dearly.


    Click, the temperature changed, and her captors steadied her ascent down some stairs. They were now outside. The captors spoke in low voices, and Amy was listening, but she caught no one, direction or name. Amy took in a breath and recognized the usual natural smells, along with faint traces of tobacco, alcohol, and car exhaust. Real exhaust, from a running engine.


    Someone was kidnapping her!


    Amy readied her most impressive form. A 6 foot three, 300 lbs, and enough muscle and pure fighting force that even the most aggressive Spanish bulls would see and promptly run the other way instead. Someone wouldn¡¯t bring her to his new hideout. No, he would make sure that she was locked up in some dismal location until he felt that he had the time to come and visit.


    Amy counted the stairs and genuinely stumbled when she found gravel beneath her feet. The captors grumbled about it, but at least they could see. Despite the inconvenience, she focused on the form. And pictured her satisfied thrill when she challenged these average goons. She''d send them back to their boss with their tails between their legs.


    Amy narrowed her brow into a glare. It would be a much more menacing response and begin to engage the transformation¡¯s characteristics. She felt her body become denser; her bones thicken. But her restraints didn''t break. Amy smiled and pushed her will further into transformation. Amy flexed her fingers and was ready to rip the restraints into pieces. Amy flexed her shoulders, but the restraints expanded, and then she paused when the material, some kind of metal, began to cut into her wrists.


    This is unexpected.


    Amy attempted a second show of force, but the restraints didn¡¯t budge, and the links, cord, or chain linking them together suddenly began to constrict, and it limited her mobility even more.


    Amy reversed course, selecting a new form, a nimble child with incredible speed. All the strength and mass she had begun to produce shifted in the opposite direction. Amy readied herself to cheer when the restraints fell to the ground, but instead, they remained where they were. Amy shook her hands, but she found them stuck, like a ring that doesn¡¯t come off. Amy took a step and then felt restraint click around her ankles and a new length of cord secured them together. Amy considered a new form but doubted the results would be any different. Amy One was now completely in her captor''s power.


    ¡°Get these off of me,¡± Amy demanded, ¡°Do you know who I am?¡±


    ¡°Your name¡¯s Amy, and yes, we know who you are and what you do.¡± a male voice said. ¡°And I''m sure your resume is impressive, but at this moment, we don''t care.¡±


    This statement brought Amy a stiff moment''s pause, and she began to reassess. These people didn¡¯t sound like hunters, they sounded more like some kind of agent. She had never been accosted by so many agents before, but all of this had reached a whole new level.


    Someone would have to pay good money to employ people like. Otherwise, these are people he would avoid.


    ¡°Look,¡± Amy said. She still had the hood on and had to consider her words to avoid further setbacks ¡°Tell Someone that he owes me big time. We had a good plan, and I didn''t appreciate getting left in the dust.¡±


    ¡°Figured,¡± said a woman''s voice. The same woman''s voice Amy had noted the maturity in before. The concern was there, but it wasn¡¯t compressed or anxious. This woman had confidence.


    ¡°It was stupid coming here. You should have realized people pay attention, and M.A.G.E is volatile now, given the attacks from a few days ago.¡±


    Name drop? Clich¨¦!  Amy rolled her eyes, but it was more for her own amusement. This wasn''t an interrogation. This was a poorly executed shakedown. Whoever these people were, they knew about M.A.G.E, but they weren¡¯t a part of it. They had skin in the game, but they wanted something.


    ¡°I''ll take that under advisement,¡± Amy said. And look. ¡°If you work for Someone, you should know that he''s tried to kill me several times. The longer you leave me alive, the better chance I have of getting away. And believe me, I know how to hold a grudge.¡±


    ¡°I''m sure you do,¡± said another male voice. Amy recognized that cadence is known for its advanced age. There was another tone. What was it? Yes, Amy realized, and this was something she hadn''t anticipated.


    Urgency. Were they trying to fly under the radar?


    ¡°Whoever you are. If you''ve got a boss trying to make a name for themselves, you should let them know Someone is here and he''s up to something big. I''m talking about a real game-changer. If he or she asks nice, maybe you can come work for me.¡±


    Amy felt multiple hands on her arms and legs. They were all gloved, so she was powerless to do anything. The group spoke in low voices, and Amy considered a different form but figured her cuff would change as they had before.


    That''s all right, Amy thought. If there was one thing she was skilled at, it was biding her time.


    ¡°The offer has a clock,¡± Amy said, ¡°and I wouldn''t consider it a limited-time offer when you chat about it.¡±


    They would chat, but as far as she was concerned, they were as good as dead.

 Our Chance Encounter

    I relearned how to breathe thanks to Dad and Pop¡¯s timely arrival. Pop took charge and ensured that we could apprehend Amy One. We didn¡¯t learn very much, and whatever had caused that explosion was certainly going to put the town into a panic. A car bomb? Who does that?


    Mom doubled over; her face flushed with exhaustion. Everything had spiraled out of control. We were out of immediate danger, but we weren¡¯t in the clear. Dad and Pop sped away and I figured Mom was counting the seconds in the hopes that there were no sirens to spin the situation into a highspeed chase. I didn¡¯t hear any sirens, and I wasn¡¯t sure if Tony had caused any distraction. Whether he had or not, the police were going to regain their footing, and it wasn¡¯t going to take long for them to make their way to the back. It was time for us to clear the area, and fast. The only small obstacle was to work our way around the far side of the store and offer a convincing story as to why we were back behind the line of stores to begin with.


    ¡°We¡¯ll use the badges as a last resort,¡± Mom said, ¡°we¡¯re back here because we were hoping to find a recycling dumpster or something.¡±


    I wiped the sweat from my forehead. ¡°Not the best story, but there are weirder-¡±


    A noise hit my ears, and I tensed, worried that I was about to hear, ¡°Freeze! Or get your hands up.¡±


    Instead, after the clinking of some glass the rustling of some boxes, and the crunching of weeds, I heard a voice say, ¡°Here, kitty!¡±


    Mom and I exchanged glances, and then we found the source of the sound. There beside a dumpster sat a pet carrier, and sitting in a crouch was Melanie Black gently stroking a cat, and she looked eager to gently coax it to get inside the carrier.


    ¡°Has she been hunting for stray cats?¡± I whispered.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s something else,¡± Mom replied. ¡°Ah! I should have realized it sooner.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± I said, making the connection. ¡°I get it. Mom, follow my lead. I have an idea.¡±


    I pulled out my badge, but Mom grabbed my wrist. ¡°Emma, she¡¯s a witch.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± I said, and Mom released my hand. ¡°This will work, trust me. It was now or never.¡±


    ¡°Melanie Black.¡±


    I held up the badge, and she glanced in my direction. The cat in her arms hissed at me. Not something unexpected, but it was a reaction I was actually happy to see. The cat recoiled into Melanie¡¯s elbow, who pulled the animal tighter in a defensive manner. Melanie was an activist first, and a witch second. She was here looking out for stray animals and it seemed logical that her immediate reaction would be to soothe the wayward animal instead of engaging her abilities to question my legitimacy.


    I cleared my throat. ¡°I''m a M.A.G.E/C.O.V.E.N liaison tasked to protect the wild and untethered familiars.¡±


    Witches have a thing for cats, and I knew there were situations that other Fosters had written about involving witches and their familiars. I didn¡¯t quite understand the lore, and the name sounded ridiculous in my head; M.A.G.E and C.O.V.E.N were not known to get along. Yet, surprisingly, Mel pursed her lips and kept her expression blank, which told me that while the name might sound bogus, the alleged idea behind it was something. I masked my surprise and from the corner of my eye, I could see Mom had recognized it as well. If the name meant something to hear, we had an opening, but it was a narrow one. The police would come around the corner, and Melanie wouldn¡¯t be eager to stick around.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Congratulations!¡± Melanie spat sarcastically. ¡°All it takes is the world to nearly come to an end and now you spooks are paying attention.¡±


    ¡°Lasting progress takes time,¡± Mom said with some reproach. ¡°You, of all people, should know that we can¡¯t rush things. Otherwise, we just end up in trouble and have to start over.¡±


    ¡°So then why talk to me?¡± Melanie asked in a demanding tone. ¡°Are you annoyed that I''m doing your job, or have you decided they''re better Then oh? What''s the phrase? These are obnoxious murder muffins.¡±


    Obnoxious murder muffins? I actually felt stunned by that. People have a love-hate relationship with cats, but I thought I coined that name, and I had done so due to the unrelenting interest cats had taken to my ankles.


    Melanie stared down her nose at me and continued in a huff. I assumed my reaction was visible on my face.  ¡°I can see it in your face. You have your title, position, office, and badge, but all you do is the necessary paperwork, and make everything look good on a pie chart. But nobody cares what''s going on in the streets or behind stores. No one knows that more things could be done for these miserable and misunderstood creatures.¡±


    Melanie looked down at the cat and puckered her lips. When she clicked her tongue, I refrained from rolling my eyes and maintained what I hoped was a professional. And official body language, vocal tone, and overall persona to hopefully keep the distraction enforcement active. I didn''t know if it would affect her. Occasionally, I admit people with magical abilities, but no one on the level of a Coven witch. Even a mediocre one.


    ¡°I''m sorry. Are we talking about familiars or magical creatures?¡±


    Cats were stereotypical animals for witches to take care of. However, the interest had turned more mainstream and modern over the past several decades. Melanie scoffed at my comment. And pulled the cat closer to her chest.


    ¡°Both, it seems like,¡± Melanie countered. ¡°No one cares about what familiars did for us. Today, so many idiots just love to dress them up to take pictures or make stupid videos. Did you know that many creatures still live in dismal squalor because they can''t integrate into society as the other beings have done? Everyone has their uses, as long as they''re not abused by certain people.¡±


    Mom put a hand on my shoulder, indicating to me that I needed to take charge and steer the conversation. I gave a small nod in acknowledgment. Melanie had a score to settle and she hadn¡¯t questioned my badge, but she might if she perceived Mom to have the malicion.


    Melanie gingerly helped the cat inside the carrier, who purred and settled in on a soft blanket. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re so speechless. Cat got your tongue?¡±


    She was dancing close to hostility. Her eyes moved to Mom. We needed to placate her if we were going to get anywhere. I had to be careful because she already had a sour attitude towards authority, and now my face fictionally represented what she hated. I didn''t want to sound overly empathetic, but I needed to garner a little trust if we would get any information.


    ¡°You are right; things aren''t perfect, and while I¡¯m not the best at my job, I¡¯m at least trying to do it. I know it¡¯s a challenge, but you can make things worse because not everyone is your enemy, for example. I know you were in the area when the Main Street businesses were attacked. Are you aware of anyone who might have done that?¡±


    ¡°Of course, I figured that would be coming up. Why wouldn¡¯t an activist give the finger to the agents hiding in plain sight¡± Melanie rolled her eyes and rolled her shoulders. At that moment, I could tell she was fatigued and probably hadn''t slept well in the past several days.


    ¡°No, it wasn¡¯t me or anyone involved with my movements,¡± Melanie said, and she actually smiled as she reflected on some past event. ¡°The Main Street strike, that¡¯s what C.O.V.E.N refers to it. They were ready to smash heads together when they realized there was the slightest change Suzy was in town. They were idiots for not dealing with her years ago.¡±


    Suzy? And remember the name from my chat with Bianca. At that moment, Melanie assumed A grim expression and pulled a few steps away from me.


    ¡°Yeah, you better believe it, and trust me when I say that you might be way over your head.¡± Melanie secured the cat in the carrier and then picked it up. ¡°The attacks were swift and packed a punch. That is something Suzy is known for if she is angry, and I mean really angry. If your investigation has to take you anywhere close to the Main Street attacks. If I were you, I''d pack up and ask for a different assignment.¡± Melanie turned to leave, crunching some dirt beneath her shoe. ¡°Nothing good ever happens when you have to cross paths with a dark witch like Suzy Sourblood.¡±

 Battle Plans and reality check

    We regrouped on the bridge a few hours later. Melanie had given us some information, and her annoyance and accusation toward the worst name of the three that had been mentioned really felt like we were up against a firing squad. Once back together, Mom shared with Dad our encounter, and he was relieved to hear about it, but the accomplishment was short-lived as we watched the town and the neighboring ones spiral out of control. Major names in journalism were flocking to the area, looking for anyone willing to talk about the wild domino effect of high-profile crimes and grueling deaths. I sat uncomfortably at my console trading comments with Tony over a text feature as the reporters traded hyperbolic theories about a savage decapitating axe murderer that had somehow disappeared from a hobby craft store after murdering one of its employees and blowing up a car.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± the town¡¯s round-faced former farmer, now mayor, said at a podium surrounded by a dozen special agents in suits. ¡°We have never seen such terrifying crimes take place in our city, let alone our state. I understand that you all feel mortified, and my office is working closely with federal authorities to get funding to rebuild our Main Street businesses, and we will dedicate our time and attention to public safety.¡±


    It was a standard speech, but Mayor Goldstein had always had a calm demeanor, and he hadn¡¯t been a successful farmer and agricultural teacher at the high school and community college without developing a reasonably decent reputation. Based on the speech, he seemed like an honest politician.


    An honest politician who was no in a situation way over his head and above his pay grade.


    The mayor continued his speech, and a quick glance at the city¡¯s police officers conveyed worry and serious apprehension.


    These are big-city cops. Tony wrote. They¡¯re glorified security guards and traffic patrols.


    That¡¯s a little rude. I wrote back to Tony. An official agent from the FBI came to the podium and offered some thanks before giving a profile and some suspicious activities for the public to keep an eye out for.


    ¡°I know what I have described will probably not ease your tension because all of this has come at you really fast and it has all been quite a shock. We understand that and please, try to keep calm and don¡¯t let your fears get the best of you.¡±


    ¡°Easier said than done,¡± I muttered.


    Dad paused the feed. ¡°Tony, what do you have?¡±


    ¡°The stories are rolling in,¡± Tony said, ¡°Social media is full of stories about a samurai to a hulking axe murderer. There are plenty of memes, and some people are sounding a bit skeptical and are claiming that it¡¯s a prank.¡±


    ¡°A prank,¡± I repeated. ¡°I doubt the mom and kids who say the vampire would think that¡¯s a prank.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Halloween,¡± Tony said, ¡°There are stores that sell axes and pretty legit severed heads.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s another thing that confuses me,¡± I said. ¡°I didn¡¯t have an axe and as far as we know, only the shapeshifter saw me, but that was just for a second. Why would she say that I used an axe? The more lethal ones are cumbersome, and you need serious muscle to use them properly. Why didn¡¯t Amy One say anything about me?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a worthwhile question,¡± Dad said. ¡°and she might have, but the fact that you correctly determined that she wouldn¡¯t want to lose her contraband means that she was conflicted, or maybe there was something else that she wanted to avoid.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve got some channels with breaking news alerts,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°On screen,¡± Dad said.


    Video feeds appeared on the screen. A reporter had a stoic expression, but his neck muscles, which were bulging, told me that the producers had put a lot on the teleprompter. ¡°Witnesses claim there was a single individual who survived the onslaught, but an explosion created a big distraction and presumably this individual was taken by the killer.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like Amy caused the explosion,¡± Mom said, ¡°she probably had that as a failsafe.¡±


    ¡°It would explain why this supposed witness vanished,¡± Dad agreed.


    A second reporter played, affirming the first, but then we got a little more information. ¡°Unfortunately, the only witness who, for some reason, cannot be identified, has vanished. Authorities are looking for an African American woman in her twenties. She was shy and about five feet, five inches tall. We have been given a sketch that we will circulate via our website and on our social media platforms. If you have any information or knowledge about this young lady, federal authorities are asking that you come forward.¡±


    He shuffled some papers. ¡°Our hearts and prayers go out to her and her family, and we hope she will not end up as the latest victim of this terrible tragedy.¡±


    A third report played; this one was two women and a panel of so-called experts.


    A reporter, a woman with red hair and a southern accent. ¡°Dr. Palmer, what do you think we should make of such a terrifying sequence of events? This is a big city. There are small towns that don¡¯t have a history of gangs and horrible crimes. Could this mean that rural communities might not be safe anymore?¡±


    ¡°Well, you know Cheryl that rural communities,¡± Dr. Palmer spoke with a nasal tone and a stiff accent. It came off as a professor who used the same material and had a decade of not having his opinions challenged.


    Dr. Palmer offered a bland opinion, and an older woman with narrow features and blond hair glared at him for several seconds, and when given the chance, she was ready to pounce.


    ¡°Dr. Palmer, we¡¯re not talking about a war front or third-world country. It''s academically dishonest to stereotype the region as something that is less valuable or less worthy than our larger metropolitan areas.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t deny,¡± Cheryl, the reporter, said, ¡°that something is going on in this area. The store¡¯s cameras were disabled, and it was reported that several Main Street businesses and small businesses were attacked without warning and without any known criminal entity taking credit for the attack.¡±


    Dad paused the segment and grumbled some inaudible words. ¡°Cameras disabled, a missing witness, and now our antics are being chalked up to an axe-wielding murderer and a large-scale criminal conspiracy. This just keeps getting better and better.¡±


    ¡°M.A.G.E needs to get into gear and get a handle on this,¡± Mom said.


    Dad grumbled dismissively. ¡°I¡¯d wager they are, but there could be things that we don¡¯t know about. They may not know who to trust.¡±


    Tony gulped. ¡°Dad, you know that could include us, right? Could M.A.G.E have agents looking into suspicious communications or what if our contacts are being investigated.¡±


    ¡°Possible, but I don¡¯t believe it at the moment,¡± Dad said.


    I sank into my chair. ¡°I should have handled it better. If I had managed to stake the vampire, I could have gotten him out of there.¡±


    ¡°It would have helped,¡± Dad said, ¡°but a hunger-driven vampire isn¡¯t a simple target. If you hadn¡¯t been there, he could have ripped through the whole store and the story would be a lot worse.¡±


    ¡°That mom and kids did see his monster form,¡± I added, ¡°how long will it take before their story gets out?¡±


    ¡°Their shock will make them question what they saw,¡± Mom said, ¡°the police have their names, but they¡¯re probably uncreditable witnesses.¡±


    Tony coughed. ¡°So, to sum up, we threw a wrench into the mess and have alienated a shapeshifter who we need to interrogate. While maintaining our cover and investigating whether a dark witch is trying to wage an all-out war.¡±


    Tony looked around the bridge. ¡°This looks bad, and it is really bad, I¡¯m not going to lie, but we can work with hysteria, right?¡±


    ¡°As long as we stay out of the news,¡± Dad said. ¡°We know the shapeshifter didn¡¯t talk, and we dealt with the cameras, but the authorities might have salvaged something. Honey, what have you found?¡±


    Mom looked up from the comms station. ¡°As far as I can tell, there¡¯s nothing. We¡¯re still in shadows for now.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll keep looking,¡± Dad said, sounding unconvinced. ¡°For now, we¡¯ll work with hysteria. We¡¯ll head out and act as though everything is normal, and we¡¯ll push common ground and be the helpful neighbors everyone thinks we are.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have to worry about outside jobs,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Dad acknowledged, ¡°and if we come across other possible situations, I don¡¯t like it but we may have to let things happen. It¡¯s important that we keep our heads down, get more information, and do what we can to not draw attention to ourselves.¡±


    ¡°So, we can turn our attention to our real target.¡± Mom said, ¡°All of this has got to be a problem with whatever she¡¯s planning, right?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to think so,¡± Dad said, ¡°Melanie said that C.O.V.E.N was up in arms because they heard rumors that Suzy was here in this town.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what she said,¡± I confirmed.


    ¡°M.A.G.E may be watching, and there are a lot of authorities watching, so Suzy is going to have to tread carefully. That could be an advantage for us because we may be able to figure out what she tries to do to stay hidden.¡±


    ¡°Because we¡¯ll be doing the same thing,¡± Tony said.


    ¡°Not everything, and hopefully we¡¯ll do it better,¡± Dad said, ¡°Suzy Sourblood. It can¡¯t be a coincidence that Melanie mentioned her, too.¡±


    ¡°Could that be her movement?¡± Tony asked. ¡°A dark witch would scare the minion-level creatures. What if Melanie¡¯s big focus is trying to keep familiars and other monsters out of the way.¡±


    ¡°That would make sense, and we know that if you want to hide a larger crime, you need to commit a ton of smaller crimes,¡± I said, ¡°I doubt they wouldn¡¯t participate willing, and like the new girl in school, Melanie didn¡¯t seem the type to challenge Suzy directly.¡±


    ¡°But she¡¯s committed to a cause so she¡¯s doing what she can,¡± Mom finished, ¡°indirectly.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a good point, Emma,¡± Dad affirmed, ¡°I¡¯d wager that most of the petty crimes would be signed off as clerical error.¡±


    ¡°The companies and firms,¡± Mom added, ¡°they wouldn¡¯t go public if they did find the larger areas that the police would have to investigate.¡±


    ¡°They would hide what they could,¡± Dad said, ¡°but there are some things that they would hide because they could come up in an audit. But why do it?¡±


    Dad glanced at Mom, ¡°What do we know about her? What¡¯s her M.O.? Does she have weaknesses? Anything we can exploit?¡±


    Mom sighed, and I watched the color slowly fade from her cheeks. ¡°I think we¡¯ll skip the rap sheet and the visuals, but I want everyone to know now that Suzy isn¡¯t the average witch. She has quite a reputation and has done some pretty strange and terrible things over the decades.¡±


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Mom fiddled with the console and displayed microfilm displays and a simple timeline.


    ¡°As we all know, witches are essentially immortal but can be killed by certain methods, poisons, blunt force trauma, drowning. Suzy has beat the odds on multiple occasions. No one knows her real age or her real name. but some have believed her to be the inspiration behind literary myths and legends and even some ghost stories.¡±


    Mom clicked a few buttons and came down to the view screen. ¡°Since the late seventies, Suzy had a reputation for occasionally wandering campsites in Wyoming, Idaho, and Utah and spending a considerable time in national parks where she spooked animals and occasionally kidnapped children. They were found unharmed, and there are unsupported accounts that she was seen at a distance, but she was never directly confronted. After a few decades, there were other reports in a remote suburb outside San Fransico where someone matching Suzy''s alleged description had allegedly cleared out an entire neighborhood. One of those cookie-cutter streets where every house was the same, and every yard was the same, almost down to the flower petals in the front yard. All of the families, about seventeen in all, decided to take a vacation, even if they couldn''t genuinely afford it. In one joint effort, the community banded together so everyone could go. Upon their return, each family found photos missing from their family albums. Extended family members reported strange phone calls late at night or randomly throughout a particular day while they were gone. Closets and drawers had been removed and dumped hastily on the floor or neatly spread across the bed.¡±


    Mom expounded on additional exploits and incidents surrounding the suburbs, but after a few minutes, I analyzed each image from multiple angles. The image quality made it difficult to zoom in, but out of a few thefts and questionable deaths, the suburb vacation was particularly interesting to me.


    You chased everyone out of their homes. I glanced at the snapshots of each family. The news had circulated at the time as the authorities investigated the trip and the blatant home invasions that had taken place.


    Why get everyone out of their homes at the same time and treat each family differently?


    ¡°The authorities had speculated a range of revenge motives. Still, nothing had stuck given the different age ranges and occupations the people presented, a few newlyweds versus some couples in the prime of life.¡±


    What were you looking for?  ¡°Mom, did Suzy leave fresh baked cookies at a select set of houses?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been wondering that myself,¡± Tony added. ¡°The inconsistent pattern is puzzling. Why would she be a maid in some houses but then go off like a bull in a China shop or a rampaging toddler and leave things in a complete mess? Do police reports speculate what she was looking for?¡±


    ¡°Nothing they confirmed or partially proved,¡± Mom said, while her Master show paused on a weathered newspaper headline that pictured one chocolate chip cookie beside a plate and some crumbles, and a small image to the right depicted a broken thermostat.


    ¡°The only thing investigators agreed on was that she probably had accomplices, and a few of them got greedy.¡±


    ¡°There are similar reports in other states,¡± Dad said, ¡°Someone matching her description is wanted for questions and has been since 1987. In similar events, witnesses, investigators, and even victims, when her name came up, they all thought it was a joke.¡±


    I zoomed in on a thermostat; not every house had the same model, but it didn¡¯t take much imagination to recognize that the damage was similar. A single hole about the size of a finger right in the middle.


    ¡°Do witches need intense cold for survival?¡±


    ¡°Dark ones are rumored to prefer it, but it¡¯s a choice, not a requirement.¡± Dad gestured to Mom, who cycled through images of the homes where we noted additional damage, couches ripped, doors smashed along with ice on glass cups, and condensation on the windows and mirrors regardless of the position throughout the house.


    When we came to police renderings created during the original investigations. Dad gestured to Mom, who shrank the first four sketches, making each of them visible, like DB Cooper, who was relatively unknown, dangerous, and mysterious. Suzy seemed to be known as a woman with long white hair, narrow features, almost hawkish with High cheekbones, and she was reasonably thin and fair.


    ¡°We have a series of events that are drastic and unexplainable,¡± Dad said. ¡°Suzy is up to something. She¡¯s been in and out of the public eye since the 80s but if C.O.V.E.N was agitated. She¡¯s got to have a goal, or something has attracted her attention, and she¡¯s bound and determined to have it before anyone else.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a big enough reason where she wanted M.A.G.E out of the way,¡± I said.


    ¡°So, what does she know that makes her think that M.A.G.E is down for the moment?¡± Tony asked. ¡°We know criminals are smart, but M.A.G.E is a powerful organization, and I wouldn¡¯t pass them to be watching carefully and then when their attacker reveals themselves, they¡¯ll come out swinging.¡±


    ¡°While true in theory,¡± Mom said, ¡°we nabbed Amy One because we were wondering about the criminal underworld. If there was any chance M.A.G.E was biding its time for a counterattack she probably would have skipped town or tried to do her job elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an idea,¡± Dad said, ¡°and we should proceed as though they are watching. We can¡¯t get cocky.¡±


    ¡°So let¡¯s consider something,¡± I said, ¡°Amy One came here because M.A.G.E was attacked, but she didn¡¯t really talk about M.A.G.E. Instead, she kept referring to Someone, and Pop did mention that, like her, there is another shapeshifter that goes by that name.¡±


    I got to my feet and stretched. ¡°What if Amy was here because Someone was here?¡±


    Mom perked up at the idea. ¡°There was no love loss in her voice. She may have been plotting some kind of revenge. She did say that shapeshifters know how to hold a grudge.¡±


    ¡°That does add a piece to the puzzle,¡± Dad said, ¡°A dark witch and a shapeshifter may be rivals, but they could be working together to plot some kind of hostile takeover. Why else have henchmen attacked those businesses?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a brutal bullet to fire at someone, or I¡¯d wager she has a score to settle,¡± Tony said, ¡°Wizards, witches, and magicians don¡¯t make a lot of friends.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a dance,¡± Mom said.


    Dad pursed his lips, ¡°A dance that involves dozens of ghosts, monster henchmen, and a shapeshifter.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of the shapeshifter,¡±


    Pop¡¯s voice carried over the speaker system, and after a second, Pop¡¯s face appeared on the screen. He stood in his customary place, and I saw several red and green lights reflecting off surfaces that made it hard to look at the view screen for longer than a few seconds. Pop realized this and fiddled with a switch and turned down the lights.


    Pop ran a hand through his wavy gray hair. ¡°I¡¯ve had all systems go. Once I struck gold, I figured I best get this info in your hands,¡±


    ¡°Are we all good?¡± Dad asked.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Pop said. ¡°Grandma met me at the security point, and we put the car in the shed and secured our visitor. As far as we were able to determine, we weren¡¯t followed.¡±


    ¡°What do you get?¡± Dad asked.


    Pop sighed and scratched his nose. ¡°I reached out to a few tinkerers and engineers who have had ties with M.A.G.E. A few of them cryptically got back to me, and apparently, M.A.G.E as a whole is ghosting outside operators right now, but they have reason to believe that something is huge is brewing behind the scenes.¡±


    Pop glanced over his shoulder and then lowered his voice, which didn¡¯t seem necessary because he was typically alone in his shop. I noticed a twinkle in his eye and his lip twitched in concern. ¡°Apparently it all started when their director, a wizard named Dawson Shakespeare. He was murdered, and his last will and testament charged one of their top agents, Ares Blackstone, to solve his murder.¡±


    ¡°The Blackstone,¡± Dad exclaimed.


    Pop nodded, ¡°They had a succession meeting on the down low, and for a few months, everything had been business as usual until the Main Street attack.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like Suzy means business,¡± Tony said.


    Mom clapped a hand to her mouth and worked up the courage to speak. ¡°Everybody if the M.A.G.E director was murdered, and a Dark Witch is going after them. The organization has got to be on edge and like Tony said, they¡¯re going to come out swinging when Suzy makes her next move.¡±


    ¡°They probably will,¡± Pop added, sounding breathless. ¡°If they¡¯ve gone to the ground, I propose that we do the same and let this play out. I¡¯m happy to hand off our intel covertly to one of my contacts. I¡¯ll even turn over Amy One, which could earn some brownie points.¡±                ¡°We¡¯d avoid some unwanted trouble,¡± Mom said, ¡°we came close to getting caught today, the closest we¡¯ve ever come. If we continue, we¡¯ll have to hope we catch super-powered bad guys off guards and then be quick enough to take them out and escape.¡±


    ¡°Either could potentially be catastrophic,¡± Dad said. ¡°We were sloppy at the craft store, but the situation spiraled out of control. It will be hard to operate without someone looking over their shoulder, but I don¡¯t think we can sit this one out.¡±


    ¡°Why do you say that?¡± Mom asked.


    ¡°If we keep our ears to the ground and know something¡¯s coming and don¡¯t do anything about it, we might as well retire.¡± Dad said, ¡°Plus, the only way to we can sure we keep our noses clean is to make sure we stay ahead of potential threats that could jeopardize our operation.¡±


    ¡°And if we know they¡¯re coming, we should deal with them. ¡°I said.


    ¡°It''s complicated for sure,¡± Pop agreed. ¡°And I figured as much when Grandma and I talked about it. Fortunately, we¡¯re not entirely in the dark.¡±


    Pop fiddled with something off-screen, and then, after a few beeps, three new images popped up. A man in multiple styles of suits dating back from a few years to a few decades.


    ¡°When Amy kept assuming we worked for Someone, I figured that she was referring to the shapeshifter, Samuel One, who, over the years, has been somewhat of her rival.¡±


    ¡°We reasoned it might have been a revenge plot, so that fits.¡± Tony said, ¡°Are they related like siblings or something?¡±


    ¡°Only by occupation and shapeshifters do live a fairly long time, but they are the first to use the monikers, but they definitely popularized them,¡± Pop replied, and then he proceeded to give us some of Samuel¡¯s greatest hits. Dad looked intrigued, and so he settled into his captain¡¯s chair.


    ¡°He¡¯s an assassin, had a few larceny charges on a variety of aliases, and the same businesses suffered from corporate sabotage, and he¡¯s listed as a possible suspect on some assassinations in European and South American countries.¡±


    ¡°Amy is the artist. Samuel, he''s a celebrity thug for hire.¡± Pop said, ¡°Someone has worked in certain spy and espionage circles but has no real loyalty other than that confirmation of getting a paycheck. But even then, there have been rumors that he''d still throw his employer under the bus for the right amount.¡±


    ¡°How would any shapeshifter stay in business as an assassin or a spy if their employer has to worry about them being ratted out or killed? Tony asked.


    ¡°It certainly gives a new meaning to the term two-faced,¡± I added, ¡°I¡¯d wager they¡¯re a bit careful about double-crossing an employer. They¡¯d look for a way into a takedown without drawing suspicion on themselves.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s certainly no love lost between Amy and Samuel,¡± Mom said, ¡°She dropped his name a few times, and thinking about the way she was talking If I didn''t know any better, I would be wagering that she would want us to go after him ourselves. Take out her competition for her.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re probably right,¡± Dad said, ¡°but now that we know he¡¯s here, we have names and an idea of their plan.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡± Mom asked.


    ¡°Amy said Someone was here to be a part of a real game changer,¡± Dad continued, ¡°They run in similar circles, and she''s here for petty revenge. Logically it seems that whatever Samuel is up to requires a lot of attention, so he brought some personal items with him. I bet she was preparing the fraudulent canvases we grabbed and was going to swap them out.¡±


    ¡°He does have a history as a bomb maker,¡± Pop said, ¡°If it wasn¡¯t Suzy herself, it makes sense to assume that Someone was probably one of the ones that attacked an M.A.G.E business.¡±


    ¡°Bombs would fit his MO,¡± Pop said, ¡°but bringing a shapeshifter into the crew seems odd. You could have anyone drop off a bomb. Plus, if you wanted to keep M.A.G.E off your back. Considering the money and corruption the dark beings like to dabble in. Why not just contract it out to some human bomb maker and let some gang take the credit.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t your average crew,¡± Dad said, ¡°but you have a point. When most creatures have a human form, why have a versatile henchman unless you need their skills for something bigger.¡±


    Mom perked up, ¡°We need to look into all high-profile targets. A dark witch has taken out M.A.G.E and has them looking in one direction. There¡¯s no one better to infiltrate a space than a shapeshifter.¡±


    ¡°It''s worth checking out,¡± Pop said, ¡°but that could be a lengthy list. We don¡¯t have convention space, so I don¡¯t think celebrities will have events in town, but something could happen a few towns over.¡±


    ¡°It could be someone obscure,¡± Mom said. ¡°The more high profile the name, the larger crowd they¡¯ll draw, and the harder it would be to use the persona for anything underhanded.¡±


    ¡°Alright, guys,¡± Dad said, ¡°Let¡¯s go to work.¡±


    And just like that, the train was out of the station. We continued throwing a few theories around, and then I felt a buzz in my back pocket. While Mom and Dad further speculated about our targets and their plans, Tony and Pop added their own comments. I pulled out my phone and hurried to a corner near the com station. Here, the system generated a signal blocker and whited out the background noise, so we didn''t have to move back into the house. I figured it was Grandma who had updates or insights, and she didn¡¯t want to talk over the family conference. But surprisingly, it wasn''t.


    ¡°Hey, Emma,¡± Lauren said. She sounded upbeat. But it was over the top, and I could tell she was tired, maybe even feeling a little frustrated or timid. ¡°It''s Lauren. I got your number from the campus directory. I''m sorry to bug you, but I didn''t know what else to do.¡±


    ¡°What''s going on?¡± I asked. I glanced at the clock. It was already after 6:00 PM.


    ¡°I have two classes tonight. I just finished one and was about to get some dinner when my car wouldn''t start. I got dinner at the student center, and I still got class, but I''m worried that I won''t be able to get home, and my dad''s working super late and my mom is at a conference..¡±


    ¡°Lauren, say no more,¡± I said. ¡°I''ll talk to my dad, and then we can swing around with no problem. He''s great with cars.¡±


    I had to respect the roundabout approach. Some people don''t want to be in an imposition with other people. Lauren was genuine, and I could tell she didn''t want to be imposed, but she had to face the music. Otherwise, she''d be stuck until morning.


    I muted the call. ¡°Dad and an old friend from high school were having car trouble up on campus. Could we go help her out?¡±


    Dad glanced at his watch. ¡°Absolutely.¡±


    I unmuted the call and got some specifics. We needed a slight diversion anyway, and being seen helping a friend was a good step toward steering any kind of suspicion away from us. Just in case there were prying eyes that we hadn''t taken any notice of. We''re good, but I was worried someone out there was getting close. Or did we have some genuine competition?

 A Dark night on campus

    Field notes when you pursue higher education: If you are a monster assassin on a college campus, it is advisable to find your niche, stake your claim, and subtly let your presence be known. College is a hive of activity, sometimes literally. Vampire chicks are super attractive, and it''s not uncommon if they sleep all day, and a hickey is not always a hickey. If you¡¯re not physical, use your time sparing at the gym, and don¡¯t play college sports. They are hunting grounds for a few wild kinds of ogres, werewolves, and trolls, but there have only been a handful of cases since 2000.


    Lauren had woken up and would have said it had been the wrong side of the bed if not for a vicious killer slicing off the heads of college student-age employees at a craft store coupled with a car bomb, and more police, security, and even people that looked like the FBI.


    Can the world wake up on the wrong side of the bed? Was the world ending? There had been plenty to worry about, and Lauren felt out of place and agitated for most of her day. The campus was full of chatter, but the daily routine didn¡¯t seem all that hindered, even with more armed security patrolling the buildings and maintaining an active patrol on interconnecting paths between the buildings, the courtyard, the fountain, and the campus gardens. Lauren had told herself that this semester was going to be a fantastic one, and she made her best effort, but as her day progressed, she couldn''t quite put her finger on any particular reason why it felt odd. She had completed all her assignments, she had good friends and she had much to look forward to once the holidays were in full swing.


    Lauren crossed through the library and felt several eyes watching her and a smell lingered in the air. No one said anything directly to her. As far as she could tell, her outfit wasn¡¯t too revealing. She had no gum on her shoes and the fall weather hadn¡¯t ruined her hair or her makeup. Halloween excitement was rich across campus. The energy was so intoxicating that Lauren was sure a person could cut it with a knife. Lauren took a hard look at every advertisement and poster on the walls, and she got all the details from students pitching their activities, everything from a haunted hallway to a dance in the large gymnasium in the health science building. Lauren cruised through the student center food court, which was full of fried food, Asian food, breakfast items students could buy at any point throughout the day, hot chocolate, hot coffee, and Lauren inhaled deeply pumpkin spice.


    By late afternoon, though, Lauren felt herself shivering sporadically, and something on the inside told her to be on her guard. Lauren moved to the back of the class and somehow felt a bit more self-assured when she had her back against the wall. Lauren decided to be the last person in the lecture hall, and an itch on the back of her neck told her not to stop. She had to keep moving.


    I need a break. Lauren thought longing for her oversight hoodie and her beanbag chair. The sweet aromas and cool fall air filled Lauren with bliss and short-lived mental pleasure. This type of year was supposed to be fun, yet the shivers lingered, and nothing on her schedule could stop her from glancing over her shoulder. No one was ever there, and Lauren paused. Her friend tapped her on the shoulder.


    Did I just flinch?


    ¡°You know, Lauren, you seem a little on edge today,¡± some of her friends would say. She liked to work hard, and many of her fears were unwarranted. The campus had a stellar reputation and a few poor behaviors for which they had zero tolerance. Lauren had never heard of any scandals, and the more colorful personalities had at least the backbone to stay off campus.


    ¡°Let''s keep the walkways clear!¡± an officer called out in a mellow tone. ¡°and keep your eyes open for anyone with an axe!¡±


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Lauren¡¯s friends exchanged glances.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t very professional!¡±


    ¡°Did he just warn us to look out for someone with an AXE!¡±


    ¡°I thought a ninja did the thing at the store.¡±


    By 5 pm, Lauren felt her exhaustion kick in as her caffeine intake had worn off. She welcomed the chance to go home despite the authority¡¯s best efforts to ease tensions and not raise alarms. The night had really changed the campus¡¯s temperament. The police were still there; some seemed relaxed, while others looked tense, concerned, or a strange mix of both. There were fewer students, and the facilities workers gradually closed up buildings for the night, which included some of the interconnecting bridges that offered refuge during stormy weather and helped kids get to class on time from some of the more distant parking lots. Lauren yawned and covered her mouth as she left the lobby, and she shook herself awake.


    Two more classes. Come on Lauren, you can do this!


    Lauren had never seen the campus practically deserted. Those who had been in the same class, while talkative during class, had immediately become reserved, if not timid, and the color was absent from their complexions.


    ¡°Good night!¡± Lauren called, but no one replied. In fact, she hadn¡¯t seen anyone leave campus faster. She crossed the parking lot, spinning her key ring around her finger. Lauren propped her backpack on the seat and stuck the key in the ignition. She didn¡¯t know a lot about cars, but she knew the sounds they should make. A pit formed in her stomach as her engine¡¯s gentle purr turned into an ear-splitting squelch.


    Lauren placed her hands on the stirring wheel and tried a second time, and after a brief pause, she tried a third.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Lauren huffed, ¡°Ok, did my life become a horror movie?¡±


    Lauren straightened, and she glimpsed the shadows, her mind spinning about the Main Street strike and the savage axe murderer. Lauren¡¯s fingers popped and trembled as she reached for her purse. Seconds ticked away, Lauren couldn¡¯t pull her eyes off the shadows, and her heart thumped hard in her chest. She glanced toward her rear-view mirror but didn¡¯t dare adjust. She clicked the lock button, and thankfully, the locks still worked. Although it did little to make her comfortable,


    Lauren gripped her cell phone and tried to call her dad but got no response. She hurried and typed out a text message.


    Dad, I¡¯m on campus, and my car won¡¯t start. It was working fine this morning.


    Her phone pinged the alert that the message had been sent. Lauren set the phone on her stomach, and the pit made her feel ill as she waited for a reply.


    Dad: I¡¯m sorry to hear that, honey. I just got pulled into a meeting. I was three feet away from the front door. It sounds pretty serious, and I¡¯m not sure how long its going to take. Is your mom still at her seminar or conference thing?


    Mom: No, it¡¯s over, and that¡¯s not good sweetie. I just got to the hospital. I¡¯m two hours away.


    Lauren set her phone aside and rested her hands on the steering wheel. Most businesses were closed, and she could probably get a ride home from one of her friends, but they were all back at their apartments. Would they come out?


    Feeling ill and jumpy, Lauren took a few minutes and scrolled through social media. There were the typical posts: political, social, random food posts, and cat pictures, but nothing had really changed since this morning. Lauren glanced at her friend''s list; she couldn¡¯t just sit here. Was there someone she could call? Once posts regarding the Axe murderer and the Main Street Strike appeared on her feed, Lauren signed off and moved to the campus directory.


    There are no suspects, no leads, and no cause for alarm. Lauren yipped and dropped her phone, and a car rocketed past with multiple people hooting and catcalling over the engine. Lauren placed her hands on the dashboard to steady herself. Then she looked at the street; there was plenty of light, and it wasn¡¯t quite dark. Did she dare walk home?


    Lauren took a burst of courage and scanned the directory, finding Emma Foster near the top of the page. Laurent clicked on the profile. There''s no harm in asking, right? It''s always good to have a friend, and she lived at home to boot; if she didn¡¯t feel up to coming, maybe she¡¯d come with one of her parents. Lauren¡¯s finger dwindled over the phone icon, and then she clicked it.


    ¡°Hello,¡± Emma''s voice said over the other end of the line.


    ¡°Hey, Emma, it''s Lauren.¡±

 What goes bump in the night? That’s usually the question, right?

    Campus news emails put a pit in my stomach while Dad collected his tools. And we headed to the car to make our way across town.


    Note from University administration.


    Dear students and faculty.


    As you have undoubtedly noticed or been made aware. We have been offered and have graciously accepted additional security personnel to be present on our campus, in our buildings, and observing our upcoming activities. I know the news has spun reports of a grisly murder, and there is considerable talk about a raging axe murderer cutting off people''s heads. My friends, we talk security and personal safety to the highest level, but we do ask that you refrain from gossiping and spreading false or hyperbolic information about the incident. There have been no confirmed sightings of any axe-wielding giant, hulking man, or any other colorful depiction you will see on the internet. I explain this with the utmost regard for our local law enforcement. We need to be safe; we need to be careful, and most of all, we need to be respectful and careful with our words, so we don¡¯t harm individuals who are of a more sensitive nature. Those who come from more troubling backgrounds. These last few weeks have had terrible events and have hurt a lot of people. They are not a joke, and we should not treat these events lightly.


    I closed my phone and was not super interested in reading anymore, but I had to hand it to the university. It was a bit frank, but it was powerful, and it was on point. The last thing we needed was downright lies to cause panic, and if Suzy wasn¡¯t done, we had to be ready for almost anything.


    We drove in silence and only managed to cover a few miles before getting stuck behind a school bus full of sports players from a high school. There was no indication of the sport, but the people I could see through the windows looked excited and I could see a big stack of bags by the back emergency door. We proceeded a few more miles and found ourselves stuck behind several big trucks and trailers, and after a few intersections, we found our first police checkpoint. The officers weren''t stopping each car but waved a small group through to create the semblance of a traffic flow. Some of the drivers waved in greeting and even took a moment to exchange some pleasantries. No one honked, and if they felt impatient, today was a day where they kept it to themselves.


    Today was certainly not the day to get stuck on campus. It was already fairly dark and the police presence the university emails had indicated would most likely kill the mood to stay on campus after hours. Lauren had sounded tired, but everyone would after attending classes all day. I thought about her words, and my instincts couldn¡¯t help but speculate about Lauren''s tone, and it wasn¡¯t just stress aimed at the world''s biggest inconvenience.


    Was I looking for the things that go bump in the night, or had Lauren seemed worried. Really worried?


    ¡°What''s got you on edge?¡± Dad asked.


    I shrug.


    Dad shot me a smile. ¡°If you''re concerned about your friend. I wouldn''t worry. Cars break down all the time. And you and I both know no wild axe murderer is running rampant through the city and if there were one, we have dealt with axe-wielding creatures before.¡±


    ¡°I know that, and you know that,¡± I replied. ¡°Lauren and everyone else on campus doesn''t. And there was something about how she spoke to me that made me think she was concerned about something, but she didn''t quite know how to describe it. Or it was putting her on the edge of her seat. I don''t know.¡±


    ¡°We do sadly live with a critter on our shoulder,¡± Dad said, ¡°We don¡¯t want a monster hiding behind every wall or causing every problem, but that¡¯s not the case more often than not.¡±


    Dad signaled to advance through a pocket of traffic to avoid getting caught in it. ¡°Emma,¡± he continued with a soft narrative tone. ¡°You may be blaming yourself for what happened, but keep in mind that you saved that mom and her kids today, maybe even the whole store. It wasn¡¯t pretty, and most of the time, when it comes to monsters, it''s not, but you did good, and while we have skills and tools that help us do our job. We¡¯re still human, and our line of work can take a toll.¡±


    ¡°Pop and grandma certainly made it work,¡± I said.


    ¡°They have, but it has come with a price,¡± Dad said.


    He slowed as an enclosed tractor accelerated and rocked back and forth from the excursion.  its engine to pull its plow further down the road and not obstruct traffic. ¡°If you think there''s something more to this. Don¡¯t hesitate to be on your guard and I¡¯ll back you up just as you do for me when we have an encounter. Take it in stride, feel it out, pin it down, and take care of it if it''s in your power to do so.¡±


    ¡°I will do that,¡± I said, trying to be casual as we stopped at another police checkpoint. This one required a brief conversation, and Dad had no problem sharing a few jokes, checking in with the officers, and sharing some gift cards to an Elf Run coffee shop. While they spoke. I couldn''t help but feel a bit off and concerned. Around here, the most typical crimes are traffic violations, petty theft, and late-night fender benders from the small portion of the community that actually drank. I imagined somewhere that an office had a stack of case files full of ridiculous theories and unanswered questions. Sometimes, some jobs get messy. Fosters had been running sting operations, strikes, encounters, and cover operations against monsters. We came to this mid-western area to stay under the radar, and even after several close calls, it was so strange to see an active police presence. I''d seen this kind of thing in dystopian movies but never in real life. There had been a relatively minor one in grade school when some low-level criminal had tried to make his last stand in a cornfield, but that was honestly child''s play compared to this.


    ¡°Have a good night, officer,¡± Dad said as he rolled up his window and proceeded down the street. The tractor kicked a dark cloud of exhaust into the air. The worker driving it gave an awkward wave. I shielded my eyes as our front lights glimmered across the shiny blades, and a few cars honked in dismay as they maneuvered around it. We swerved past, and I glimpsed a dent along the curved shell, shielding the driver from mud and debris flung into the air by the massive tire. I didn''t recognize the driver, but I recognized the dent in the tire hub. It was a tractor from the Morris farm.


    ¡°Do you have something else on your mind?¡± Dad asked. ¡°I think we have some time.¡±


    I shook my head and pushed vivid memories from the Minotaur out of my mind. I wasn''t traumatized by it, but occasionally, you do see things that strike a chord with a near-death experience, and I¡¯d be lying to say that it didn¡¯t make me twitch. Part of me wondered if I should be a bit more traumatized by it. But that was just one of the many family mysteries we had yet to solve. How did we go up against all these terrifying monsters and keep our wits about us?


    ¡°If I had to put words to my thoughts,¡± I began. ¡°I guess I''m just surprised at the reaction. We''ve not had a job get this out of hand before.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not something you ever get used to, and you really can¡¯t anticipate the results,¡± Dad replied.


    I settled into my seat and waited for him to continue. It was the kind of start to a story where he¡¯d give me a glimpse into his years riding on encounters with Pop and taking on monsters with primitive enforcement, raw talent, and walking away with bloody lips and broken bones. Dad kept his attention on the traffic and remained silent until we parked the car. We idled in a parking for a minute and Dad straightened but didn''t immediately pull his hands off the steering wheel.


    ¡°This job has gotten a bit out of hand because with monsters, there are no rules, and there is no warning. I understand the pressure and I wish I could offer some encouragement, but it¡¯s the unruliest part about what we do.¡±


    I gripped my door handle, and I stared blankly at the dashboard. This kind of reply was not at all what I was expecting. ¡°Dad, are you getting at something?¡±


    Dad furrowed his brow and shook his head. ¡°Oh, no, little bug. You''re not getting rid of me that easily.¡±


    ¡°But something is.¡± I began but threw myself back into my chair as a loud crack cut through the air. We had minimal traffic around us and expected our windows to crack or shatter. I looked at Dad, who had reacted similarly. We waited for a moment, and then I reached and jerked the handle, and I barreled out of the cab. Dad flung himself across the seat and came out after me.


    ¡°What was that?¡± I snapped. My fingers were clenched, and I spun in a circle, searching for any oncoming threat.


    ¡°Be ready for!¡± Dad began, but a second crack, not as loud as the first, cut him off. We stood at attention to then heard a hoot, cheers, and the chink of smashing glass. I relaxed as my noise filled the street trailed by a tail of exhaust fumes. A few cars honked in dismay and panic as a convertible sports car skidded through an intersection and sped up the street. The car''s brakes screeched, kicking a thick exhaust cloud into the oncoming traffic. Each of the passengers, at least four in all, laughed and hollered at the top of their lungs.


    ¡°Must be a party night,¡± I said dismally, ¡°Dang that engine. If it had been any louder, I bet the officers on campus would have been all over them.¡±


    ¡°I venture they will be,¡± Dad replied, throwing a thumb over his shoulder, and sure enough, less than two blocks away, I saw multiple flashes of red and blue lights.


    I move my hair out of my face and hook some behind my ears. Then I added in a muffled voice. ¡°It sounded like a gunshot. Didn¡¯t it?¡±


    We were usually this jumpy, but the engine backfiring had caught us unaware.


    ¡°There are times I feel old,¡± Dad said, ¡°but then I see stuff like that, and I¡¯m reminded how things never change.¡±


    ¡°First time I''ve seen that before.¡± I said, ¡°I¡¯m surprised they didn¡¯t crash.¡±


    ¡°They might when they get up that hill,¡± Dad said, ¡°What lot is your friend in?¡±


    I double-checked the text Lauren had sent. Dad grabbed his toolbox and made sure it was locked. Then, after a quick check of the campus map and a steady increase in the traffic flow, we set out across campus. Dad kept a tight grip on his tool belt, and while his expression was relaxed and pleasant, he maintained an eye on darker spaces near buildings, and we went the long way if one of the lampposts flickered or hadn¡¯t come on. Once we cleared the external line of buildings, unsurprisingly, the entire campus seemed deserted. The buildings where clubs and activities took place were dark, and the security boxes on the doors were ominously tinted red. As we neared the library, from a distance, I could see uniformed officers by the doors and a few students working. We came to the door, and those who were coming out quickly put on their headphones, pulled out their phones or actual flashlights, and scurried off at a brisk pace.


    I looked at Dad, who kept his attention forward, and a look in his eye told me he was on the prowl.


    Did my earlier comments make him worried?  I wondered.


    Grandma and Grandpa had stories from their active years that they never wanted to discuss, and they¡¯d react in a similar way if questions or a present-day encounter ever came close to being a similar event, even indirectly. Among the four of us, there were things we never mentioned, referred to, or discussed in any great detail unless it was absolutely necessary. Dad had such a stellar social face, yet at the same time, there was hardly a moment when, on certain occasions, Dad got angry or felt uncomfortable. You could tell. There was a look in his eyes that made the situation sting, and for a brief instant, I wanted to question him about it. Show my support, but as we passed the dorms and a roundabout. I moved to his side and set my own sights on the prowl.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    He wants to be strong for me.


    Dad knew his limits, and he knew his skills. We didn¡¯t have the luxury of second guesses or second chances. We had to be prepared when things went wrong and respect the pressure it would put on us.


    Know your skills and know your limits.


    Music drifted across the courtyard from the student center. It varied in volume as the automated doors opened and closed. We took a curved path that arched near the student¡¯s center Food Service entrance. This was where outside organizations could come to pick up copious quantities of food for their galas, conferences, and work parties.


    Through the window, I caught quick glances of people working on their laptops or having dinner. Compared to the tension from the people coming out of the library, the mood at the tables seemed relaxed and normal. That perspective shattered fairly quickly once some officers came into view who didn¡¯t say much to the students, but their simple presence caused about a quarter of those present to polish off their meals and leave; one officer even helped a girl with her books and accompanied her toward the outside doors.


    ¡°College should just be able your future,¡± I muttered, ¡°it''s not normal to be worried that a killer could come around the corner.¡±


    ¡°History shows that even humans can come off as monsters,¡± Dad said. I choked slightly. I hadn¡¯t realized I had said that loud enough for him to hear.


    ¡°You¡¯re right though,¡± Dad continued. ¡°It''s not normal and it¡¯s not fair. Sadly, it''s one of the reasons why we do what we do. Monsters have shown they can change, but some of them don¡¯t.¡±


    We cleared the student center, and as we approached the fountain, a few couples huddled around its perimeter glanced in our direction. These guys didn¡¯t come off as paranoid. They chatted with smiles and hearty laughter. One held a telescope, but they didn¡¯t strike me as diligent students, and I doubted any of them would take an astronomy class seriously.


    ¡°Hurry home!¡± a girl in a baggy black hoodie yelled. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be out too late.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± one of the groups yelled, a boy with spiky blond hair. ¡°Are there ghosts lurking in the bushes that will get me!¡±


    His friends laughed and launched into further comments and jokes about the ghosts, some made explosion sounds, while others put their fists together and swung their arms back and forth as if they were holding an axe.


    ¡°Come get me!¡± a guy declared, and he pretended to be heroic and dodged his buddy''s attacks. We proceeded up the path toward the administration building. From what Lauren had sent, she had parked in the student section adjacent to the staff spaces. It was a coveted spot, great during the wintertime. You had to pay top dollars for the parking past though.


    ¡°I think we¡¯re close,¡± Dad muttered.


    ¡®Fantastic,¡± I said at the same time I crunched a chip bag beneath my shoe. Without a second thought, I snatched it up and tossed it into a trash can beside a series of pillars positioned in a triangle with bulletin boards displaying colorful posters for job fairs, campus activities, and public announcements.


    I saw some light from a solo car, and we quickened our pace as we passed the bulletin board, and trash cans. The sidewalk narrowed slightly as the area had been built to accommodate service vehicles for the campus land crew. Their tool shed and garage could be seen from most places on campus. It was eye-sore or would have been if they didn¡¯t have so many trees barricaded around it.


    We stepped off the path and began our brief ascent at an angle across the parking lot itself. The car door opened, and a single person got out. I waved, and then the person who I recognized as Lauren waved back.


    ¡°She seems relaxed,¡± Dad said, ¡°and in good spirits.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± I said, but Lauren came into earshot before I could say more.


    ¡°Hey Emma, Mr. Foster thanks for coming.¡± Lauren began.


    I had bad light to judge her facial expressions and anyone¡¯s voice at this time in the day would sound fatigued, if not exasperated.


    I hoped I was wrong. ¡°Hey Lauren, sorry to hear about your car and sorry it took so long. We got stuck behind the tractor and ended up parking on the other side of campus. There seems to be a lot of activities going on tonight.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s definitely rotten luck and terrible timing,¡± Lauren said, ¡°It was fine this morning when I came here. I guess things just happen, right?¡±


    ¡°Things do just happen sometimes,¡± Dad said, moving to the mood to assess his patient. ¡°Did you hear anything sounds or have any kind of warning?¡±


    Lauren quickly recounted her day and attempted to describe the sounds and how it drove, along with comments about how she didn¡¯t know a lot about cars. Dad posed some questions and while she spoke, I caught brief nuisances of her nervousness, but the longer she spoke, the more her posture seemed to relax, and her demeanor brightened now that she was no longer alone.


    I would have felt the same way if this had been me. Lauren gestured to her car and put her hands on her hips. A second later, she moved them across her chest, and then they were back on her hips.


    Dad opened the driver''s door, and Lauren gratefully climbed inside. She started the car, and I pulled back in surprise. Dad looked surprised, too. We¡¯d damaged, shredded, and pulverized several vehicles. I could probably make a playlist with sounds I¡¯d heard when we assessed the damage. Those noises, they came close to real damage, our kind of battle damage.


    ¡°That definitely doesn¡¯t sound normal,¡± I said.


    Dad stuck a finger to his lips, and hearing my intonation, I could tell I needed to work on my acting skills and masking my suspicions. Lauren didn¡¯t seem to notice, and at Dad¡¯s request, she took her seat and then messed with the lights and the turn signals, which surprisingly still worked.


    ¡°What do you think, Dad?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Could be a number of things,¡± he replied. Lauren released the hood catch, and Dad moved to prop it up. I moved beside him and spotted a copy of the campus bulletin partially crumpled and soiled beneath her tire. It had been there for a while. I stepped closer and gingerly nudged it with my toe.


    People are reacting to new situations. It doesn¡¯t mean there is immediate trouble. I pursed my lips and tilted my head when I identified what looked to be some ridiculous drawing of a broad-shouldered cartoonish monster holding an oversized axe. I pulled back and then kicked the paper further beneath the car.


    ¡°I hope this won¡¯t be too much trouble,¡± Lauren said.


    ¡°Whether it¡¯s a lot of trouble or a little trouble, we¡¯ll solve the problem,¡± Dad said with a reassuring thumbs up. Lauren didn¡¯t look convinced and from what I could see of her expression. She didn¡¯t like being the center of attention and she probably thought this was a big inconvenience. I asked Dad some broad questions, and he gave some straightforward answers. Dad dug through his toolbox, and after putting a work light on his forehead, he withdrew some tools and ducked beneath the hood. Lauren glanced back toward campus, and I noticed her occasionally masking tiny shivers.


    I didn''t feel it was cold at all, ¡°Can I grab your jacket or hoodie?¡±


    Lauren shook her head, ¡°I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d need one today. I¡¯m good.¡±


    Her voice was abrupt, which conveyed a shifting uneasiness and uncertainty. I watched Lauren and considered small talk, but that was the last thing she seemed eager to engage in.


    I wish I could tell you that you don¡¯t have to worry about a wild axe murderer. I thought, At least not the one everyone is talking about.


    My lips went dry, but I quickly moistened them. I was starting to overthink things, treating this as a job.


    Cars do break down, I told myself. Lauren probably drove through some mud, and maybe a small rodent was caught in the engine block somewhere. Dad tossed a few simple questions at her, and she did her best to answer them. All the while, she kept her arms across her stomach. We hung out in an uneasy silence broken by repeated chords of rumbles, sputters, and unappealing rattles from the car. Each distinct noise made her flinch, and she often shot her attention over her shoulder.


    She needs to get out of her head. I realized everything going on around town has got to have her spooked.


    ¡°How was class?¡±


    ¡°Same old, same old, you know,¡± Lauren replied. ¡°I''ve got some tests coming up. But I''m not.¡±


    She hadn¡¯t made eye contact, but something had caught her attention, and she pulled back, bracing herself in what I could only describe as alarm. I immediately tensed in response when her body went rigid. Was she going to have a seizure?


    ¡°Lauren?¡±


    She didn¡¯t respond, so I followed her graze across the parking lot. I disregarded noises from behind me as best I could. There were traffic noises, faint voices, and the hum of campus machines. My attention reached the central pathways. There was no one visibly in sight.


    You are worried about something, Lauren?  My attention danced between the buildings, which, despite the lateness of the hour, were fully illuminated by multiple lampposts and some external lights above public entrances and the service areas for the lighting, heat, and garbage disposal. I tightened my face, feeling a warmth across my palm as my ZAP ring clicked to life. I watched the trees and then focused on some of the larger bushes. There was a rustle. Or was there? I waited for any additional clues. If something was lurking there, they would have to give themselves away as they moved into striking range.


    Nothing came, but the first breeze I readied acknowledged, picked him a crumpled chips bag and pushed it across the sidewalk.


    A chip bag? Then I saw it, the garbage can that was lying on its side.


    On cue, a few more pieces of garbage skidded across the pavement and got stuck in the grass. I followed a few pieces, and after mentally tracing the outline, I saw additional trash and two blue or black plastic trash cans beside the display boards. Their lids sat in the walkway, and one I could now see bumping into one of the display''s stand poles.


    ¡°Who knocked you over?¡± I muttered You were up when I tossed that bag away a few minutes ago.


    I thought back, and I was convinced they hadn''t come that way when we came up. The walkway had been clear. I wiggled my fingers, finding them stiff and chilled now that the weather had made its presence known.


    No natural force knocked you over. That meant someone did.


    I was back on alert. That had to have happened while we were here. I pressed my memories, but there hadn¡¯t been outcries of pain or alarm. I hadn¡¯t heard a thump, and no one had come up this way, so there weren¡¯t any witnesses. Could someone have hit them toward the other side of campus?


    I looked at Lauren, who did not look sick. Her nose became wrinkled, and she looked a bit irritable.


    ¡°Did you see the bulletin today,¡± I said quickly with a glossy finish of Dad¡¯s upbeat personality. ¡°It sounds so outrageous to me.¡±


    ¡°Let''s not talk about that, please,¡± Lauren said quickly.


    ¡°Sure,¡± I said, adding, ¡°It''s been a long day, hasn¡¯t it?¡±


    Lauren sniffed and then nodded.


    ¡°It definitely has been a long day,¡± Dad said, ¡°and sadly, I need a better place to work. Lauren, let''s get you home, and I''ll take your car to our house. I''ve got everything I need there.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not necessary,¡± Lauren said weakly. ¡°I shouldn''t have bothered you all. I''ll call my dad, and we can just tow it to our house. I''m sure he has a mechanic we could get to look at it.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense, by now, it will take a few days before most garages can get you in,¡± Dad said. He collected his tools and secured his toolbox. ¡°Think nothing of it. We''re here, so we might as well help you out.¡±


    ¡°Well, ok,¡± said Lauren. ¡°Let me just call my dad really quick.¡±


    ¡°You do that,¡± Dad said, ¡°I¡¯ll get our car over here, and we¡¯ll get this thing all hooked up.¡±


    Lauren dialed he dad and turned her back to me as she spoke in a faint voice. I caught a few words, but my attention stayed on the walking path and the tipped-over garbage can. For a moment, it seemed trivial, and I wanted to disregard the suspicion. It was chilly. It was nighttime. For some, stress peaks at the end of the day, and everyone had plenty to chat about. During the few minutes of the call, Dad handed me his toolbox and then hurried across campus. He glanced briefly at the free-flowing trash strung across the grass and nearby bushes. I watched him consider the space, but he didn¡¯t pause, and I hardly saw a back step. A few cars passed him while others zipped down the road. Thankfully, it didn¡¯t take long before he was back, and Lauren seemed a bit more relaxed with a car close by that actually worked.


    I secured the toolbox, and once Dad got the car in place, I pulled out his cables and began hooking everything up. Lauren climbed in the back, and once the door closed, Dad shot me a stern expression. This was the nonverbal indicator that he knew something was amiss, but it wasn¡¯t the time to talk about it. In fact, based on his expression, I could tell that his main objective was exfil. The conditions weren¡¯t the best to attempt any repair. Plus, if something had caused this, they might come back. We needed to get out of there. We could fight, but we were not ready for combat in such an open space.


    I closed the trunk as Lauren stepped out of the car, holding her phone out.


    ¡°Mr. Foster, my dad would like to talk to you.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Dad said, in a similar jovial tone I remembered using with Mr. Morris, the farmer. Dad handed me the toll ropes, and I knelt down. Dad verbally guided me in putting them in place. I started in a defensive crouch but then moved to my knees. Once I was finished, I used the car to stand up, but I stopped and leaned across to the left, where I noticed several jagged lines. That ran several inches up the side. For any other car on any other day, I would have considered a mark like this as simple cosmetic battle damage over its lifetime. Lauren had a stellar paint job that was almost too new, and the car was, at best, six, maybe seven years old. She wasn¡¯t the type to go off-roading or do any drag racing.


    ¡°It¡¯s no trouble,¡± Dad''s voice carried over from that frame out of our car. I''m happy to help. I''m based on what I''m saying, and you know, it''s pretty late. I think it would be easier if I took care of things in my garage. I''m sure and believe me, I''m more than happy to lend a hand.


    I ran a finger across the line. The edges were sharp, and a few were jagged, but they were too clean to be anything other than; I arched my head to the side, and my idea was confirmed visually.


    Claw marks?


    ¡°Sounds good, Mr. Jones,¡± Dad said. He ended up calling Lauren back. ¡°We¡¯re all set. Let''s go.¡±


    ¡°We''re all set over here,¡± I called back.


    I climbed in, but part of me wanted to create an excuse and head across campus. I decided not to. We were suspicious, but there was no need to go on the prowl at this point. There were monsters on campus, and chancing of finding one was pretty good.


    There could be a logical explanation. I thought as I clicked my seatbelt. It was possible, but with everything going on, what were the chances? Maybe someone could have just been clumsy in this parking lot at some point earlier in the day. But why be so brutal? And how would they have gotten away with it? Dad would know more tomorrow, and when Mr. Jones and Lauren came to collect the car, it was the most likely response Dad would use to ease their fears. I¡¯d back him up and, hopefully, if something was causing a stir on campus. I hoped that they would look at the police and scurry on to class and let someone else be the troublemaker who antics could simply go unnoticed.

 Field notes: Monsters are not good dinner dates

    Field Notes: You don''t get a career day, or time off for good behavior. History is full of monster hunters, but only a select few outside the Foster family could be called monster assassins. Monster hunters have to work with faulty information. They dedicate their lives to what they call their craft because they feel destined to stand out, even at a great expense.


    Fosters throughout history have earned the title Monster Assassin because monster assassinations are all covert operations. They are quick and subtle, and they keep the real bad guys in check. They have incredible weapons, and they work best as a unit or team. Monster hunters often attempt to use magic to exploit their foe''s weaknesses. Monster assassins do not have direct access to magic. Otherwise, they¡¯d be M.A.G.E magicians or, quite possibly, a witch or a wizard. They do, however, have some kind of connection to a ranked magical user who serves as a benefactor and guide for plausible deniability in the event an assassination goes south. If you want to avoid a public spectacle, do your homework and try not to act like you know everything.


    It''s important not to be the nosy neighbor, right?


    Dad dedicated his time, and as I expected, he jumped in and took care of Lauren''s car, which became a labor of service and took nearly an entire day to fix. Tony and I carved out time to tackle our homework, and we saw firsthand what it was like to have such a large-scale police presence. During the day, the campus acted and functioned as if the police weren¡¯t even there. There were no incidents, but people were uneasy. A few new emails came out offering counseling services and encouraging people not to stay out too late, especially with Halloween coming up.


    When we weren¡¯t doing runs through town, we monitored news reports and poured over new shipments of family journals and diaries. Mom doubled down to get the ones we had onto their next destination. Plenty of family members did not like if shipments arrived late. There always seemed to be a new journal with information that someone along some branch of the family line was curious to look at. They were even more intriguing and mysterious if you looked deep enough into their antics and shenanigans.


    Two days after meeting Lauren, I awoke to see frost on the ground, but that had disappeared, and Pop arrived in his gray truck to help Dad finish working on Lauren¡¯s car. I had offered to help, but Tony had beat me to the punch, and said I could take the last few journals Mom had asked me to review.


    With nothing better to do, I settled in and began pouring over the writings of Alice Foster, who I came to find out had been a renowned model and was somewhat of a celebrity. There had been columns written about her, and she had quite an eye for 20s-era fashion coupled with a Heidi Lamar-level intelligence. Throughout her life, she had reached a level of popularity that made her life comfortable, and if it hadn''t been for the monsters and subterfuge, she might have reached a level of true public stardom. Alice knew her way around the theater and among the socialites of her time. Her name alone got her into lavish places, and she could get anything she wanted.


    That kind of access. I marveled at her descriptions. The gender roles of the time really gave her a chance to face her encounters with no threat of suspicion. Alice played her part, and as I surveyed the names, I laughed at how she had a monster mafia lurking behind every corner. She had cut out articles and had included telegraphs from her contacts and associates warning her to be careful. Alice, as a woman of station had bodyguards, but they were for show because she was the real threat.


    I flipped to the next page, passed a few inserts, and continued to read.


    Each time I go into the street, I must remind myself to look at the crowds that flock beside me. They are not monsters worthy of condemnation. They are people who I have inspired or have become the center of their attention and affection. I admit that I am displeased by the fanfare, but I am troubled that there are those who attempt to push themselves on me. It¡¯s difficult not to confuse admiration or lust or the hunger of a vampire. Or the attitude of a goblin, and I hesitate to say much about trolls. When I am attacked, I must chalk up the experience to a weary admirer or a stricken fan. I try to smile because I am not living a lie, and I refuse to give in to the pressure.


    Alice''s flowery character bled through her words with theatrical flair, and she loved her life. For the first decade of her duo career, she worked hard not to let her popularity inflate her ego, and she used her skills to hide her weapons in a surprising number of places. She knew how to capture one''s attention on and off, and her artistry gave the term diva a whole new meaning.


    There are always a select few who squander the opportunities of their station. But why not? They certainly aren''t of a high caliber when they reap the benefits of their unique heritage. I don''t know why mere mortals try anymore. Perhaps that''s my family''s task. Could we be the ones destined to make sure true evil doesn''t dominate?


    Alice, the subsequent entries conveyed details and narratives about her exploits and adventures that cast a new light on the 1920s. Some of her most detailed accounts covered moments where Alice speculated that camera film affected ghosts and phantoms while filming a movie I had never seen or had heard of. Alice was the first, to my knowledge, to fight against a series of possessed objects, creatures, and mirrors, and she, along with her brother and cousin, Together, the three of them dealt with intense pressure and multiple crises, which led to the rise of numerous prominent figures and the Great Depression. Alice wrote about each experience and gave details regarding where the family decided to leave, multiple cashes of information including blueprints, pictures, and considerable evidence of shady individuals involved in several schemes, several of which had escaped their attempts to subdue or slay them. I made notes about the locations, then placed the journal in the box along with the others I''d already completed.


    Alice, it would have been a pleasure to get to know you.


    I put the journal back in the box and placed my notes in my desk drawer. The locations were interesting, and if we had the time, we could masquerade as a vacationing family to check them out. It was equally likely that other family members had attempted, would try to make an attempt, or had cleaned them out and had no intention of sharing the results. Fosters, we have a healthy sense of competition, but everyone wanted to find the bundle themselves, and since my childhood. If we ever found it, no one was super eager to share.


    A car honked, and I hurried to the window as it decelerated right outside the house. Dad came into view from the garage in his oil-stained coveralls. He looked like a real handyman, and I stared at a glossy sports car that settled into position by some decorative stones and plants Mom had set up between the driveway and the grass.


    I quickly put my shoes on and hurried downstairs.


    As I came into the garage, I found Lauren and a round-shouldered man with gray hair, who I assumed to be her dad, walking around the car with a dumbfounded expression. Dad was in the middle of some explanations, and I was impressed, but not surprised, by how much the three of them, Tony, Pop, and Dad, could accomplish in a short amount of time. Otherwise, we have to explain the scorch marks, fist prints, and any number of odd things monsters tend to do to cars if given the chance.


    ¡°Now, I don''t have much experience with custom bodywork.¡± Dad was explaining as I came within earshot of the conversation. Dad had several workbenches and multiple toolboxes. The workspaces were neat and had been cleaned up. Meanwhile, there was a pile of scraped parts beside a dirty bucket along with a variety of cardboard boxes and a growing glacier of plastic wrapping.


    ¡°Mr. Foster,¡± Lauren¡¯s dad exclaimed with some shock in his voice. It was a reaction Mom had worried about. What would the neighbors think if the Fosters kept long hours? What would it say if we never checked at a doctor¡¯s office, or asked for advice about a good mechanic in the area?


    Mom was our medic and Pop or Dad typically addressed vehicle trouble and home repair. She had a point, especially since we were living beneath the guise of a typical urban family with kids in college. We were covert assassins, but not government assassins.


    ¡°I am speechless for what you¡¯ve done,¡± Lauren¡¯s dad said, ¡°and I¡¯m deeply grateful.¡±


    I beamed at Dad who pulled out a rag and cleaned off a smudge by his thumb. Mom and Dad had talked at length about our cover, but as it turned out Mom¡¯s fears were unwarranted. Unlike the big cities, if neighbors found out you possessed help skills like plumbing, car or house repair, most people would actually call you for help before calling the professional companies. It helped us blend in, in place of being the robust neighbors that people talked about, but no one had really gotten to know because we kept to ourselves.


    ¡°I noticed some cosmetic issues near the bumper,¡± Dad explained. ¡°I did what I could to buff it out and blend it in. I got into the engine, and I double-checked the connections along with the cylinders, filters, transmission, brakes, starter and alternator, and battery connections.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s pretty thorough,¡± Lauren¡¯s Dad said, ¡°any idea what was wrong?¡±


    Dad shrugged and played it causal, exactly as I expected him to. ¡°My best guess is at some point, something got up in there and did a number on a bunch of small components, and it had some trouble getting out. Do you live in a subdivision or out on the hill?¡±


    ¡°Out on the hill,¡± Lauren¡¯s Dad said, ¡°Gosh darn it, I¡¯m sorry sweetie. I should have listened to your mom when she mentioned getting new rodent traps for the garage.¡±


    ¡°That would be a great idea,¡± Dad said, ¡°but for the moment, I¡¯ve replaced some things like a fan belt, and those brake pads were a little rugged. I¡¯m pretty confident you should be able to get her back on the road, and she should run like a charm.¡±


    I held back and chuckled at Mr. Jones''s slack jaw and wide eyes, and I stopped myself from commenting on Dad¡¯s infomercial voice. Dad double-checked his hands, hurried them, washed them in a sink in the corner of the garage, and then held out the keys. Lauren and her dad exchanged glances, and with rosy cheeks, Lauren stepped forward and bowed her head in thanks as she took them. I couldn''t tell if it was that sales pitch or his perceived position. That they had found themselves in that was throwing him off. After a moment, Mr. Jones took Lauren''s keys and glanced at the car. He looked stunned, bewildered, amazed, thankful, and cautious.


    ¡°If you would like,¡± Dad continued, he stepped over and opened the door, ¡®I¡¯m in no rush so if you¡¯d like to take it around the block, please do, and you can let me know that everything is working properly.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure that won¡¯t be necessary,¡± Mr. Jones said, I kept my expression blank, but I found deep amusement when I recognized the look. He was in awe of the garage.


    Every time, I thought, Why is the size and style of someone¡¯s garage like a badge of honor?


    He was a businessman; the sports car indicated that, and it was clear he did pretty well. Dad had told me we had been fortunate to land the house, which had been built by a real care guy. Lauren jingled the keys and looked at her car in astonishment.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know as much about cars as I¡¯d like to, but I can tell you put a ton of energy and material into the repair,¡± Mr. Jones began, but he seemed a little at a loss for words. Both men didn¡¯t come off as competitive, but at the same time, we had done the Jones family a favor, and as Mr. Jones scratched at his chin, took a new look at the garage along with the pile of parts and the plastic. This was a modern day mission of honor. Mr. Jones was trying to figure out what to do next.


    ¡°Mr. Foster, I¡¯m flabbergasted and floored at your work.¡± He motioned to the coveralls and the mess. I settled in and tried not to look too proud or pleased. ¡°We appreciate the gesture, and we were really in a bind.¡±


    He clapped his hands together, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. ¡°Thank you for your help.¡±


    Dad chuckled, then gave the comment a friendly wave, ¡°I had a blast, and I really enjoyed taking on a problem. It''s on every day I get to work on cars. We drive them around, but sometimes they don''t break until the worst possible moment.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± Mr. Jones said, ¡°and that was certainly now. I hated picturing my little girl stranded, but it did my wife and me a lot of good knowing she had friends in town. We¡¯ll let you all get back to your day. The last few nights have been tricky, and we have a lot to do today. Can you send me the bill for all of this? I definitely want to pay you for the labor and parts.¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± Dad said, raising his hands like he was under arrest, and then he brushed the notion away. ¡°I wasn''t keeping track and always picked up spare parts occasionally. Believe me, there was no trouble.¡±


    Mr. Jones looked defeated, but I can tell you he looked grateful. Despite what we do and what we know, it pays to lend a helpful hand. Mr. Jones pressed a bit more, but with relaxed shoulders and a smile, I knew Dad wasn¡¯t going to budge, and while I didn''t know what the Jones did for a living, I knew he certainly wanted to make up for what he perceived as an inconvenience.


    ¡°How about lunch?¡± Lauren suggested


    By this point in the conversation, Mom had wandered out and fell in love with the idea of getting together with some neighbors after sharing a few particulars. After a few phone calls, I found myself, along with my parents and Tony, outside the Cow Trail. A Western saloon-inspired restaurant set a few blocks north of campus beside a dental office, a few apartments, a movie theater, and a spectacular candy store. A family filed out as we congregated and I caught brief smells and music slipped through the crack between the doors.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t we been here before?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°A long time ago,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°It''s not exactly easy to eat out,¡± Dad said, ¡°but this is a great way to build rapport in the community, and it''s what we need to circumvent any suspicion that may come our way.¡±


    ¡°Just plan to finish everything,¡± I whispered to Tony.


    Tony grunted. ¡°Ya I know.¡±


    We were twins, but we were in sync on this situation. We didn¡¯t often eat out just in case we had to bolt before we could finish. There were a few incidents where my mouth still watered from the leftover containers we had either discarded or lost when our target tossed, smashed, or bulldozed our vehicle with nothing more than brute force.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready to see a menu, I¡¯m hungry,¡± Tony said smugly as we passed through the swinging saloon-style doors. A few feet past the entrance, I spotted a community billboard brimming with ads, posters, and notices. Most were outdated, but I saw the axe murderer campus bulletin and my stomach sank.


    I¡¯m responsible for the nightmares people will have because of that picture.


    ¡°Emma?¡±


    I pulled my attention to Mom who shot a glance at the bulletin board and then smiled at me. Now inside, we were greeted with louder and continuous Western-inspired music from a piano beside a small stage. A girl in a tight blue dress sat at the piano. She had slender arms and a fluffy feather danced and bobbed back and forth as she hit each chord and added some flourishes as she reached a climax. The floorboards creaked, but no one seemed to mind as the lady gave a ¡°Ye Ha¡±


    About half of the roughly two dozen people, a combination of couples, trios, and small groups, all cheered or echoed the exclamation. The ice in their glasses raddled, and some even toasted each other before setting in to finish their meal.


    ¡°Read them and weep boys,¡± an older man dressed as a cowboy hollered as he threw down his cards and started ranking poker chips towards an already decent pile stacked awkwardly in front of him. His competitors threw down their cards in defeat. The winner stuck his tongue out and gleefully pulled the chips to his side. The players stood and moved around a mixture of saloon girls wearing fluffy sleeves and corsets, along with some girls wearing cowboy boots, matching hats, spurs, and in place of a holster for a gun. The restaurant had created a holster-apron combo so they could wait on the circular tables in the middle of the room, along with rectangular tables they had placed against the wall.


    ¡°Howdy,¡± a cowgirl called. ¡°Are you passing through or here with a party?¡±


    ¡°The Jones?¡± Dad said.


    ¡°Right,¡± the cowboy said; she pointed across the room, past the bar, where I spotted a few additional tables and where the walls were covered with maps, taxidermized animal heads, rifles, pistols, and large antler racks.


    We followed the directions and Lauren¡¯s father waved us over. The three Jones sat at a table visually sandwiched between two wooden columns with chips, cracks, faded paint, and rusty-looking nails, where I assumed actors or people wanting an experience could put their hands on while they ate. I laughed at a solo cowboy hat that seemed quite lonely.


    ¡°Howdy!¡± a saloon girl said with her hand on her hips and an accent that undoubtedly came from the old 80s.Western movies. Her lipstick was pristine, but she did twitch a little at her choker that hadn¡¯t been fastened properly. We accepted our seats as she took a quick lap around the table, pitching a few specials and answering questions about the lunch options. As she came back around, stopping just short of the hatless column, she pulled a pencil from her bun at the same time producing a notepad to take down the orders.


    ¡°Can I get you all started with some drinks from the bar? Or would you like to jump in and get the kitchen going to wrestle up some grub?¡±


    ¡°I think we¡¯re ready,¡± Mr. Jones said, outlining his order, followed by his wife and Lauren. I quickly scanned the menu and gave them what I wanted, and my parents and Tony followed suit. Once all the orders were placed and noted, it only took a few minutes before our table became littered with appetizers at Mr. Jones''s request. The girls cheered and happily brought out everything from hot buttery dinner rolls to fried mac & cheese balls, along with seasoned cheese-covered bread sticks and small bowls of baked beans.


    We ate in silence, which occasionally broke with small conversation and I cheered along with everyone else when the staff rang a bell and the servers yelled, ¡°Ye Ha!¡±


    ¡°Wow, that smells good,¡± Tony said. After the third Ye Ha. This was one louder as three servers came over to our table laden with food trays.


    ¡°Alright, folks, let''s make sure we have everything.¡±


    My stomach stirred with delight while the waitress double-checked each order to make sure it got to the right person. I inhaled the spicy grilled chicken and steam rising from the plate, tickling my nose, and it made my mouth water. Then, the rich chili jostled in the bowl, and the spaghetti variation on their menu named Cowboy Delight looked delicious to the point where I could taste the spices in the air. We shifted the brand-new drinks around the ice cubes pointed against the side of the cups, and I could see droplets of butter on the bread rolls. I didn¡¯t realize how hungry I was and was ready to eat.


    ¡°Let¡¯s dig in,¡± Mr. Jones said.


    We passed the plates around, and each aroma was rich and enveloped my senses. I reeled with delight at the savory and sweet scents. The whole table looked like something you would have seen in a commercial.


    ¡°So, Emma,¡± Mrs. Jones said as the waitress bumped a set of swinging doors with her hip before disappearing down the hallway marked kitchen and bathrooms.


    ¡°Lauren told me you''re a student too. What are you studying?¡±


    I shrugged, cleared my throat, and quickly dabbed at my lips with a napkin. ¡°I¡¯m sadly one of those people who aren¡¯t quite sure right now. So, I''m just doing general classes online.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no reason to rush,¡± Mr. Jones said as the pianist rose and graciously bowed. A few people clapped, and she took a small step down, keeping her skirt off the floor. Like a princess she waved to a few nearby families and clapped a hand across her chest as a little girl timidly hurried over a handed her a follow.


    ¡°It¡¯s smart to think about your options.¡±


    ¡°Quite so,¡± Dad said. ¡°we¡¯re quite proud of her.¡±


    The pianist beamed and waved with a bit more gusto before excusing herself down the hallway. After a few bites and half of my drink later, I felt my stomach harden. I almost couldn¡¯t finish; it was so delicious. Mom made fantastic food, but it had been a while since we¡¯d had restaurant food.


    ¡°In the next year or two, I¡¯ll narrow down my decision and then start taking some specialized courses,¡± I added, setting my fork down, and I focused on my drink to my stomach for a break. ¡°I¡¯ve had a lot of fun seeing what¡¯s out there, and to see how well I can take on new stuff.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the only way to know,¡± Mr. Jones said, cutting into a thick steak smothered in sauce. ¡°You¡¯ve got to experiment-¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s got a few special classes where-¡± Mom said, but she stopped and toppled toward the table. Loud, obnoxious chords filled the dining room and were followed by thick bangs, sharp clangs and many off kilter notes played in quick succession.


    ¡°What is that!¡± Lauren exclaimed.


    I watched silverware spill across the table, and various people cried out and rose to their feet in alarm and distress. We all searched, and then our attention returned to the piano, only it was the girl pianist from earlier. This pianist, a man in a bolder hat and tailcoat, sat slouched on the bench. The appearance was Vaudeville funny, even though He kept his back toward all of us. The new pianist really put his heart into each movement and dramatically play with a lot of class and bravado. Physical humor was definitely his skill, but he couldn¡¯t play the piano, at all.


    ¡°Stop!¡± A patron yelled.


    The pianist didn¡¯t acknowledge the request and second passed before a small group of men; sons and husbands rose and headed to the hallways to look for a host or a member of management. Instead, as two gentlemen rose to confront the pianist, I stiffened as he moved his arms back and forth. They wobbled and arched like noodles or a jump rope if one end was whipped with enough force. He was either really bad and performing, or this was all some kind of show.


    The two men stopped as the pianist shifted gears and immediately began to play calmly, almost classical music. The change was so abrupt, that the two men exchanged glances and they stayed put for nearly a full minute before returning to their table.


    The pace was good, and he had a few hiccups with wrong notes, but it wasn¡¯t anything an uninterested listener would have picked up on or anything most people would complain about.


    ¡°That was odd,¡± Lauren said, helping herself to another roll. ¡°and certainly a rough start.¡±


    ¡°Please don''t do that again.¡± Someone called out as Lauren spread some honey and butter across the roll. The pianist made no acknowledgement of the comment, but he maintained the softer repertoire and the mood was quick to settle down. As we progressed through our meal and crossed the typical conversation topics, politics, local events and some speculation about the axe murderer, I watched Lauren sink into her chair. She stirred her food around but had seemingly lost her appetite.


    I took a drink, polishing it off as Lauren glanced over her shoulder and her shoulders rolled inward and she assumed a hunched position. I took a bite and began looking for a way to jump into the conversation in order to change the subject, but then Lauren sat up. She took her fork and happily put a bite in her mouth.


    I bit down on my fork. What was that?


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    A quick look around the table told me that neither set of parents, nor Tony had picked up Lauren¡¯s abrupt mood change. It had been quick, but over Mrs. Jones shoulder I saw a couple where the woman¡¯s foot twitched beneath the table, while the man gripped the tablecloth in what some would think was an effort to steady himself. There were other small clues, and they all seemed innocent by themselves.


    BAM! CLANG! SWISH! BRRRIIINNNNGGG! BONK! DUNK! DUNK!


    The dining room exploded in an uproar. The chords became louder and far more uncomplimentary. Several patrons slammed their hands down on the table, while chairs squeaked across the floor in rapid succession as individuals stood up and yelled as pianist who continued his makeshift composition, unaware of the discomfort and the protests.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Fosters,¡± Mr. Jones said with his hands over his ears, ¡°This hasn¡¯t been allowed during the other times we¡¯ve been here.¡±


    ¡°I believe you,¡± Dad said, who also had his ears plugged. ¡°The food is really, good!¡±


    By now the disruption had attracted the server¡¯s attention. Four saloon girls hurried to the more visually aggravated tables, and it only took seconds before certain groups were given to-go boxes. Two servers hurried to the pianist and they both placed a hand on his shoulder, but he didn¡¯t stop. One tapped his shoulder and leaned closer to get his attention, but it didn¡¯t seem to make any difference.


    ¡°Here comes the sheriff,¡± Mrs. Jones said.


    The pianist stopped when a tall man with broad shoulders and snow-white hair hurried out from the back hallway. He looked like Colonel Sanders after serious weight training. The disgruntled look he had was enough to chill a forest fire. The pianist spun on the bench as he made his approach. The sheriff didn¡¯t say a word, but the pianist finally seemed to get the hint. He kept his head down and clasped his hands together in a pleading manner.


    ¡°I bet they regret hiring him,¡± Mr. Jones said.


    ¡°Most likely,¡± Mom added.


    ¡°I hope so,¡± Dad added.


    Now that the music was over, the servers proceeded to take orders and offer apologies to the crowd. The pianist spoke and prayerfully pleaded with the sheriff who remained silent, but he had a firm expression, and he had his arms folded across his chest and quite happily shook his head. I wasn¡¯t sure what the pianist was saying, but the sheriff was going to budge.


    ¡°That seems like a losing argument,¡± Tony whispered to me.


    I nodded. ¡°He seems ashamed.¡±


    But I wasn¡¯t entirely convinced, but this didn¡¯t seem like something they would have planned as an in-house show.


    The pianist held up one finger and then pointed at the piano. He turned on the bench and held his hands up, but the sheriff dropped his hands and had them balled into fists. He shook his head, stomped his foot in protest. The impact was hard that it made his spurs jingle. By this point, there were no side conversations, and the sheriff probably wanted to address the unprofessional behavior in his office. The servers watched and tried to engage the crowd, but most people wanted to see how this was going to end. The pianist turned away from the keyboard and the sheriff muttered something as he pointed toward the double doors and the employee hallway.


    ¡°Is he that oblivious?¡± a server whispered to another as they passed our table, ¡°who in their right mind would let someone that bad play a piano?¡±


    ¡°No idea,¡± the other server replied, ¡°I don¡¯t know who that is. Melissa is the only pianist I¡¯ve ever seen play.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll probably had job security,¡± the first added, but she trailed off and gave me a smile when she realized I had heard what they said. Finally able to continue with my meal. I took a few bites and watched the pianist sink of the piano bench and with exaggerated motions he moved with long steps, similar wavy noodle arms. After a few steps, he put his bowler hat across his face as he headed to the employee hallway, vanishing from sight.


    ¡°I really wouldn¡¯t want to be him right now,¡± Tony said. As the sheriff moved through the dining hall with clasped hands, he offered apologetic words and some placating gestures. As he finished each conversation, the manager took a professional bow and motioned to the table. Soon, the whole fiasco seemed resolved, and patrons returned to their personal conversations and meals. The sheriff maintained a presence in the dining room, while servers refilled drinks, brough out new plates of appetizers, or small portions of a select set of their dessert options.


    ¡°No kidding,¡± I added as a face leaned out from the hallway, and like a cartoon character, the pianist slipped up against the wall and, like a thief prowling through the night. He slid across the wall, tip-toeing with exaggerated movements heading back to the stage. Once he was back by the piano, he stuck out his tongue, wiggled his fingers and got close enough to slide the bench out with his toe. A few patrons had caught on and pointed it out. The pianist sat down, and adjusted his bowler hat which was followed by stretching his fingers and quickly massaging his wrists.


    ¡°Why?¡± Mr. Jones said. As the sheriff charged through the dining and in a feat of anger. The sheriff seized a hold of his lapel, and he had no remorse or mercy as he dragged him across the room and back down the hall.


    ¡°Is it just me,¡± Lauren said, ¡°Or does it seem like a choreographed show.¡±


    ¡°A show that needed more rehearsals,¡± Mr. Jones replied, ¡°and maybe a focus group. You¡¯re not going to get repeat customers with that kind of nonsense.


    ¡°Here you go, folks,¡± our server said, directing another server who carried a tray. ¡°Compliments of the management.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Mr. Jones said. As the plates came down, I glimpsed selections from their dessert menu; a cinnamon and chocolate cake, cookies, ice cream, and what looked like rice pudding. The waitress came around and placed the selection in front of each of us, and I could see an awkward, rosy tint flushed across her cheeks.


    ¡°We¡¯re sorry about the ruckus,¡± The waitress said, trying to act casual, but this was an impromptu script, and she was determined to get it right. ¡°We really want to provide an enjoyable meal experience. Thanks for coming, and we hope that-¡±


    The server trailed off and brought her hands to her face and her tray clambered to the floor. The reaction caused a stir and a few yips of surprise. I twisted in my seat and standing with stains and pours of multiple meals was a lone waitress. She had brown hair, and her blouse and skirt were drenched, and she trembled with outright terror and unfettered embarrassment.


    ¡°Oh, that poor dear,¡± Mrs. Jones said.


    She looked about to be somewhere between sixteen to eighteen years old. The tray hung loosely between her fingers, and her lips trembled as she tried to hold back her emotions. Mom and Mrs. Jones rose, but multiple other waitresses hurried over, scooted chairs and a table out of the way, and two began to clean up the mess, with a third escorting the distressed waitress out of the dining room.


    ¡°I''m sorry,¡± she said breathlessly.


    ¡°Its alright,¡± a server said, ¡°lets get you cleaned up and we¡¯ll get this straightened out.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t going to help the reviews,¡± Tony said, and I watched at least a dozen people typing on their phones or were discreetly making phone calls, despite the gestures from their family members or associates to not doing so. The reviewers and talkers looked visibly annoyed, but they signed off or ended the call. Once the mess was cleaned up and the tables were reset. The sheriff came around and personally seemed tense as he visited with a few families. As new groups, from families to couples, strolled into the restaurant, the sheriff personally came over and escorted them to their seats. He only left once a new wave of servers flawlessly served their orders and when new orders were taken.


    ¡°It seems like this place has had serious issues to sort out,¡± Mrs. Jones said.


    ¡°They¡¯re probably just new on the job,¡± said her husband, helping himself make a chocolate cake. ¡°Public image is one of the most crucial elements in a business, and training takes time. I would definitely make sure everyone is aware of the rules but they¡¯re not just doing food, anyone can do food. Look at this place, they¡¯re selling an experience. They¡¯ve got taxidermy animals realistic art, and I¡¯d say these tables and chairs are close approximations to what I¡¯d assumed establishes had in the Old West. They¡¯ve got cowboys playing poker and even nails to hang your hat. Part of me wouldn¡¯t mind getting one.¡±


    ¡°Dad,¡± Lauren said. ¡°you want a cowboy hat?¡±


    Mr. Jones shrugged. ¡°Why not. I bet I could pull it off like the sheriff. What about you Jim, can I call you Jim? Would you wear a cowboy hat to the office?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Dad replied, ¡°and in the right kind of environment. I would consider it and it definitely makes a statement.¡±


    ¡°Like you¡¯re rowdy and unbecoming.¡± Mrs. Jones said.


    ¡°That¡¯s a bit unfair,¡± Tony said.


    ¡°I agree,¡± Mr. Jones said, ¡°a cowboy hat. That is the kind of thing that makes a statement.¡±


    And with that the debate was in full swing. The parents began to explore the little they knew about the Old West along with reading popular Western fiction and when they watched old John Wayne movies. As the conversation reached a peak when they considered famous people outside the genre of a western who occasionally wear cowboy hats. I looked back toward the hat I had seen when we had arrived, but it was nowhere in sight.


    Weird?  I hadn¡¯t seen it fall, nor had anyone picked it up. I scanned the ground near where I seen it and it wasn¡¯t behind a chair, or beneath one of the few tables nearby.


    ¡°Has anyone seen a cowboy hat?¡± I asked. ¡°I thought I saw one on the nail right there.¡±


    My parents shook their heads, but Mr. Jones motioned over my shoulder. ¡°Looks like there is a donkey-wearing one by the window.¡±


    ¡°What? Its on a donkey.¡± I scooted around in my chair and sure enough. In a corner by a window sat a taxidermy donkey wearing the hat.


    ¡°Someone must have put it there,¡± I said, ¡°I saw it hanging up.¡±


    ¡°Makes sense,¡± Mom said, ¡°Its certainly funny.¡±


    ¡°Well, I might just have to get one for Halloween,¡± Mr. Jones said, ¡°We''re going to have a booth at the upcoming Halloween carnival. We¡¯re going to have some games, you know, the simple prices for Dollar raffle tickets and we¡¯re also going to have some prizes worth some money. This will be a big step, but I¡¯m hopeful for a positive outcome.¡±


    ¡°Are the big prizes an incentive for new clients or for services?¡± Mom asked.


    ¡°Yes and no,¡± Mr. Jones raised his hands like a magician about to do his big trick. ¡°I don¡¯t think about it as a marketing ploy. Instead, I want my clients to think about it as a reward and a signal of appreciation. We are grateful that you trust us. Typically, booths only give coupons, but we¡¯re raising the bar by having a drawing that will send a family or A small group, even perhaps a few couples, on an all-expenses paid trip to Maui.¡±


    I glanced at Mom, who raised an eyebrow, and a smile perked across her face while she spread jam across a roll. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯d call a stellar enticement.¡±


    Mr. Jones beamed with pride at the idea. ¡°You¡¯ve gotta spend money to make money, and sometimes it pays to set up a good self-image. And I''m hoping to spearhead a new way to get clients, and I hope it might become a way to promote worthwhile causes. What do you think about this, Jim.? For example, would you ever want to go public and become a professional mechanic?¡±


    My dad had a black belt in conversation, and I caught a twinkle in his eye. Mr. Jones was a good salesman, and he recognized Dad¡¯s skills. If he was going to let him pay for his work, he was going to try to compensate Dad in another way.


    Dad cleared his throat, ¡°For now, I¡¯m quite satisfied with what I have, but taking things to the next level, a grand prize, is a good way to get people talking. It sets a precedent, but if they see you care about your presence and abilities, the experience you''re trying to sell. I don''t know why people wouldn''t flock to your websites or locations. I found-¡±


    Ping.


    I ducked my head to the side and pulled my phone from my pocket. I put in my code but stopped when a light flashed across my vision. My attention passed by the Donkey, but this time the hat was gone.


    Now that¡¯s weird.


    I scanned the floor near the window. No one was seated there, and I had just seen it there a minute ago. How would it disappear without me seeing someone take it? I slid my chair and scanned the floor a bit further along the floor, thinking it was likely that it could have been kicked or that it had fallen and ended up beneath a table.


    There was nothing.


    ¡°Emma?¡± Dad said, ¡°Everything good?¡±


    I nodded, ¡°I just got a message that¡¯s all.¡±


    I scrolled through my messages, but I felt a chill and then my body stiffened when I made eye contact with a Jack-O-Lantern wearing the cowboy hat and a bandana that had been wound up with a small corner sticking out. The whole thing looked like a cheesy way to make the pumpkin look like a desperado.


    The lights?  I recognized them from the Jack-O-Lantern I had seen in the back of the garbage truck. The light twinkled and shimmered, but I didn¡¯t get a sense that any glass or reflective surface had been put into the eye sockets. The afternoon¡¯s dull gray skill enhanced the glow. I turned my phone off and I couldn¡¯t pull my eyes away. I watched a few cars zipped down the street, and I spotted multiple people rushing past the window. There were one or two people at first, but then I saw a trio followed by a young family. All of them were eager to move but seemed panicked or tense about something. Once my line of sight cleared, from where I saw I could see the dental¡¯s office front door and I watched three people rush onto the sidewalk wearing the splash papers. The dental patients waved their arms over their heads and split in multiple directions. They were soon followed by the hygienists or people I assumed to be their receptionists who looked nervous but bewildered at the occurrence.


    I glanced toward Tony, who was chewing, and I reached to tap his shoulder, but as I did, I dropped my fork, and it clinked against my plate when I spotted a glossy puddle at least a foot across the floor partially hidden by a larger table compared to ours. As a waitress headed to one of the new families, I rose to my feet. She had a beaming smile, and multiple plates set on a round serving tray, which she balanced with expert skill. It was right in her path. There was no chance of avoiding it.


    She¡¯s going to fall. ¡°Look out!¡±


    I heard her boots click down on the floor, and she stumbled but caught herself while recoiling in alarm. The conversation halted, and I had all eyes on me.


    ¡°What the devil!¡± The waitress yelled.


    I pointed at the floor and the waitress put her serving tray down and came a few steps closer to investigate. When she realized what she avoided.


    ¡°Hey Hank!¡± the flustered waitress called to the bar. ¡°We need to a get a sign on this here wet spot. Someone could break their neck!¡±


    She looked at me and visibly her heart rate dropped and after a second¡¯s composure. The waitress quickly distributed the meals, and a second one came over and they chatted in hushed voices. A family requested to go boxes and a third joined the duo and got a Wet Floor sign in place as a warning.


    ¡°Way to pay attention,¡± Mom whispered to me with a hand on my shoulder.


    ¡°Why does everything seem to be going wrong with this restaurant?¡± Lauren asked. She didn¡¯t look particularly interested in an answer, but something weighed heavily on her.


    ¡°It certainly is a bit odd, sweetheart,¡± Mrs. Jones said, sounding tired as she stirred her food with an awkward hand gesture. ¡°I can''t imagine so many bad things happening in such a short time.¡±


    ¡°Everyone has their off days,¡± Mr. Jones interjected, awkwardly scratching his neck and dancing in his chair. ¡°Like I said, I''m sure after a little while, this staff will iron out the kinks and sort out the issues. I bet, you know, they just recently hired some new people, and they''re still learning the ropes. So, Mr. Foster, what do you think?¡±


    Dad set down his fork, having finished his meal.


    ¡°Hey, Mommy,¡± A child cut in as Dad moved his straw around to take a drink. ¡°Look, there''s a princess out the window.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s nice honey,¡± the mom said with a faint stutter.


    I looked back at the window, but I didn¡¯t see a woman in a ball gown and a tiara. Instead, the desperado Jack-O-Lantern was now hovering a few inches above the windowsill.


    Something was definitely wrong here..


    I rubbed the condensation between my fingers and glanced at my parents, hoping to get their attention. But their attention and Tony¡¯s were on the Jones, who had each gone pale, and they had bags beneath their eyes.


    ¡°Well, look at the time,¡± Mr. Jones shouted awkwardly, bringing his fist down against the table. He nervously fumbled with his pockets, pulled out his credit card, and hurriedly waved the waitress over.


    ¡°Everything is on,¡± Mr. Jones stammered, becoming increasingly agitated. ¡°is on, us! Please and get the check back quickly.¡±


    ¡°I didn''t realize you had a schedule.¡± Dad began. But. But they had trailed off as Mr. Jones shot him a forced smile, and he began to fidget uncomfortably in his seat, and his fingers danced across the tabletop. If he needed to go to the bathroom, why not just excuse himself. What was with the awkwardness all of a sudden?


    ¡°It''s nothing,¡± Mrs. Jones said, looking around the dining room as other people appeared equally over-anxious, tense, stiff, jiggery and the abrupt attitude change had confused their respective companions who were asking questions and encouraging their friends and family to sit down.


    ¡°I just realized,¡± Mr. Jones said hastily, pushing his chair back. He rose, nearly knocking into the table beside ours. ¡°I have to, no, we must do the thing.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± His wife said, who, in her own way, was sharing in the in the anxiousness? I quickly glanced at Lauren, who did not appear anxious, but the color had drained from her face again, and she had begun to shiver like she was stuck outside without a proper coat. She rubbed her hands across her arms and looked exhausted and she was ready to pass out.


    Alarmed but wanting to provide the best service, a waitress hurried over and offered some take-home boxes. Saying extraordinarily little, the Joneses scooped their food into the boxes, Mr. Jones signed the receipt and the three of them headed for the door.


    ¡°Come to our booth at the Halloween carnival,¡± Mr. Jones called back to us as he shoved the receipt and his card into his jacket pocket. He didn''t offer a wave or a goodbye.


    ¡°We''ll see what we can do,¡± Dad called back but his reply had fallen on deaf ears as the Joneses were out the door along with several other customers, all desperate to get outside. We stayed at the table and several servers came back into the dining hall and huddled together as a member of the kitchen staff, several saloon girl servers and the sheriff himself all pushed to get outside.


    ¡°That was odd,¡± Tony said. ¡°Not socially odd. Creepily odd.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± Dad said, ¡°This must be round 2. Let¡¯s get going.¡±


    Mom quickly secured our leftovers while Dad moved to the window. We didn''t have the best vantage point, but we could tell that many people were flooding the street.


    ¡°Wait, I saw a Jack-O-Lantern,¡± I said quickly, ¡°It had glowing eyes like what I saw in the garbage truck.¡±


    I spun in a circle, looking for where it had ended up. It had to be here somewhere. ¡°It had glowing eyes just like the decorations in the garbage truck.¡±


    I stopped and pointed as the howler hat pianist scooted a table out of his, the desperado pumpkin clutched in his gloved hands.


    ¡°There!¡± I said, ¡°The bad pianist has it.¡±


    My family focused on my gaze, but I had a few steps on them, so I rushed toward the door and the remains of the customers, who were all frantically trying to get out the door. There weren¡¯t many by now, but they were not playing nice with each other.


    ¡°I knew something was off,¡± Dad said. ¡°On the prowl, all of us.¡±


    Something was certainly off as the pianist twisted, lurched with an inhuman level contortion skill. People screamed as they bumped into each other and the simplest things seemed to induce a full-fledged panic. The pianist¡¯s skills gave him a moment¡¯s head start and he wasted no time spinning, and turning through the crowd that was spreading up the street from the neighboring businesses, apartments and people in the parking lots.


    ¡°Sorry, coming through!¡±


    I pushed people into others as the crowd began to bottleneck. In each individual case, I figured some would try to retaliate, but no one did. There were people standing almost like statues, staring blankly into the distance. There were groups huddling beside benches and near their vehicles, but for some reason they wouldn¡¯t get inside.


    ¡°Its!¡± a man repeated over and over. His teeth chattered and there were goosebumps on his arms. There were other close by, some were muttering, but I could understand anything they were saying.


    ¡°Hey!¡± a guy came out of his apartment, ¡°what are you doing by my car!¡±


    ¡°AH!¡± The new guy jumped back as the person he addressed took one look at him before bolting away at a full sprint. I moved away from the restaurant and watched some cars come down the street. A few of the drivers honked as groups of people stalled on the crosswalk.


    ¡°Move!¡± bellowed a driver. He smacked his horn and made some rude gestures. By the time I reached the crosswalk. One man had his window rolled down and was yelling at the top of his lungs, but the people on the crosswalk didn¡¯t say, or do anything.


    ¡°Move people!¡± one driver yelled, but he choked when, CRASH!!!


    My foot scratched the road, and I immediately pulled back and sounds split the crowd, and I reacted to a rear end collision. The impact set off alarms, and I could see smoke seeping out from under the hood of the second car. A telltale sign that the driver had no been paying attention given the state of the traffic and the sheer quality of people present.


    The two drivers got out and initiated what promised to be a solid standoff. Each driver looked to be in their 30s and came at each other with their fists clenched.


    The men stared each other down. They both looked like they could hold their own. I waited, and then they both began to tremble. Their jaws dropped, and then both men screamed in terror and bolted in opposite directions, leaving their cars wide open and the engines running.


    Now clear, I hurried across the street and spotted the bowler hat and tailcoat wadded up in a flower box near the dentist¡¯s office. The pianist¡¯s limber frame shouldn¡¯t be too hard to spot, but there were so many people.


    Even if they were fast, they wouldn¡¯t have- I moved up against the wall and I had to acknowledge that it was possible to move unrealistically fast, especially if the pianist hadn¡¯t been human.


    I headed down the block and glimpsed Mom and Dad cutting through the crowd. They got stonewalled every few feet as the majority of the crowd appeared adamant to move in the opposite direction. A second later, I spotted Tony diver down a side street. I pulled out my phone and dialed Dad, linking Tony in on the call as well.


    ¡°What do you see?¡± Dad asked all at once. There were a few more collisions and crashes and multiple groups fleeing the street frantically screaming. I covered my ears and Dad asked some more questions, but it took several seconds before I understood him, and before I could reply.


    ¡°Everyone is doing their best to get as far away from here as possible,¡± I said. ¡°I haven''t seen.¡±


    My shoe kicked a pebble, and I heard the idling of an SUV down an alley near a cupcake store. I immediately pulled back and then risked a glance.


    ¡°Emma,¡± Dad asked.


    I didn''t immediately reply, but I knew he could see me, so he was waiting for any information to influence their next move.


    ¡°Are we good?¡± Tony asked. ¡°It¡¯s a mad house the next street over and people look like monkeys in a tennis court.¡±


    The SUV idled casualty and I saw no movement or activity, so I inched closer to the building to evade any suspicion if the occupants hoped to have been there unnoticed. A causal glance wouldn¡¯t have found it overly concerning, but this situation was not normal and the mere presence of a black SUV sitting down of the most ghetto alleys the city had certainly cranked up the, ¡°I am evil¡± meter.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got activity down an alley by Sunrise Sweets,¡± I hissed. ¡°Super spy level suspicion and I think they¡¯ve been here for a while.¡±


    ¡°Did you get a license plate?¡± Tony asked.


    My hearing focused on the engine, and I heard the doors open, but then they quickly closed. They might be on the move.


    I spoke through clenched teeth. ¡°I¡¯ll try. I think they¡¯re about to leave.¡±


    ¡°Do not go down the alley,¡± Dad said quickly. ¡°Let''s do the slip-twist.¡±


    ¡°We don''t have time to set up an approach,¡± I said. At that exact moment, I heard something impact a plain metal trash can. I looked past the dumpster and saw two distinct shadows hovering near the back. I clocked a new wave of horrified pedestrians and as they reached me, I ducked in among them and used them as cover to approach a nearby dumpster. There were no shouts, warnings or accusations at the same time I had no idea if anyone followed me, and I hadn¡¯t taken a count.


    ¡°Mission accomplished. I¡¯m by the dumpster and-¡± I hissed and slightly gagged as I pulled out my phone and turned on a video. I curled up into a ball and began to shake. It seemed like a reasonable condition to recreate if I needed to blend in with the crowd. Once the fleeing groups passed and the street cleared. I heard voices. I attempted to zoom in and inched closer, while keeping my arm close to my chest. I wanted to be able to hide it if anyone confronted me.


    ¡°What are they saying?¡± Dad asked.


    ¡°No clue,¡± I replied.


    The engine was pretty strong, and I knew people were talking but I could barely distinguish any word or phrase to make out any clear thought. I audibly recognized their footfalls and could hear the rush of hush whispers. There were even sounds that seemed like the subjects were moving boxes or large containers. I shifted my phone position, cupping the camera circle between my fingers and kept myself completely stationary. I didn''t look up. I couldn¡¯t risk it. All I was going to do was count the seconds and let the video do my work for me. Even at a bad angle, if they thought they were alone and unobserved. It was the best chance we had for them to give some crucial to their plan away. If these beings caused panic, they had a goal and wanted to watch things take place. Yes, they would be distracted. Yes, they would probably ignore me but when you''re attempting to spy on any kind of monster, remember they don''t act like humans. They don''t react like rational, sane individuals.


    Monsters. They¡¯ll attack!


    ¡°Emma, what do you see?¡± Dad said in a whisper.


    There was concern in his voice. But I couldn''t risk offering any reply, and Dad knew that getting emotional was putting me in danger. I continued to count the seconds and ignored any impulse to move as pain built up in my knees and thighs and down my lower back. The smell was beginning to scratch against my nostrils, and it created waves down my throat. It also didn¡¯t take long before the smells started to mount, creating discomfort that I was unprepared to deal with for a long period of time.


    ¡°Let''s go,¡± I heard a voice hiss a few feet away. Someone had approached the dumpster where they hadn''t come close to seeing me.


    A woman''s voice said with a definite air of authority.


    ¡°We''re running behind schedule,¡± A spry voice cut in. There was a child-like energy to it. A little nasally or accented. It seemed like a voice someone would use to perform for children, narrating books or a little kid playing. If it wasn''t for malice and the cutting threaded around each of his comments. The assessment created a face in my mind, and I pictured that voice as the pianist who had caused that disruption in the restaurant. We''re running behind. What did he mean by that? We figured they had a timetable, but what sort of task were they trying to accomplish? That¡¯s what I needed to know.


    ¡°No, Frankie, we¡¯re not.¡± Said the woman. Her voice was faintly accented, but nothing was recognizable. ¡°Everything is going according to plan. I need you to take your part to the next stage.¡±


    ¡°Mezzaro won''t be pleased.¡± This was the first voice. So, I could tell that there were at least three people present. I repeated the name, mentally locking it into place. Mezzaro, Mezzaro. It was odd, but it was something that I felt I needed to remember.


    ¡°He is naturally grumpy, Someone.¡± The woman replied. That was the second name that struck a chord. Someone. That meant Amy One¡¯s fellow shapeshifter and possible enemy was in town as well.


    I froze, reviewing the dialogue I¡¯d heard. Was the woman talking Suzy Sourblood, The Dark Witch?


    ¡°He''ll get what he''s after, and I don''t care if I screw up his timetable a little bit. I have waited far too long, so stop now. I''m done waiting. I''m going to take what I want.¡±


    ¡°If you ask me, doing that will be your funeral,¡± said Frankie. ¡°What I''m here to do, what you need me to do, so I''ll get on it. Otherwise, I¡¯m going to start composing your eulogy.¡±


    I heard something change hands, and then the woman laughed. She laughed in a familiar and spine-tingling way. The traditional cackle of a witch.


    I heard the footsteps move away, and I moved to my knees and ducked my phone out to catch the SUV. I barely moved it out and listened to the engine Rev as the SUV backed out and disappeared down the opposite street. I was grateful they didn''t come any closer to me.


    ¡°Dad,¡± I said. ¡°I can confirm all three of our targets have been here.¡±


    ¡°All three,¡± Dad repeated sternly. I heard traffic noises, and he told me they needed to take cover. That was a brilliant idea. We had no idea why they were here and what they were doing.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I said, feeling exhausted and my throat constricted as I gagged. I wanted to forget the dumpster, and I knew the queasiness definitely wasn''t a food coma. Suzy, the dark Witch, was here. Someone, the shapeshifter, was here. And I''m going to guess that the pianist who stole the Jack O Lantern cowboy was named Frankie.


    ¡°I have a small conversation on my phone, and we''ll need to review it for any further clues.¡±


    Dad coughed. ¡°Let''s get back to the car right away. There''s nothing more we can do here.¡±


    ¡°Are the Joneses alright?¡± I asked.


    ¡°He''s honking his horn and looking beaten at his steering wheel. They¡¯re stuck in traffic.¡± Dad replied. ¡°As far as I can tell, they''ll be ok as long as this panic hasn¡¯t spread.¡±


    ¡°We better stick to the back roads,¡± Mom said from behind Dad, ¡°We¡¯ll go slow through the residential area.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± I said, ¡°and I¡¯m on my way.¡±

 Blinded by fear

    From the Foster Family dictionary of supernatural things, you want to avoid: Fear: A state of being and it¡¯s what all horrifying monsters crave. It goes great on late-night parties, Idiots with no sense of self-preservation, politics, or marketing commercials.


    Once I was sure they were gone, I hurried back to the street and across the parking lot where Mom, Tony, and Dad were waiting. I climbed inside, and it became quite clear that the panic was not isolated to the street, or one section of town. Dad used the back roads to steer away from the bottlenecks and the evitable traffic jam that was expanding by the minute.


    ¡°There¡¯s another mailman doing a number on his load,¡± Tony observed. ¡°I hope its only junk mail.¡±


    Several houses had random cars sitting in their yards, along with bikes and there were multiple dogs and cats running across the road, while dragging their leashes behind them.


    ¡°Emma, did you get any pictures?¡± Mom asked.


    ¡°I tried to do a video,¡± I said.


    ¡°Let me see the phone,¡± Mom said. I handed it over, and while she watched the video, I recounted everything I had heard Just in case the microphone hadn''t picked it up.


    The video was about two minutes long, and once Mom had watched it and downloaded it into the car dashboard system. There was plenty footage of the ground, my fingertips and the dumpster but I did catch a bald man in a blue coat. The foot of a second person and the last person to come into view was a woman, with white hair and a thin frame.


    Suzy Sourblood was here in town, and now we had the proof.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t easier,¡± Dad said.


    ¡°I think a house is on fire on the next block.¡± Mom added.


    Dad cleared two blocks and as we neared the campus. I saw students and professors running between buildings, and a few cars had collided with each other, but none had made it to the street.


    ¡°Can I be the first to say that this whole thing keeps getting weirder by the day,¡± Tony said, ¡°We¡¯ve now had a trifecta of unexplainable, and unconnected events,¡± Tony said. ¡°First, the Main Street attack. Second, for me, is a three-way tie between the vampire, the shapeshifter, and the ghost''s flash mob. And if all of that wasn¡¯t bad, we now we have a scream fest, widespread panic and a hard core traffic jam.¡±


    ¡°And we know Suzy Sourblood is behind it all,¡± Dad said. ¡°Based on the comments in the video, she seems a bit more conspiratorial than the intel seemed to indicate.¡±


    ¡°This is certainly a step up from leaving cookies on a counter and changing a homes temperature.¡± Tony said.


    ¡°There was also another name,¡± I added, ¡°All three of them mentioned a person named Mezzaro and they seemed to think that he or she wouldn¡¯t be happy about something.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± Dad said, ¡°That is something to think about. Who is this Mezzaro and what role do they play in this plan?


    ¡°Could be the real ringleader,¡± Mom said, ¡°witches aren¡¯t known to attack the public is such an open and upfront way.¡±


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°From the way she was talking,¡± Dad said, ¡°it sounded to me that Mezzaro is more of a rival, than a companion or associate.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what it sounded like to me,¡± Tony said.


    ¡°We should have anticipated this,¡± Dad muttered as we cleared the last signs of houses, and we found ourselves on a county road. ¡°But how do scare so many people at this magnitude? It wasn¡¯t like they had Godzilla stomping down the street roaring at the top of his lungs.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Mom said, ¡°there were a lot of people screaming, but I¡¯m sure I would have heard some kind of monster chasing trouble.¡±


    ¡°Or someone would have said something,¡± Tony said, ¡°You know, like there¡¯s a wolf in the woods.¡±


    ¡°What if we¡¯re dealing with some kind of magic?¡± I asked, ¡°Maybe it¡¯s got to have something to do with the Halloween decoration thefts, especially those with glowing eyes.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a theory we¡¯ll run past Pop.¡± Dad said. Then he hit a button on the dashboard and the screen on the dash turned into a microphone. ¡°I would love to backtrack and track down that SUV, but that¡¯s not going to happen. Let¡¯s review what we know while the memories are fresh so we can break it down at home.¡±


    I rubbed my hands together and felt my fingers popped. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure that the pianist, the unknown person in the video named Frankie. I¡¯m not sure why but I think he was in the restaurant to cause problems.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s odd to cause problems and draw attention to yourself, but that¡¯s a good point,¡± Tony said, ¡°Ther was too much was going on in that restaurant to have been random. You¡¯d have to have special powers to cause accidents and to nearly make a waitress fall over.¡±


    ¡°The whole thing did have the hallmarks of a coordinated strike,¡± Mom said, ¡°The music was particularly distraction, but no one noticed small stuff because we were all so focused on our food and getting over the annoyances.¡±


    ¡°An elite crew,¡± Dad said, ¡°Mezzaro is an outlier, and so we¡¯ll worry about that later. What we have now is a dark witch, or the powerhouse. She would be followed by the shapeshifter¡¯s who good for infiltration, intelligence gathering and alibis for high profile crimes.¡±


    ¡°And that can be topped off with a subject named Frankie who can move really fast along with a few other untapped abilities. He would probably be a frontal assault, and a retriever.¡±


    Dad pulled to the side of the road and then recounted the events as Tony had done before getting onto the road. ¡°I think we¡¯re onto something. There are small issues like the destruction of the computer intrusions document, but we¡¯ll put that aside for now. I think you¡¯re on to something, Emma. The decorations have to be a key or a focus. Let¡¯s get Pop on the phone. Maybe he¡¯ll have a lightbulb moment.¡±


    I sat upright, ¡°Lightbulb! I figured it out.¡±


    ¡°Here we go,¡± Tony said.


    ¡°Give me a second,¡± I said as my recollection swirled with the paragraphs I read in Alice Foster''s Journal. ¡°I read something not too long ago that back in 1937, Alice Foster encountered a situation involving a cursed photograph. Some men wouldn''t let it out of their sight. A few fistfights broke out, and the situation escalated into a riot that engulfed two city blocks. She reasoned that it was either cursed or enchanted because these men in question had turned into lovesick puppies.¡±


    Mom brought down the visor to block the sun from her eyes. ¡°Are you suggesting that the dark witch charmed the stolen Halloween decorations?¡±


    ¡°Or the events influenced some kind of charm or incantation.¡± I said, ¡°which would explain why the rounded them up.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± Dad said, ¡°Do you remember anything else?¡±


    ¡°Hold on.¡± I placed my hands on my head, my temples began to throb. I didn''t know why, but I tried to ignore it as I thought back to additional entries and the notes I had taken.


    ¡°In 1939, Alice encountered a camera that either boosted the confidence of the person who was the subject of the picture or caused serious anxiety and depression. Her contacts thought that it may have been a damaged prototype from Thomas Edison¡¯s Menlo Park facility. The identified photographer was later nearly beheaded by a monster hunter but ended up in a mental institution. Alice heard that the police had discovered random pictures scattered down the hallway of his home.¡±


    ¡°So, if we use Alice¡¯s logic,¡± Dad said, ¡°the lightbulb was a focus that casted emotional magic if that is even a thing.¡±


    ¡°I would say so,¡± I said, ¡°based on what we¡¯ve seen in the past hour. The crew certainly has done a number of the town, and they¡¯ve created Halloween¡¯s favorite emotion.¡±


    We all exchanged glances. Mom and Dad went through the review mirror, and Tony and I were beside each other.


    ¡°Fear,¡± we all said in unison.

 Chat with an enemy

    ¡°I think you¡¯ve hit the nail on the head,¡± Pop said, over a video call ten minutes later. We debated a few more details, but it seemed increasingly likely that we were on the right track. Dad proceeded up the street, but when the road became littered with abandoned vehicles Dad diverted and headed back into town.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see what we¡¯re up against,¡± Dad had said.


    ¡°Your feedback is coming through,¡± Pop said, we passed the park, a few stores and the library. It was surreal to see so many people fleeing, screaming, or crying beside buildings.


    ¡°It¡¯s like an apocalyptic flash mob,¡± Tony said, ¡°Only with everyone in town participating.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like everyone has been affected,¡± Mom said, ¡°there are people trying to help people calm down.¡±


    I heard Pop flip through the pages of a book, but I couldn¡¯t pull my eyes away from the town; and I was impressed we were able to navigate it. There was one couple here, a small family there, exhibiting awkwardness or unexplained tension, nervousness, or fear.


    Pop muttered to himself, then spoke outside the camera view. ¡°I should have thought about it sooner. Alice Foster did a lot for setting up how we build enforcements, and she broke the world when she unleashed the reality that magicians, witches and wizards were using ordinary objects to house magical energy. There haven¡¯t been a ton of functioning prototypes, and a lot of success in that area. You¡¯ve had to practically rebuild a garment, or a blade from the ground up in you want to embed magic into the makeup of an object.¡±


    ¡°Do you think that''s what''s happening here?¡± Dad asked.


    ¡°I would find it unlikely,¡± Pop said. ¡°Mainly for the scale of the attempt. If these guys were after something, someone, a combination of both. Their efforts would be way more focused on and streamlined.¡±


    ¡°Plans can change,¡± I added.


    ¡°While true Emma,¡± Pop said, ¡°the difference between having plans go wrong, versus incredibly wrong comes down to execution and framing this as a criminal group. They¡¯re not coordinated and organized. Suzy, most likely, is calling the shots and all of this sounds highly experimental.¡±


    ¡°Is there a magical version of the scientific method?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Pop said, ¡°and this is one of the reasons why magical education is one of the biggest kept secrets. There have actually been solid scholars who have attempted to innovate, while at the same time there have been idiots who thought they knew better.¡±


    ¡°Like Fowler,¡± Dad said.


    ¡°Like Fowler,¡± Pop affirmed. ¡°Now there are fairy tales when the witch manipulates the king to become a queen, but that isn¡¯t something the average witch could accomplish. Likewise, it¡¯s not something the average wizard could have pulled off to spark a large-scale war. Emotional energy isn¡¯t like elemental energy. You can magically produce certain effects that create similar feelings or conditions, but that typically happens with potions, lotions, and perfumes and the effects wear off after a while or can be easily countered with a new of spells and talismans.¡±               ¡°Fear is a pretty potent emotion,¡± I said, ¡°Couldn¡¯t someone recreate that uneasy feeling you get when you watch a slasher flick and dialed it up by ten or twenty?¡±


    ¡°I assume so, but I¡¯ve never heard, read or seen anyone do it.¡± Pop admitted, ¡°Raw emotional energy like what you¡¯re describing isn¡¯t like charging kinetic energy into the side of a mountain to cause a rockslide, or to cast a barrier out at sea so the tide changes course and destroys boats or causing a small tsunami. Emotions break down, like when you¡¯re angry and you get over it. The theory is that since emotions impact on the spirit and soul of a person, they can¡¯t exist for a long period of time on their own outside a body.¡±


    ¡°That would explain why the reactions were delayed, if even present.¡± Mom said.


    ¡°True and I guess,¡± Pop began, but then consulted some papers. ¡°I suppose that if the caster wanted to capture raw emotion, they¡¯ve obviously done that and I don¡¯t know if this is a thing, but perhaps they haven¡¯t just enchanted the decorations, but they¡¯ve supercharged them to hold an intense concentration. I¡¯m not sure, this is new territory.¡±


    ¡°If they¡¯ve got the power after the attacks,¡± Tony said, ¡°it sounds to me like they¡¯ve got the makings to make a bomb, or possibly several bombs.¡±


    ¡°One which they¡¯ll denotate to get M.A.G.E¡¯s attention,¡± Dad said, ¡°and the rest they¡¯ll use as a threat so they comply with their demands.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a reasonable theory,¡± Pop said, ¡°and a bomb would be away to pack a punch, but I don¡¯t know what sort of trigger or internal power source you would use apart from traditional materials, blasting oil, nitro, C4 which would defeat the purpose of the emotion.¡±


    ¡°M.A.G.E. might be asking the same question,¡± Mom said, ¡°and it would add an extra layer of pressure, and one they couldn¡¯t disregard.¡±


    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t dare,¡± Dad said, ¡°It would be to much of a risk.¡±


    ¡°Have you taken a look at the footage from our car?¡± I asked. ¡°Did you or grandma notice anything out of the ordinary?¡±


    ¡°We did, but didn¡¯t see anything beyond what you all have explained and considered.¡± Pop replied, ¡°I can also say that no one out in our neck of the woods exhibited any kind of symptoms or a reaction so I would say that it was uniquely set within the city limits.¡±


    ¡°Could today have been a practice run? Somehow,¡± I said, ¡°What if they wanted to get their feet wet so they got it out into the public, and maybe it''s only a matter of time before they perfect their dispersal method. They¡¯re gearing up for a final show.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see anyone with a switch, so it had to be something subtle,¡± Tony added.


    ¡°Neither of us saw anything,¡± Dad said. ¡°Everything was normal until people started running down the street. First, there were only a few people, and then increasingly came into view.¡±


    ¡°What about this Frankie person?¡± Mom asked. ¡°We don¡¯t know a lot about him and what if we¡¯re wrong and he caused it somehow. Are there creatures that can generate emotional energy or effects?¡±


    ¡°Sure are,¡± Pop said, ¡°Sirens or mermaids can create infatuation. Some certain fairies and sprites can induce a dream state and suspended animation. Fear is a trickier emotion to generate because the creator needs to have their targets feed on their environmental factors, like walking alone in the dark, or through a place like a back alley or a cemetery. I doubt there is a creature that can simply produce fear.¡±


    ¡°If he can¡¯t produce it, I bet Frankie manipulated it and that Jack-O-Lantern might have helped push it along,¡± I said, ¡°this Kabal got what they needed from the students and the ghosts, so they set it up and let small events run their course. That waitress was nervous when she dropped her meals, and the other was probably scared when she nearly fell over.¡±


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Magically enhanced phantom pain,¡± Mom confirmed. ¡°You don¡¯t feel it, but you can empathize with the other person. I¡¯d buy into the idea, especially if they had a boost in that Jack-O-Lantern.¡±


    ¡°If Frankie was causing all of those problems,¡± Tony said, ¡°he''s got to be some kind of teleporter with a charm or the ability to turn invisible for small amounts of time.¡±


    ¡°You know, I''ve been thinking about that,¡± Pop said, ¡°and since you¡¯ve brought it up. I¡¯m confused why he drew attention to himself because the performance was and I quote, ¡°insanely terrible¡± and that was only one review from this afternoon.¡±


    ¡°It could have been a distraction,¡± Dad said, ¡°If you want to scare someone you need them to expect the worst part of a moment is over. The waitress wouldn¡¯t have realized the puddle was there, so in her head I bet she was gearing up to get chewed out by some patrons.¡±


    ¡°The accidents and mishaps were intentional to make people drop their guard,¡± Mom said, ¡°I bet when things calm down, there will be other news report¡¯s locations dealing with minor annoyances and small problems.¡±


    ¡°Do any of you recall if there were any noises,¡± Pop jumped back in. ¡°This Frankie, part from his robust demeanor and flamboyant movements were there any unexplained movements, random pops, or bursts of air?¡±


    ¡°There was a cowboy hat bouncing around the room,¡± I said, ¡°but that could have been done by a waiter. I saw it on a peg or a nail, and then it was a on a donkey before it ended up on the Jack-O-Lantern.¡±


    I hooked some loose hair behind my ear. Mom and Dad, and Tony all voiced no suspicions or worries.


    ¡°Sounds like super speed,¡± Tony said, ¡°I bet Frankie was moving the hat around to see if anyone would notice.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s definitely an innate ability, but I¡¯d say no to the speed,¡± Pop said. ¡°Speed spells aren''t as foolproof as some might think. It¡¯s possible to do, but you need a special suit and a lot of training and a ton of self-control. To my knowledge, the best anyone has been able to accomplish to come close to what we know as super speed is around a minute, maybe two, and you have to be in constant motion. It puts a lot of pressure on your body. That¡¯s why witches still ride on brooms, and wizards were known to use teleportation. It''s slower, but a lot safer. Wizards can control where they appear, and witches can manage the speed and pressure because it¡¯s not being applied their bodies, but an object. To date, no one but a phantom, possibly a wraith or a poltergeist, could cause what you''ve described. And in the way you''ve described it.¡±


    ¡°My money would be on the poltergeist,¡± Mom said. ¡°They are a type of creature that prey on people''s fear and insecurity. They know who''s the most vulnerable in a crowd. And they are nasty critters who love to strike when you least expect it.¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± Dad said, ¡°A poltergeist, correct me if I¡¯m wrong. It¡¯s the type of creature that can handle raw emotional energy without adverse effects. Maybe Goblins could do it in small doses maybe.¡±


    ¡°A goblin couldn¡¯t handle it at all,¡± Mom said, and then a realization spread across her face.¡°That would explain their irrational behavior when Melanie approached them. A witch, a wizard? Any level of M.A.G.E magician would have succumbed to it unless they had some kind of defense.¡±


    ¡°If witches and wizards aren¡¯t at risk, why weren''t we affected?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°They may have been, but they were on their guard today,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°Plus, fear, as we¡¯ve already determined is based on perceptions built on past experiences and insecurities,¡± Pop admitted. ¡°Our operation isn''t foolproof, but we¡¯ve all learned not to be afraid of a lot of things. Its hard to buy into a phony when we¡¯ve seen the real deal.¡±


    ¡°And there are the theories about the bundle,¡± Dad said.


    ¡°Also true,¡± Pop said. ¡°Maybe we have some kind of immunity. We don¡¯t often get sick, and we¡¯ve bounced back from some gruesome wounds.¡±


    ¡°Hey Dad,¡± Tony said, ¡°I think something is going on in that store¡¯s parking lot.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± Dad said, ¡°let¡¯s take a look.¡±


    We slowed down and immediately there were signs of small collisions, people throwing belongings at nearby cars, if not on the ground. We went down the center lane between sections of parking stalls, Dad made sure to go extra slowly just in case someone darted out from the space between cars. As we reached the end of the lane and were now sitting in front of the store. There was a line of straw bales that held up a variety of sale signs and groups of pumpkins. Near the edges of the festive display there were carved pumpkins, bats, and witches'' hats, Frankenstein statues, an inflatable ghost with large black eyes and a white sheet. Each one seemed innocent at first glance, but by now I could tell that they all were glowing.


    ¡°Pop, are you seeing this?¡± Dad said.


    ¡°I am,¡± Pop said, ¡°and those are definitely not LEDs.¡±


    ¡°Over there,¡± Mom nodded towards the bank in the corner of the parking lot adjacent to the sidewalk. A car idled in the closest stall while a man in his 50s danced at the ATM. As we got close, he glanced over his shoulder and through gritted teeth. He seemed more anxious whenever the screen timed out or beeped at him. He attempted a transaction, but then screamed when he input pin number or birthday wrong.  The man then gripped the edge of the ATM before He beat his fists against the machine a few times. He growled and then took his card and hurried back to his car nursing his wrist in the process.


    ¡°If you can take one or more of those decorations,¡± Pop said. ¡°We should test-¡±


    I heard Pop click his pen and fumble through a few pages, but the audio suddenly became static.


    That shouldn¡¯t happen.


    ¡°We¡¯ll make the attempt,¡± Dad began. But he trailed off as static split the video feed. Pop looked concerned and began to work on it on his end, but soon, Pop was no longer visible to us. The video buffered, and everything he said became utterly inaudible before the screen went black.


    ¡°Hello, my fine foes.¡± The voice was female, and I tried to mentally place it, but the speaker did that for me. Dad had started to move and nearly mounted the curb.  One car honked, but it moved around us and headed to the road.


    ¡°You are an interesting group and while I would have loved to hang out and get to know you better, I¡¯m sorry to say that I¡¯ll have to get a rain check.¡±


    Then the voice changed, this time it was a suave male. ¡°And don¡¯t worry darling. I¡¯ll be back for the second date.¡±


    The voice changed again. We were all too stunned to speak.


    ¡°If you''re worried, I''ve been eavesdropping. I haven''t. But it hasn''t been for any lack of trying. I''ll let you know.¡±


    It was the voice of Amy One. And she changed to a male before she continued. This voice sounded like a salesman. Older, in their 50s, if I had to guess.


    ¡°I''ve been around long enough to pick up a few skills, and I''ve only been able to hijack the audio of this call. I''m a bit surprised it worked. I came to town under bad assumptions. I occasionally run into local monster hunters, but all of you. There was coordination. There was serious skill.¡±


    The admiration was forced, and it made me cringe. What had she heard. How had she escaped? Amy One chuckled and then continued. ¡°At some point, we should get together. I''d love to see your faces and maybe share some criminal charges with you. The vampire hunter especially. You were lucky and you played me for a fool.¡±


    Amy paused, then changed her voice again. But she began to speak immediately because she wanted her words to sink in. Dad immediately muted our side of the call, and he hit the gas. Working his way through town. I knew Dad wanted to ensure Pop and Grandma were all right.


    ¡°What?¡± Asked the whiny teenage girl''s voice a moment later. ¡°Nobody witty come back. No demand for answers? No show of domination of your superior powers and intellect.¡±


    And a quick look of concern, but we all remain silent. Dad tapped rapidly on the steering wheel with his thumb as we reached some intersections with heavier traffic. I haven''t quite recognized this as a nervous twitch, but it was slowly becoming one.


    ¡°Well, believe me,¡± Amy said, still in the teenage voice. ¡°I want you to know I''m coming for you. Shapeshifters work well at blending in; we know how to lie in wait. We''re almost like lions, in a way. We don''t worry about getting caught because you will never see us coming. And I don''t take lightly by having any enemy get the upper hand against me.¡±


    The video went black but then began to buffer. Amy still kept talking. This time, she assumed her voice when we started this unanticipated chat.


    ¡°I won''t underestimate you next time. And I''m reasonable enough to acknowledge my opponent''s skills. And I''m sure you''re smart enough to figure out why I''m here. You might not want to, but if I were you, and if you have such moral high ground that you¡¯re taking care of or extorting these lowly peasants called humans. I''d pay close attention to the upcoming Halloween carnival. Based on when I heard it''s going to be one for the history books.¡±


    There is a slight cut to her words. She laid the bait hook, line, and sinker. Then she disconnected her interference. Pleased to have had the last word.

 Do we run or fight?

    Amy One¡¯s call had sent us on our own def-con 1.


    Fifteen grueling minutes later and a mountain of traffic violations and serious cosmetic damage to the car. We found ourselves in Grandma Foster¡¯s kitchen. She had a plate of warm cookies, cups of milk waiting for us along with several handguns, knives and I saw Grandma¡¯s flamethrower within arms reach from where she was sitting.


    When we have reasons to capture a target. Pop and Dad had set up multiple avenues to secure them without giving them a chance to identify us. The locations were under alias, and they were leased or paid for with cash. Most were linked with video surveillance, and we watched a figure in black walk up to the door and with one hand the door vanished and without any apprehension. Amy¡¯s unknown savior walked inside and a minute later, the two of them walked out.


    ¡°That¡¯s not Suzy,¡± Mom said, ¡°and I doubt Someone would have come to free her.¡±


    ¡°But who was it?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°And how did he take down a door with just a single touch?¡± Pop asked.


    The holding site was burned, and we questioned who we saw on the video. We were in a mood and the temperament felt like we were now executives in a company ready to slit each other¡¯s throats.


    ¡°I¡¯m looking into the breach,¡± Pop said, ¡°but its going to take some time. We can¡¯t risk any lengthy long-distance communication until we make sure that Amy One isn¡¯t listening in.


    ¡°No one¡¯s been able to do that because no one has known to even think trying,¡± Tony said. ¡°We went out on a limb and took out a high-profile individual who apparently has high powered friends. Do you think she was biding her time?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Dad said, ¡°She didn¡¯t know about us, and we hadn¡¯t planned to snatch her so no one would have known beforehand.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it was Mezzaro,¡± Grandma said, ¡°It¡¯s the one name we can¡¯t account for.¡±


    No one refuted that. It was the one solution that actually made sense.


    ¡°Where do we go from here?¡± Mom asked after a brief pause. I watched people¡¯s attention consider the cookies, and Dad had at least taken a drink from his cup of milk. So far, no one had taken a cookie, but most of us were thinking the same thing.


    ¡°I¡¯ve not picked up on any spies lurking in the shadows or hiding in the weeks.¡± Pop said. ¡°I don¡¯t like the idea that this Mezzaro character might know something about us, but if its any consolation. I¡¯ve had video feeds, The IC3 and every trap active. If someone knew about us, we¡¯d know about it.¡±


    ¡°I don''t doubt you did your job, Pop and it¡¯s good to have the reassurance.¡± Dad put his hands together and rested his chin on them. ¡°But there are beings out there that are smarter than we are and can surprise if when we¡¯re not paying attention. You taught me that years ago. We didn''t cover every angle; it was a rush job, and we should have dealt with her, but we needed information.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t get much out of her,¡± Grandma said, ¡°you can¡¯t use traditional methods on a shapeshifter.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± Dad said, ¡°and in a handful of scenarios, she could have made her escape. I¡¯m not ready to beat us down on the oversight. Amy One has some skills, but she has showed her hand. She let us know that she¡¯s paying attention. That will keep us on our guard, and we can be ready when she strikes.¡±


    Tony massaged his shoulder. ¡°No offense Dad, but when a target comes at us, or the public. We at least know what to look out for. Amy One could do anything and where we don¡¯t have a face, or very many clues that puts us at a serious disadvantage. We¡¯re not too far off from Grandma¡¯s favorite word-¡±


    ¡°Bedlam,¡± Grandma said without thinking.


    Tony trilled his lips, then snatched the cookie from the plate and began to eat it.


    ¡°We¡¯ve dealt with some serious monsters,¡± Pop said, ¡°shapeshifters are intimidating and annoying, but they¡¯re not unbeatable. We don¡¯t have to live looking over our shoulder because we think they¡¯re on our trail.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s precisely what we¡¯re not going to do,¡± Dad said, as I snatched a cookie from the plate myself. ¡°It¡¯s sounds silly, but we¡¯re not prey. Shapeshifters stalk their targets. They want them to be uneasy. She thrives on information. Its why she kept offering a job, protection before resorting to threats. We wanted to know what we knew. She could have been lying, but to me, Amy One seems like the type of person who would rub her enemies¡¯ noses in what she knows.¡±


    ¡°She hacked out video call,¡± Mom said, ¡°That¡¯s not just an inconvenience. It¡¯s a show of force. We don¡¯t know if she got any data from the intrusion.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± Dad agreed, ¡°but I¡¯m reasonably sure she doesn''t know who we are right now. She told us that something was going to go down at the carnival. I bet she did so because she wants us to do her dirty work.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like it would be a good idea to dial back,¡± Mom said, ¡°She¡¯ll be watching for people who stand out, for people trying too hard to not be noticed.¡±


    ¡°But she can¡¯t reveal herself too quickly because there is always a chance, she¡¯ll be wrong,¡± Pop said. ¡°I agree she¡¯ll be watching, but we¡¯re in the clear for now.


    ¡°We¡¯re not in the clear. We¡¯re at a crossroads,¡± Dad said, he leaned forward and picked up a cookie himself. ¡°Amy One wanted us to know she¡¯s watching, and she only has theories about who we are.¡±


    ¡°Cops,¡± Tony said.


    ¡°More or less,¡± Dad added, ¡°and her belief that we fight because of a moral high ground would push us toward the one clue we do have. The carnival.¡±


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Is that still happening?¡± Mom asked.


    Grandma nodded, ¡°The city council has been planning for it since before the Main Street attack. There wasn¡¯t enough time to stop all the vendors and booths coming in from other towns and some businesses really bank on the advertising every year.¡±


    ¡°We''d be foolish to go,¡± Pop insisted. ¡°A dark witch is a huge threat, and it doesn¡¯t bode well, which I know is putting it mildly, but I can¡¯t bring myself to challenge one villain while another is holding a gun squarely at my back. Amy told us that something was going down, but she didn¡¯t give us anything concrete.¡±


    Pop turned toward Dad and had a sharp, commanding expression. ¡°She will be there and it¡¯s a public setting.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve had encounters in public before,¡± Dad said.


    ¡°True, but this is worse,¡± Pop pushed. ¡°We don¡¯t know what we¡¯re looking for. We don¡¯t know what we¡¯re trying to stop, and we also don¡¯t know if M.A.G.E will have a presence there. It¡¯s too risky, and it''s almost certain that we¡¯ll get caught or give Amy enough clues to pin us down.¡±


    Dad fumbled with some cookie crumbs and kicked the table with his toe before getting to his feet.


    ¡°I do agree with Pop,¡± said Grandma. ¡°I¡¯ve quite enjoyed our semi-retirement from encounters, and I like that we¡¯re our own bosses. James, you¡¯re good at what you do. You all are. We can make a plan, but at this point, it will be rushed, and there will be plenty of unknown variables apart from the monsters. There will be people that you know, along with news reporters and cops.¡±


    ¡°Those factors will be a challenge for Suzy and her crew,¡± Dad said, ¡°they¡¯ve made too much noise in the past few weeks that I doubt they¡¯d confront the cops directly.¡±


    ¡°Undercover M.A.G.E agents will be a roadblock for them as well,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°All true,¡± Grandma said, ¡°but for us, this will be a trap and there are only two conceivable ways that this plays out. We may get lucky and take out her competition, but Amy will know that it¡¯s us and she¡¯ll be ready before she makes a move against us.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the second?¡± Tony asked.


    Grandma assumed a somber expression before she spoke. ¡°We either get caught or killed but not before doing something to mess with their competition. So, either way, it''s a win. For her.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve reasoned the same things,¡± Dad said, ¡°and while it would seem prudent to take cover and hope it blows over. I think we were all in agreement that the odds are slim that this will blow over happily. I understand the variables. I understand the risk. I also understand that people will not survive tonight if Suzy Sourblood is allowed to run freely through town.¡±


    Tony swiped at his chin, wiping the crumbs from his mouth, and plucked a second cookie from the plate. Dad took another one himself and got to his feet.


    ¡°Since this whole thing started,¡± Dad said between small bites. ¡°It''s been wild and disjointed. However, if you think like a villain each piece is a master plan. The Main Street attack took out the government¡¯s first line of defense. It was a swift kick that cracked their confidence, and internally, they needed to button down the hatch to salvage the operation. Amy One is a threat, but she¡¯s an outlier because she came to take advantage of the situation. She¡¯s got resources and skills, but she¡¯s not a team player. The encounter with a vampire has turned into a problem for our bad guys because people are on their guard. They shook things up with the ghosts, and the panic attack was a test run. They cleared the field, and they have the energy and presence to take their next step.¡±


    I finished my milk, and I got to my feet. Dad glanced at me; his gaze offered me the floor to speak. He sighed and took a slightly larger bite.


    ¡°We''ll have to take them out 1 by 1,¡± I said, ¡°they¡¯re smart; they¡¯ve coordinated their efforts to do something, and their focus will be on that. Monsters aren¡¯t omniscient, we can distract them and hit them before they¡¯re any the wiser.¡±


    I looked at Dad who nodded and smiled at me.


    ¡°We still have a small element of surprise on our side, so we¡¯ll use that. Before we do anything, we¡¯ll play it smart. If it''s something that we can¡¯t deal with using our using tools, we¡¯ll stand down.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t all carry everything, Dad,¡± I said.


    ¡°We¡¯ll split them up and we¡¯ll stay relatively close so we can back each other up and so no one gets caught off guard.¡±


    ¡°Off guard,¡± Grandma muttered, ¡°Oh that¡¯s not good.¡±


    All eyes fell on Grandma.


    ¡°Sweetie?¡± Pop questioned.


    ¡°He said that same thing before he was caught,¡± Grandma said, her nerves were getting the better of her. Her hands trembled, and Pop hurried to her side.


    ¡°Everything that¡¯s happened has caught everyone, us, M.A.G.E and the general public off guard. The bad guys attacked M.A.G.E and that created panic and hysteria, and all of that was enough to ignite the Phantom Siege, but what did it do? It created more panic and I need to see that video again, the one in the alley.¡±


    I pulled out my phone, opened it up, and handed it over. Grandma played the video, and then she paused it about thirty seconds in, and she zoomed in on the driver''s side where, through the distorted image, I could see fingers wrapped around the steering wheel.


    ¡°There was a fourth person,¡± I gasped. ¡°a driver.¡±


    ¡°Yes, there was,¡± Grandma said, ¡°and the video catches Suzy, Frankie, and Someone talking. So, who is number four?¡±


    ¡°There aren¡¯t many people willing to work with a dark witch,¡± Pop said then he visibly went white and clapped a hand to his forehead. ¡°A necromancer. A dark witch could do it, but why run the risk when you could get someone practiced controlling the ghosts.¡±


    ¡°Did they do all of this to bring someone back from the dead?¡± Dad asked. ¡°Aren¡¯t there locks that prevent the worst of the worst from coming back?¡¯


    Pop folded his arms, ¡°There are also locks that prevent most unsavory creatures from returning. Although, on rare occasions, they come back, those times are known as demonic possessions.¡±


    Dad looked at Mom, who gave a thumbs up at the same time she looked ready to throw up. ¡°A large-scale siege could break those locks to let someone truly terrible back into the living world. A necromancer would be the most likely candidate. It¡¯s the bridge line between phantomists and necromancers or a medium. If you invite them, and they come, you can talk freely without any repercussions.  You can compel a ghost to come to you but you¡¯ll get tainted or stained by the malicion.¡±


    Grandma gripped the table. ¡°A necromancer would get around that.¡±


    She looked at Pop. ¡°He did have an apprentice that was never caught. I think they went by the moniker RIP.¡±


    ¡°A necromancer named Rip,¡± said Tony.


    Grandma chewed on her lips. ¡°Not Rip, like Rip Van Winkle, or rip a piece of paper.¡±


    ¡°People put it on gravestones for Rest in Peace, but for R.I.P., it would stand for Rip in pieces. Pyron Fowler, rumored had it that he had a number one. Someone who he trusted without any doubt. He or she was never identified, so they were never caught.¡±


    ¡°R.I.P. has got to be old by now, right?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°No,¡± Mom said, ¡°when you can manipulate death. You tap hard and unnatural powers.¡±


    ¡°Which is what necromancers do,¡± Pop said, ¡°They¡¯re pretty secretive and they make Amy One look like a grumpy school girl.¡±


    Mom¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°It¡¯s true, isn¡¯t it? They can do self-animation.¡±


    Dad moved to mom¡¯s side. ¡°What¡¯s self-animation?¡±


    Pop stiffened while Grandma looked a little jittery. ¡°It¡¯s a trick they use to come back to seek revenge if someone manages to get the upper hand and kill them.¡±


    ¡°That could be the missing piece.¡± I interjected, ¡°Mom, Dad could that be why those creatures were looking through computers then? All those files in the different offices? Could RIP have forced them to maybe look for something?¡±


    ¡°I don''t think they would have put Pyron''s body in a cemetery,¡± Pop said. ¡°They might have been looking for where they buried him so he could come back and finish what he started.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s got to be it,¡± Mom said, ¡°They want to have a scream fest and bring Pyron Fowler back.¡±


    Dad looked at Mom, who smiled but was tense, and tears had smudged her makeup.


    ¡°Pop, we¡¯ll need your best stuff,¡± Dad said, ¡°and we¡¯ll need costumes too.¡±


    Grandma snapped her fingers. ¡°I can help with that.¡±

 Wait for the dawn.

    From the Journal of Dylan Foster, March 1981.


    The news reports are overflowing with the overwhelming alarm and terrifying uncertainty on the shooting of President Reagan. I still hear the crack of the shot over the crowd''s endless turmoil and outcries. They are rightfully scared, as am I. I have no significant political qualms with the administration. The last few months have been relatively uneventful. I should have realized that as a bad omen, though, especially when there were unexplained corpses in Central Park and there were ghosts. I saw more ghosts in two days than most of my family have seen in a lifetime. I have not had a good night''s sleep in almost a week now. I am at a loss regarding how to proceed. No one before me has encountered this sort of chaos. There are so many ghosts in cemeteries, and some have been seen on famous Civil War battlefields and along areas of the coastline in Maine. I write this next part as a suspicion because I don¡¯t have the evidence. Yet, necromancy at this level means only one thing. He''s back and on the move. Pyron Fowler is back.


    Necromancers were my childhood boogeyman. There is an actual boogeyman, but he doesn¡¯t hold a candle to a wild necromancer.  Dylan, it turned out, was a relative who thwarted the last of black-robed Klansmen when they unleashed zombies and the undead on unsuspecting crowds and towns.


    He concluded in an entry just before his death that later necromancers would hide in plain sight, and while Pyron was the worst, he figured that others would hide their identities like true to form super villains. Mom and Dad had emphasized similar warnings and cautions. A necromancer, a witch, a wizard, a ghoul, a warlock, a gremlin, and several other terrifying monsters. They were out there and could be the unsuspecting barista or a random dog walker as easily as they could be a bus driver, a serial killer on the news, or the neighborhood bully. We had worked so hard to remain unseen, and several ancestors apart from Dylan, Alice, or even the colonel who by fair had been the most knowledgeable had talked about seeing necromancy in action, but those entries were customarily followed by a clipped copy of their obituary or a headline that talked about an unsuspecting death.


    I refused to accept that this was going to be the end, and Pop gave a run down about how to deal with the undead after he introduced some upgrades, we contemplated the best kinds of enforcements we could conceal in Halloween costumes, Mom and Grandma set to work pulling out a variety of trunks, opening closets and dresser drawers along with disappearing into the attic and coming out with a dozen well-maintained garment bags.


    ¡°We can¡¯t have armor or something cumbersome,¡± Dad said as he tried out a coat and Mom put a fedora on his head. ¡°In place of armor, wear a wig. If you want to be comfortable, it''s ok to wear something with layers that we could easily dispose of.¡±


    I searched through some options and selected a flowery skirt with a long-sleeved purple shirt with poofy sleeves. I wasn¡¯t going to wear a catsuit, and any kind of superhero was out of the question. I tried a few wigs and messed with a few corsets but substituted them for a slightly stiff vest with some scarves and a shawl, and they were all soft to the touch and I figured some flowing bulk would help me hide any hands.


    Once I was dressed, it looked good, but I was worried. Chad, the vampire¡¯s scream slashed at my thoughts. A few Fosters had dealt with vampires before, and only one, to my knowledge, had ever described what it felt like to be bitten, but it was based on a victim who they had been trying to save.


    I don¡¯t have time to be afraid.


    I returned to the kitchen, and Mom did my hair while Grandma showed me some jewelry; where I selected some hoop earrings and some ringlets that fit comfortably on my wrists, and they were stylish to accent the costume.


    ¡°We¡¯re meeting in the garage,¡± Mom said, ¡°Dad and I will be down in a minute.¡±


    I gave Mom a thumbs up and headed to the laundry room and I took the two steps into the garage. Pop had pulled out some new enforcement and had them arranged on his workbench. I knew how to use each one, so I selected the best ones to function with my wardrobe, and then I took a look at his arranged tools, pictures, and several old maps. All of this was super cool, and it was just the tip of his collection.


    What do we have here?


    I slid Pop¡¯s creaking three-legged stool, flaked with chipped paint, dents, and oil stains, and it wobbled if you didn¡¯t sit on it just right. I slid it to the side, prepared for an accustomed squeak. I reached up to a small manual propped against a lamp, Pop¡¯s handwritten Maneuvers Manual, and his Tic Tac Tool guide. I opened a book-marked section where Pop had drawn what looked like a Catchers Mitt, and beneath it was Pops instruction material with a variety of names. The Eviction Notice had been scribbled at the top of the page, but then it had been loosely scribbled out, but I could read it without to much trouble. The next attempt which had been vetoed, but I was intrigued at the possibilities when I deciphered the phrase, Deadman switch. The one that followed was Phantom Ticket and the Pop appeared to have settled on, You¡¯re out Sparky! With the word Ghosty written in pink ink and enshrined in a heart. I figured it had been Grandma have fun with Pop as he had worked out the wording.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    You''re out, Sparky.


    Do you have terrible curses lingering over your head like gloomy ring clouds? Do you find yourself linked to some bizarre creature? Or maybe a horrible case of the Lucks?


    You¡¯re out, Sparky! (Ghosty), Grandma had written again. She sure was a lucky catch for him. There was a method to their madness. And they suited each other really well.


    This is an infiltration device. The user won''t have the capability to check for squeaky grade traps, enchantments, or enforcements that have been employed to delay entry, cause distraction, or disrupt the superb flow of your highly trained special operations team because previous traps have made you all run around like children on a playground with no supervision.


    Sparky is a proximity device. It can detect active magic within a few inches to a few feet. If multiple spells are active, Sparky centers on the most robust readings, illusions, and distortions. It is highly advisable that you stick to the perimeter of your area. This is not an assessment tool. Sparky can disrupt spells, but the loose magic must be redirected, so keep your eye on the ball.


    Warning! Sparky is a spectrally fortified device not recommended for large military compounds. Large haunted houses have three stories or more. And do not go near Pee Wee or Little League baseball diamonds.


    I set the pages down as everyone else filed into the garage. Tony was the first to stroll in. He wore a tuxedo and had his hair slicked back to either say billionaire superhero or superspy. He messed with the cufflinks and then looked a look as he fiddled with his bowtie. Dad and Mom came in next. Dad wore a Royal blue suit from the 1930s complimented by a brown fedora and a matching trench coat. Mom came up beside him. She wore a similar colored blouse and skirt. The four-button jacket had fur along the collar. In her hands was a pair of fashionable white gloves, undoubtedly embroidered and stitched decades ago. Mom set a matching clutch purse on the workbench, and then she gently padded at her hair done up in a bun. She blushed as Dad shot her a smile, and I saw that he had a thin mustache that stretched the length of his mouth. It was odd to see my father with facial hair. I almost didn¡¯t recognize him.


    ¡°Jenna, I found it.¡± Grandma called and she appeared a moment later carrying a veiled hat that would cover the top portion of her face. Together my parents were the damsel in the distress to his hard boiled private detective.


    I wonder if that veil will help her avoid being discovered if Suzy is there.


    When we were kids, Tony and I both could pin down moments when Mom had often threated to summon a relative and make us sit through life story segments if we didn¡¯t accomplish tasks, chores, homework or simulations to being in fighting shape. These last few days had really shattered the casual mood she had expressed or presented. We had come face to face with multiple witches. We had dealt with ghosts, and I wondered what the three robed ones mean, but I doubted Mom wanted to revisit that topic. We never knew her parents and she hardly talked about them. Tony and I knew was strictly off-limits unless she broached it first. Grandma secured the hat, and Mom adjusted the veil to suit her wants. Once done, I heard someone cough and Pop strolled out wearing a dress shirt with no tie, but he did have goggles, a belt full of instruments, and elbow-length black rubber gloves.


    ¡°Pop, you¡¯re coming too?¡± I asked.


    Pop looked at me and nodded. ¡°Your Dad and I concluded that it would be best to have all hands on deck.¡± He turned to Grandma. She had a great poker face usually, but she was not pleased with this turn of events.


    ¡°Van ready?¡± Pop asked.


    Grandma nodded, ¡°And I put a few extra things in there, just in case.¡±


    Pop adjusted his lab coat and then took Grandma into an embrace. Necromancers were no laughing matter, and standing there, I couldn''t help but imagine what life would have been like back in their day. I entertained a few possible scenarios but then dismissed them because the look on my grandparents¡¯ faces told me I needed to take this seriously and this was a blast from the unwanted past.


    Dad took his hat off and held it in front of him. ¡°When we get there, we''ll need to spread out but stay in each other''s line of sight. The town has been through a lot and people need this to go well. As was mentioned earlier. You will probably be recognized so do your best to be causal and unassuming. If you see something suspicious, document it, but wait until you¡¯ve coordinated with someone before you strike.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll still have the short-range comm system active,¡± Pop added, ¡°I¡¯m reasonable sure Amy won¡¯t be able to hack this one, but just to be safe be as brief as possible. Lets talk in nicknames and no sensitive information if you can avoid it.¡±


    ¡°There will also be police presence,¡± Grandma said, ¡°So people will be watching.¡±


    Dad adjusted his coat collar, and for a brief second, I glimpsed the bulge of a shoulder holster. Hopefully, any wandering eyes or police would think it¡¯s a prop.


    Dad cleared his throat. ¡°We¡¯ll only use it if things go south. Let''s coordinate a plan to meet every so often, and we¡¯ll create a signal to use if we see any suspicious activity.¡±


    Tony put his hands in his pockets. ¡°So, above all, we don¡¯t want to draw attention to ourselves, and we need to question and consider the situation before we rush into potentially dangerous situations.¡±


    ¡°That way,¡± Mom added with a grim glaze across her face, and she took a moment to pause to get her point across. ¡°We¡¯ll live to see tomorrow. Try not to linger in one place for too long. Avoid contact with as many people as possible. Because they could be enemies.¡±


    Then, on that note, we climbed into the van and headed into town.

 The Halloween Carnival

    Field notes for survival: Fosters have determined that holidays are an excellent opportunity to blend in. Monsters use the blank chaos of any holiday to be up to all kinds of no good. Thanks to technology, Monster Assassins trump the average monster hunter because they don¡¯t have to patrol an area and hope to stumble across the monster. It''s much better to do as monsters do as slip into a public gathering. It¡¯s an excellent chance to catch a glimpse of who might be in town and who or what might be passing through for a quick visit or have plans for an extended stay.


    By the time we got into town, for an outside observer, the number of police and even a few people wearing FBI jackets, one would have thought that the president was in attendance. I spotted people in matching shirts moving around the different booths, and the mood seemed stiff, but there was already a decent crowd, and evidence showed that it was on the verge of growing.


    Nothing to it. I thought A large crowd and an outside venue were not a deal breaker. The city group that spearheaded the carnival had printed an itinerary, and they had a map that indicated where certain vendors were located and where the big activities were to be set up. It wasn¡¯t detailed, but we reviewed the information, and experience told us that one can find the hole to exploit in carefully laid out plans. There weren¡¯t any ushers, and the organizers were knee-deep in making sure everything was running smoothly. They were not looking for a family of assassins.


    And hopefully, even after tonight. I hoped that would still be the case.


    ¡°This is probably the safest place in the state,¡± Tony said.


    Pop grunted, and to my surprise, he slightly snorted. ¡°Don¡¯t be fooled kiddo. Bullets kill monsters but these guys will take this as a challenge.¡±


    ¡°At least no one else will cause some problems,¡± Tony said.


    ¡°One can hope,¡± Mom replied.


    I found the conversation going nowhere, and there was a bite in the air that I wasn¡¯t eager to add to. I did a quick check of my sleeves, tools, and neckline and then turned my attention to the crowd. This wasn¡¯t a simple social gathering. This was a beehive, and we were on the brink to poke it.


    ¡°Are those news vans?¡± Mom asked.


    She pointed and I followed her arm, and I glimpsed some vans sitting in the parking lot of a print and copy store.


    ¡°It seems to me that they¡¯re expecting something to go wrong,¡± Pop said.


    ¡°Most likely,¡± Dad said in agreement.


    ¡°I bet they¡¯ll be little puppy dogs on the carnival¡¯s organizers,¡± I said, ¡°they¡¯ll want to catch real-time reactions and get immediate responses for the late-night headlines.¡±


    ¡°That is an extra problem,¡± Dad said, ¡°but it will help us out.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Mom asked.


    Dad adjusted his tie. ¡°If the reporters are annoying the organizers and the vendors. They won¡¯t be watching for independent people like us.¡±


    ¡°It will give us a few seconds of cover,¡± Pop said, ¡°For all the good it will do.¡±


    Dad slowed with the traffic, and we watched cars slip into different parking spots; there were multiple groups, large and small, happily congregating on the corners and strolling across the road with their kids in tow.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised there are so many people here,¡± Dad said, ¡°given everything that¡¯s happened, I figured a portion would stay home.¡±


    ¡°The panic and fear fest had nothing to center on,¡± Pop said. ¡°I¡¯d wager most people when they snapped out of it, were left wondering what the heck was going on.¡±


    ¡°This is a nice way to bounce back,¡± Mom said.


    Traffic began to move, and I was pleased that the kids seemed excited to spread out to collect candy and have fun at the different games. Two minutes later, we pulled into a parking spot near a carousel. Now stationary Dad turned in his seat.


    ¡°If anyone wants to stay behind,¡± he began.


    ¡°Babe,¡± Mom said. She sounded confident, but I detected a hint of reservation. ¡°We¡¯re way past the moment to bow out.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Dad said, ¡°but I was going to hate myself if I didn¡¯t say it before we go out there.¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t wrong when we were talking about this,¡± Tony said, ¡°We¡¯ve got to at least try and make sure this thing doesn¡¯t go south.¡±


    ¡°And Dad,¡± I said, ¡°This is what we do. If you¡¯re worried about us. We know how to handle ourselves. You both taught us well.¡±


    Dad assumed a solemn attitude and he seemed five years old for a few seconds. Then he handed the keys to Pop.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s head out.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay back for a moment,¡± Pop said, ¡°It will give us a chance to make a getaway.¡±


    ¡°Good idea,¡± Dad said.


    The door clicked open, and we all fanned out in multiple directions. Mom and Dad moved as a pair and headed to the right along the sidewalk and a line of trees. Tony headed toward some larger activities along the outer edge, and it connected to some vendors which would give me a chance to browse. I felt my shawl close around my shoulders and held a tambourine and I headed down the middle of the carnival, where two lines of booths were set up with a variety of games like throwing hoops at bowling pins, bean bags into the mouths of ghosts or monsters that had been expertly painted on large sheets of wood. I considered watching, and I did, but I kept my presence brief and hopefully unassuming. Some of the attendees waved at the police officers, and they waved back. Some of the officers were even playing with the children. The majority of them had their hands on their belts and they paced around an internal perimeter, ready to jump at the first sign of trouble.


    There are a fair number of officers, but there aren¡¯t enough for this kind of crowd. I looked past the officers and without a break, more people were moving into the park.


    Based on the types of cars close by, that only accounts for probably about half the people here. That didn''t account for the walkers, people who lived or who had parked at a local business and come the rest of the way. There would be workers, too, and Someone, the shapeshifter could be any of them. I moved up beside a tree and a plaque that explained the park¡¯s history along with some brief highlights of the town''s benchmarks of growth. A faint chill caught my shawl, and it slipped from my grasp. I pulled it back over my shoulders as kids in various costumes shuffled past, accompanied by a few adults and their teenage siblings. Who, at a quick glance, told me most didn¡¯t seem super happy to be there.


    A Halloween carnival is the perfect cover. Suzy could easily just dress like a witch, and she could run around here without anyone giving her a second thought.


    I gripped the tambourine and tried to prevent it from jiggling and took another look at the perpetually growing crowd.


    This is just like Curse of the Stickers. I considered it, and it didn¡¯t make it any easier, but it put me in the right frame of mind. Most adults were wearing costumes or masks, but it was reasonable to dismiss the dads wearing superhero shirts and the moms holding small babies in cloth wraps or if they were loaded down with strollers.


    That left the people who loved Halloween. Those who spend several months to make sure they have the perfect costume. They would have a reasonable amount of face paint that would mask their features. They would layer clothing for the cold, but there was a chance that they had done so to conceal a tool or weapon. I glimpsed girls wearing ridiculously impractical high heels, but at the same time, they were another factor that brought people¡¯s height into question. I couldn¡¯t trust eye or hair color due to contacts and wigs either. Suzy and her legion of bad guys would strike at some point; the question was how and where.


    ¡°Hey, can I get a picture?¡±


    ¡°Wow, great costume.¡±


    ¡°Dang girl, give me a twirl!¡±


    ¡°Good job on the costume, that looks really nice.¡±


    I reached a few vendors and ran into people; parents, friends, people from past classes when I had attended a bit more regularly on campus. When I knew them, I said hi, and if it seemed innocent enough, like a parent and a child, I relented and took a picture with the kid.


    ¡°By princess!¡± a little girl yelled after her mom thanked me for taking a picture. She waved, and I waved back, feeling pleased and excited while I hoped that I could hide my anxiety behind my smile.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Hopefully Someone or Amy One doesn¡¯t have any kids.


    I doubted it, but I wasn¡¯t sure. I proceeded on my way and college students had created a dance circle thanks to half a dozen people who had brought their instruments. I came close and some people waved me over, so I shook the tambourine and cheered.


    ¡°Join in!¡± a person with hippie hair and glasses said.


    ¡°Next time,¡± I said shielding my face as some people came over and were holding their phones in a live stream, or they were taking pictures that would probably end up on social media.


    I can''t be uptight with people who want to take pictures. I tensed and stumbled when something caught my foot.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± a pregnant mom said as she adjusted a stroller. A blond Barbie hurried over and helped her out. I braced myself against the table and half expected either of them to pull a gun and make quick demands to take me hostage. When neither of them said anything further and seemed intrigued to go to the dance circle. I rolled my foot and then rolled my shoulders and headed in the other direction.


    ¡°Anything?¡± I muttered using my shawl to block my mouth. I hung out for a second but didn¡¯t get a reply. When I proceeded, I only managed a step when I met the gaze of a Jack-O-Lantern, and it made my heart flip.


    ¡°Roar!¡± a kid yelled. ¡°He¡¯s the Halloween terror. He¡¯ll munch and crunch everything for his treats.¡±


    ¡°Roman, calm down.¡± A Dad with a thick beard said. He looked up from his chair. ¡°Can I help you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± I said all at once. At the same time, people cheered; someone had won and won big.


    I put a hand on my chest and the man graciously handed me a soda.


    ¡°It makes me jump every time.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said. Accepting the drink.


    ¡°Any word,¡± I said, opening the soda and taking a drink.


    About 30 minutes later, I caught sight of Tony, who was standing near some trees. He adjusted his sleeves in a bond-like fashion. A few people took pictures with or of him, and it took less than a minute before he was alone. And once again, on the prowl. I figured Pop was near the car or hanging out on a bench while laughing at the kids in the crowd. Mom and Dad were known by most of the adults, I reasoned. So, I figured they were probably chatting with former coworkers. Book club members or the most sociable neighbors.


    They¡¯ll have a harder time avoiding people. It had come up, and they would have done their best to avoid face-to-face encounters, but they couldn¡¯t avoid all of them. That meant Tony and I needed to step up. I lapped some small groups and passed beside some trees. There were a few vendors and some small businesses spinning wheels where the attendees could earn coupons. Treats or small cash prizes.


    ¡°Clear,¡± Tony whispered, but I caught some voices coming up to him that sounded like college girls in awe of his costume.


    ¡°Sorry for the delay Emma,¡± Pop said, ¡°I was filling in Grandma. I¡¯ve not seen anything out here. It''s busy but quiet.¡±


    I¡¯d say busy is an understatement.


    By now, the streetlights began to come on, and the decor on the booths or strings of lights hidden beside the walking path began to light up. Soon, the entire carnival seemed encased in shadows, and all the attendees started to huddle inside their pockets as they were determined to party and have an enjoyable time. I jumped into a few lines and played a few games. Once we reached fifteen minutes beyond the hour mark, my feet started hurting, and I leaned against a tree. It wasn¡¯t hard to tell that most of the benches were occupied. The chill was getting a bit brisker, and as groups left, a persistent flow of branding people filed into the park.


    Had Amy One been wrong about the Carnival?


    Could we have misread the events?


    I registered van sounds in my ear, and then Pop spoke, and his voice was laced with suspicion and concern. ¡°Why do I get the sinking feeling that this was a setup?¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯re right,¡± Dad said in a hushed whisper. ¡°There¡¯s not been so much as a whisper, and I think even the police are getting bored.¡±


    ¡°I think we need to regroup,¡± Pop continued. ¡°We should drive around and-¡±


    My attention wavered, and I completely missed what he said next. As I realized someone was tugging softly on my skirt.


    Keep myself composed as a little girl stared up at me. My whole demeanor melted as her green eyes looked up at me. She wore a traditional Japanese kimono. And she had a katana in her hand. She looked to be about six or seven years old.


    ¡°Are you a princess?¡± She asked. Her voice sounded innocent and friendly.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± It was a simple question, but it hadn''t been what I would have anticipated, and I was surprised at how much it caught me off guard even though it was the tenth time I had been asked.


    ¡°Are you a Princess?¡± The girl repeated. ¡°You look like Sleeping Beauty when she was in the big forest with the three fairies.¡±


    ¡°Ohh!¡± I felt my face brightened. The little girl seemed so excited and innocent. I looked down at my outfit. I didn¡¯t have her hair, but I could vaguely see enough similarities now that she said it.


    ¡°My name is Briar Rose. What''s?¡±


    I trailed off and turned my head away as Tony cried out in alarm over the comm. I missed what he said, but some kind of commotion was beginning to stir within the crowd.


    ¡°Showtime people,¡± Pop said.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got action near the dart game and a ring toss,¡± Mom said with some fake coughs.


    Tony was the next to speak. ¡°There¡¯s a guy in a red jacket and a girl with blue hair chasing some other guys who noodles for arms and legs.¡±


    Noodle arms? ¡°That¡¯s got to be Frankie from the restaurant. They¡¯re here.¡±


    No one replied, but panic was beginning to mount, and I watched chunks of the crowd head to their cars. Half a dozen officers were hurrying toward the booths to pin down the source of the disturbance.


    ¡°Remember guys,¡± Pop said, ¡°Just keep watch. We¡¯ve got to let the police be the front line of defense.¡±


    The crowd thinned, but a sizable chunk was still present, and some finished their transactions or continued with their games. I looked around, feeling on edge as the officers called for people to remain calm.


    ¡°Oh, honey, you shouldn¡¯t run off like that.¡± a lady called as she hurried over to us. I felt a jolt run up my back when I realized the little girl was still there.


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± the mom said breathlessly, ¡°I hope Gwen didn¡¯t cause you any trouble.¡±


    I simply shrugged, putting on my best impression of Dad¡¯s social smile. ¡°No problem. She¡¯s quite cute. She asked if I was a princess.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my Gwen,¡± the mom embraced her daughter, and I glimpsed two additional officers hurrying across the grass, and a patrol car turned its lights on.


    ¡°Now this is getting interesting.¡± A voice cackled with unnerving glee.


    ¡°I better go find my family, if you¡¯d excuse me.¡±


    I didn¡¯t wait for a reply and I hurried through an oncoming through that had taken the hint now that the police were getting involved and seemed concerned. I kept an eye out for camera and I breathed a sigh of relief when it seemed most of the crowd were eager to leave. I slipped between two booths just as an individual with a tail coat and a bowler hat began to heave and groan against the shirt of a court jester, which seemed to have seized and squeezed his torso, and was getting tighter and tighter the more he tried to free himself.


    ¡°That looks like Frankie,¡± I said, ¡°Who tied him up with clothes. Do we have something that can do that?¡±


    ¡°No, we don¡¯t, I think,¡± Dad began, but the explanation stopped abruptly as people began to scream and even some of the police turned tail and booked it toward the trees.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on!¡± I said as I spotted a uniformed officer talking on his radio and then I smelt smoke.


    ¡°Frankie just torched a booth, and no one thinks it¡¯s a show,¡± Tony said, ¡°We¡¯ll have S.W.A.T or a heavier response in a matter of minutes.¡±


    I shuffled through a crowd, and at the exact moment, Tony stopped talking. The ambient chill hanging in the open areas intensified, and people started running towards the street. I remained stationary as they heard tire squeal and mounting amounts of panic and terrifying exclamations and cries.


    ¡°Dispatch,¡± an officer yelled from a few feet away. He conveyed the official crowd, but his voice drowned out as more people began to flee. I bolted through the crowd and stopped when I spotted a blue-haired girl and a guy in a red jacket. They stood side by side, and Frankie stood on a stage, and he danced merrily up and down like he was a village idiot dancing at the Pub. He gestured toward them in an agitated fit and pointed an accusatory finger.


    ¡°Not cool,¡± he blurted out, ¡°but thanks for the trick!¡±


    The blue-haired girl gripped something in her hand, but together, the two pulled back as Frankie rose into the air, and then he gestured toward a Jack-O-Lantern sitting beside a booth selling hot chocolate, brownies, and candied apples. The pumpkin rocked back and forth like an egg about to hatch. The first movement was simple, but the shaking increased as the pumpkin began to grow in size. First, it grew a few inches. Then, it began to inflate like a balloon when it became more than the simple white table could handle. It started to shake and snap, and the pumpkin rolled across the ground and grew.


    ¡°Ohh no,¡± Pop exclaimed. I could hear screams around him and the crunch beneath his footfalls. ¡°Get out now. That poltergeist is known as a copycat, and he just copied an animation spell. People. That''s wizard-level magic.¡±


    ¡°A wizard!¡± Mom exclaimed. ¡°Yes everyone, get out now!¡±


    Foster¡¯s never repeated themselves, and for good reason. If you find yourselves involved in a fight, one of them is a wizard, you don''t stick around. It''s literally the equivalent of a finger on the big red button. A wizard would be better equipped to deal with a dark witch and a poltergeist.


    Even the most powerful beings have to live and learn.


    ¡°Say hello to the Muncher,¡± Frankie bellowed with a whoop and a cheer.


    The sight of an enlarging pumpkin caused the rest of the park, the police included, to flee. I had come out right at the edge, so I had no choice but to follow. I ran a few feet and then decided to duck and cover, so I pushed through some low-hanging branches and collapsed beside the trunk of a large pine tree. Amazed by just how fast my heart was racing.


    Was the fear getting to me?


    I pulled back the branches but released my grip and felt my nerves press down on my control. I wasn¡¯t a twenty-year-old adult. I felt like a kid waiting to get eaten by a dinosaur. I cringed and pleaded as multiple vines spread out like tentacles from the pumpkin. The duo took off down the path, and with malicious glee, the muncher Frankie, who sounded amused and he cheered when he gave the order to follow.


    ¡°Is this some kind of life-and-death test for the wizard?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°Doesn''t matter,¡± Dad said firmly. ¡°We''re done, Emma. Head to the van. If a dark witch wants to take on a wizard. That is a whole other ball game.¡±


    I was about to reply when a hand came down on my shoulder. I went and shuffled across the mulch in alarm. It was when the little girl from before.


    ¡°Oh, hey Gwen,¡± I said quickly. ¡°Where''s your mom?¡±


    ¡°Do you know what fear does to paranormal and supernatural creatures?¡± Gwen asked.


    ¡°Pardon?¡± The questions struck my soul, and I tightened my grip on my tambourine.


    ¡°Your name isn''t Gwen, is it?¡±


    I steadied myself in case she tried to touch my arm or tackle me instead with her sword. Gwen pulled back the branches. Just enough time for me to see the Joneses, Lauren, and her parents. Lauren wore a red cape and weathered black dress. She spoke with her parents in hushed voices, and her dad appeared beyond crestfallen. They headed rapidly across the sidewalk. Lauren ran across the street and proceeded up the. Up the road towards the student housing. ten seconds, a car came by five seconds. She was a red dot identifiable only by the porch lights that created a single line until the next intersection. I heard a few cars honking, and people were starting to run. Fate kept my friend in my line of sight, and the moment she reached the next corner, a hunched figure jumped from the bushes, and I heard the distinct, guttural howl.


    How did I not realize this sooner? The smell, the poor hygiene, the slurred speech and the over anxious desire for meat. I felt my vigor return, and without any hesitation, I booked it from the trees and joined a few jaywalkers who were advancing across the street.


    ¡°Mayday,¡± I cried over the persistent rattle of my instrument.


    ¡°What''s going on?¡± Tony asked in alarm.


    ¡°Tell Dad, my friend Lauren from high school. She''s become the target of a werewolf, and ironically, she dressed as Little Red Riding Hood.¡±


    ¡°Emma?¡± Dad said.


    ¡°I¡¯m heading up Lawson Avenue,¡± I said, ¡°I¡¯m in pursuit because there is no way she will get home otherwise.¡±

 Screams in the night

    Lauren and her parents left the restaurant in a hurry, but she didn¡¯t quite understand why. A thick cold had washed over her. She hadn¡¯t been able to think straight. The chair wasn¡¯t comfortable. The noise had been unbearable. And her nose prickled with a pungent smell that made her skin crawl.


    Once outside, she had secured her seatbelt and watched people flock around her parent¡¯s car. Dad muttered to himself as he moved onto the road. A few cars had knocked into each other. One had even mounted the curb. The people were running in droves, but then it just stopped and as easily as blinking the pain away when something gets stuck in your eye. Lauren and her parents sat there stunned, confused.


    ¡°Why are we leaving in such a hurry dear?¡± Lauren heard her Dad say.


    Her mom shook her head and lifted her hands, ¡°I¡¯m not sure dear. Did you say there was something on the schedule?¡±               ¡°Must have been the carnival,¡± Dad replied.


    Yes, that had to be it. Lauren thought.


    Lauren came to the carnival and helped out with the games and her parent''s book. She had enjoyed a few treats but couldn¡¯t quite get the strange lunch out of her mind. What the heck had happened? As a teen, Lauren had never quite understood pranks and practical jokes. After the last few days, she didn¡¯t have any answers, and it gave her a knot in her stomach when she watched people who could make light of a serious situation.


    The oncoming Carnival crowd filled the park, and officials came by to make sure the participants had everything they needed. Lauren¡¯s Dad handled the conversation while Lauren focused on the crowd who swarmed to each booth or attraction with bubbly excitement, and squeals of delight.


    ¡°Want to spin?¡± Lauren asked a group as they approached the table. ¡°What we¡¯ve got could be awesome for you, Mom and Dad.¡±


    The parents blushed and politely declined. Lauren put a smile and averted her gaze as a few gory-looking costumes shuffled past. The group was populated with older kids carrying grocery bags and soda bottles. One of them, in particular, had an old Viking double-bladed axe.


    Pull it together. Lauren focused on the crowd, but her mind danced around the last few days and how many things didn¡¯t make sense. Why wouldn''t a murderer come to this town? Who would actually kill someone with an axe? There had been government agents swarming the town for several weeks now, and the police were almost a permanent fixture on campus. Had someone really attacked the businesses, or had it something dreadful but reasonable, like a gas leak and someone had been smoking in a bad spot?


    ¡°You¡¯re really giving away a luxury vacation?¡± a man asked. His fingers hovered over a pen, but he didn¡¯t look entirely convinced.


    ¡°Give it a try?¡± Lauren heard her dad say. ¡°It''s one hundred percent open for the taking.¡±


    The man picked up the pen, signed a form, and reached to move the spinner while his kids started playing some ring toss games. Lauren waved at some people as they wandered by, but then she wrinkled her nose as the smell from before filled the area.


    ¡°What is that?¡± her mom asked. She waved her hand in front of her face, but it seemed like a useless gesture.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Dad replied.


    Lauren was about to reply, but she heard a rustle behind the booth. Lauren turned and pulled the sheet back as someone disappeared behind some of the neighboring booths


    Someone was back here?


    Lauren fingered the sheet but then swiveled in place as the participants pulled away and took off at a run. The Jones heard people crying out; there was laughter and concern, but then the police officers swarmed the park.


    ¡°Something is happening,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had three workers text me saying the police are responding to some kind of disturbance,¡± Dad said.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go home.¡± Mom said, ¡°I don¡¯t like this. Want to spend the night at home?¡±


    Lauren shook her head, ¡°My apartment is just up the street. I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    They watched some cars pull out onto the road.


    ¡°Plus,¡± Lauren added, ¡°I think it''s going to take forever to get across town.¡±


    ¡°Let''s secure the cash box, and I would like to walk you to the crosswalk.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Dad,¡± Lauren said.


    They chatted about basic security, and Lauren felt tired as she headed across the crosswalk.


    It was time to go home.


    She crossed the street and reached the next corner while people in costume were playing around in nearby restaurants, and she noticed purple, blue, and green lights spilling over the campus stadium¡¯s bleachers and bandstands. There would probably be a dance there sometime in the next few hours. Maybe she would swing by.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Beep.


    The signal shifted and then proceeded across the next crosswalk. Her eyes itched with tiredness, and she thought about her schedule for the next day. A light chill kept her upright and her mouth began to water as she took in some of the ads posted in a strip of the restaurant windows that had been built into one of the larger apartment complexes. The food was inviting, even though it had been only a few hours since the visit to the Cows Tail. It seemed a lot longer to her stomach, and it was compounded by the rich chocolate goodness presented in a cake and milkshake shop.


    Lauren slowed her pace to take in the extraordinary culinary splendor. She had money, but she also had leftovers. If she hurried, she could shower and have a feast. Her roommates would most likely be in and out and bring out any number of goodies she could help herself to.


    When the curb met a stretch of grass, Lauren moved to the gutter and her stomach hardened when she spotted an overflowing dumpster. As a few cars drove past she spotted small creatures messing with wrappers and small containers. None of them honked, but the simple noises were enough to make each little critter scurry away. Lauren tried hard not to swallow or mull over the smells. The putrid barrage was merciless. Her feet skidded across the ground. She only had a few more blocks to go.


    along with the thick sand of spice meat and buttery goodness, all of which were etched in her nose. And made her mouth water. Those moments were quite heavy, but then there was an order. That ruptured the extraordinary culinary splendor. Lauren''s feet skidded across the sidewalk, and she wrinkled her nose. And try not to swallow.


    A few more cars zipped past, and two honked. Lauren pulled her red cape tighter across her shoulders as the gusts from the cars cut through her clothing.


    ¡°Hey look!¡± someone yelled. ¡°It''s Little Red Riding Hood and the scrawny, little wolf.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Lauren called out, but she didn¡¯t see who had spoken. She did a complete circle and was facing back toward the restaurant when a single car merged into the street. Its brights cast heavy rays across the parking lots and the hedges of the campus buildings. Lauren could smell the exhaust, and she saw nothing until the car neared a tree that partially shrouded the dumpsters.


    Lauren blinked twice and spotted a thin but hairy frame crouching beside the tree. It wore shredded clothes that once looked like a sweater vest and a dress shirt. The figure moved almost dragging its arms across the ground. It had long claws, a scruffy snout, and piercing yellow eyes that were fixed on her.


    When the figure stretched and threw its head into the air. Lauren took off at a run. The eyes cut into her confidence and filled her with a spine-tingling with dread. Lauren pumped her arms and could hear a throat growl coming up behind her.


    ¡°Help!¡± Lauren screamed, cutting across a length of grass, and stumbled into a parking lot. It was rectangular and chucked full of cars. There were a few lights on at the ground level, and she could hear noises coming from multiple apartments.


    ¡°HELP,¡± Lauren yelled as something swiped at her foot, causing her to lose her footing, and she collapsed between two cars. Lauren forced her arms out to brace her fall. The overall force caused multiple car alarms to blare and shriek. Lauren cupped her hands over her ears and muffled a howl and a yip of discomfort.


    ¡°What the devil!¡± Someone called, and with a beep, an alarm turned off.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mess with my car, you moron!¡± and the warning was accompanied by a door slamming shut.


    Lauren moved to her knees, and a few more cars turned off, but then others turned on. Lauren looked up and saw people messing with their keys and pointing at the sidewalk.


    ¡°What''s going on out here?¡± A guy''s voice said. Lauren bit her lip as rocks cut into her skin, but she scrambled toward the tiny bits of light coming from the open apartment door.


    ¡°I¡¯m here, something is after me!¡± Lauren screamed, her vision blurring as her heart raced. She picked herself up and stumbled across the parking lot. The speaker, a guy in a dark blue football jersey, hurried over, and Lauren felt a pain across her back.


    ¡°What happened to you?¡± he said, but Lauren couldn¡¯t offer an answer, and his voice stuttered as a gunshot cut through the air. Lauren immediately moved to the ground, and she was grateful that the guy assumed a crouched position over the top of her. There were screams, kicks, punches and animal sounds, growls, whimpers and snarls.


    ¡°Over here, Tom!¡± one of the residents urged, and Lauren let Tom pick her up by the waist, and together they scrambled only a few feet. The sounds continued, and then there was a howl followed by multiple gunshots. These were louder, and Lauren heard people scream and cry out. furniture was thrown over to create a barricade as windows were pierced or destroyed.


    Lauren curled up in a ball as she sat in a corner beside a discarded blanket. She blinked, tried to swallow, and then remembered to breathe.


    ¡°That¡¯s gunpowder!¡± a girl shrieked. ¡°What was going on out there.¡±


    ¡°I have no idea,¡± Tom said, ¡°but I¡¯m not interested to find out.¡±


    ¡°The cops are on their way,¡± a boy with wavy black hair said from his hideout beside the kitchen table. The floor was covered with a few broken plates, and the sink¡¯s water faucet was on and running; steam rose from the sink''s depths.


    Lauren covered her ears and closed her eyes, and she held them that way as tight as she could. There were a few shouts, more snarls, and growls. There was a punch, a scream, and even more gunshots and a yelp before all was quiet.


    ¡°Stay down!¡± Tom urged. ¡°If the axe murderer has upgraded to a gun, we¡¯re all done for.¡±


    Lauren remained where she was, and it didn¡¯t take long before her back and feet began to numb. Despite the discomfort, Lauren stayed stationary. The silence lingered, and then another resident moved into a room and pulled out their cell phone.


    ¡°The cops should hurry,¡± a girl¡¯s voice said.


    Lauren agreed, but she didn¡¯t move and it took quite a while for the mood in the apartment to calm down. Lauren felt a hand on her shoulder, and once red and blue flashing lights bounced off the covered window, Lauren found a degree of composure.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re ok,¡± Tom said.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Lauren replied, teary-eyed. She didn¡¯t realize just how tired she was, and her hunger had escaped her thoughts and desires. Tom handed her a blanket and she graciously put it around her shoulders. The material was soft and warm. Lauren leaned back on the couch, and her eyes filled with tears.


    What had just happened!


    Lauren cupped a hand to her head. She couldn¡¯t think straight. There was pressure on her shoulders, and nothing made sense about what she had seen or why someone would need a gun.


    ¡°This is her?¡± she heard someone say.


    ¡°Yes, she was freaking out in the parking lot, and someone had a gun. There was a lot of howling. It sounded like quite a fight.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± the voice said, and Lauren watched some EMT rush into the apartment, and she let them work and happily passed out.

 Bite is worse than its bark!

    Most fights with werewolves are comparable to fighting two vicious stray dogs. As long as you keep moving, the animal¡¯s temperament stalls. It''s an insatiable push to bite. Because most canines want to pounce first and bite second. They¡¯re not being playful, but the extra few seconds could give you a fighting chance.


    Lauren collapsed between two cars by the time I arrived. The wolf had taken an extra moment when the first alarm sounded, and it howled in dismay before turning on me. I had sprinted most of the way and used my zap ring to land a punch as it snarled and launched its first attack.


    Tony was the first to arrive as backup, and upon arrival, the werewolf lashed out with increased ferocity. Tony used his own ring, but the wolf scrambled into the street and then used its strength to propel itself into a tree.


    Tony drew a small gun and fired. The bullet scratched its arm as it leaped across the parking lot and landed on the roof. It scampered the length of the apartment. Tony fired as people dove to the ground and caused serious commotion in the different apartments. The wolf came at us and Tony nailed it straight in the chest. It howled and then collapsed. I recognized the sweater vest as he returned to his human form.  It had been Melvin. The guy had Lauren and I and met in the mall.


    The last thing the town needs is the corpse of a human-wolf hybrid.


    ¡°People are coming,¡± Tony snapped. We fled up the street as multiple doors opened to assess the situation, and it didn¡¯t take long before there the police officers arrived on the scene, followed by an ambulance and a concerned crowd.


    Pop had pulled the van beside the hotel, and Dad heaved open the door, allowing Tony and I to climb inside.


    ¡°We took out the wolf,¡± Tony gasped, he took off his coat and stashed the gun beneath the seat. ¡°There were too many people so we couldn¡¯t deal with the body.¡±


    ¡°The bullets are untraceable,¡± Pop said.


    ¡°But they are silver,¡± Dad said. ¡°That¡¯s going to fuel speculation.¡±


    ¡°Well, let''s get out of here,¡± Pop said, ¡°I think the wizard can take care of things from here.¡±


    Pop pulled out onto the street and headed away from the apartment complex and the crime scene. Pop stopped at each corner and let the people move, and some he even allowed to jaywalk. Several businesses were closed, and some workers looked eager to go home for the night.


    ¡°The wizard looked young,¡± Mom said, ¡°I wonder if he was undercover on campus.¡±


    Pop chuckled and fidgeted in his seat. ¡°Unlikely.¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± Dad said, ¡°It¡¯s a demographic with a high turnover. They may have set him up to look into things under the radar.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s better than the alternative,¡± Mom said, ¡°It makes them look like cowards.¡±


    Mom¡¯s comment stung and we cleared the next block in silence. I considered the boy in the red jacket and the blue-haired girl. They seemed like an odd pair, but they were coordinated and had a plan, which had gone horribly wrong.


    ¡°What about that giant pumpkin?¡± I asked.


    Dad pulled off his fedora. ¡°It¡¯s a problem, but it''s not one we¡¯re going to worry about. A wizard in play seriously changes things.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not prepared to take on that kind of magic,¡± Pop said, ¡°I¡¯ve tried, but I¡¯m afraid there are too many flaws that make it difficult to make things worthwhile.¡±


    I¡¯m afraid, ¡°That brings something else to mind.¡± My hands shook, my shoulder popped, and I sounded slightly exasperated when the words came to my mouth.


    Pop glanced at me through the mirror while Tony, Mom, and Dad glanced in my direction. We reached a movie theater and the crowd had intensified, making any traffic movement come to a complete stop.


    ¡°We didn''t consider the effect fear energy has on a magical creature,¡± I said. I thought about Gwen, but I wasn¡¯t quite ready to bring that part up, but the question lingered.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°It''s not a full moon,¡± I continued. ¡°But we had a werewolf transformation. Pop, it is possible that if a young man recently bitted and feeling attracted to a girl. What would happen if hormones mixed with infatuation became inflated with a heavy dose of highly concentrated fear?¡±


    ¡°I think that could be enough to spark a werewolf transformation?¡±


    ¡°It would be irregular, but probably,¡± Pop admitted. ¡°Grandma often talks about romance and how it''s popularized by the moonlight walks. If there are the circumstances you¡¯ve described, and if he¡¯s not sure of himself. I bet the mix of responses would be an accelerant to spark a transformation.¡±


    ¡°I think Suzy Sourblood is trying to start the monster apocalypse,¡± I said. ¡°We''ve had events that have sparked fear, and now we have just enough fear to coax monsters out of hiding.¡±


    Mom''s eyes widened. ¡°She wants to make a mess. She wants to distract everyone, keep everyone guessing, and fight each other.¡±


    Minute by minute, as more people give in, someone will notice. ¡°They''ll get pictures and video,¡± Dad added. ¡°The Internet will blow up. News stations will be asking questions. People will be investigating. She wants to bring M.A.G.E right into the spotlight.¡±


    I steadied myself on the seat in front of me. ¡°If monsters get exposed, they¡¯ll fight back, and I bet some of them might try to take over.¡±


    ¡°That would put us in the line of fire. So what do we do?¡± Tony asked. ¡°Do we?¡±


    Tony''s voice hung in the air as Dad bellowed in surprise and swerved to avoid a large, colossal ball covered in a thick, milky white substance that looked like creamy snow. The object imprinted itself on my mind as Pop hit the gas and swerved to avoid a second and then a third projectile, along with debris that blanked several feet in every direction with dirt, dust, and bits of rock. The van jerked to the side as a new projectile arched through the air. This one appeared to one side cracking and dropping small chunks, with a thick brown interior.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Tony yelled.


    That hit the brakes, filling the car with smoke and the stench of burnt rubber. We sat feet from an intersection inches away from having a good chunk of the van crunched by a large round ball. The color was vibrant, and I noticed a small chunk missing from where it had impacted the street. Pop adjusted the headlights, and I felt that I recognized the thick brown substance stuffed inside.


    Is that chocolate?


    ¡°Hang on!¡± Pop shifted into reverse and sped to the corner. I adjusted myself, but then felt my body jerk forward as Pop slammed on the brakes as vines crept across the road. They moved like snakes and then arched up like cobras before they snapped across the distance, shattering windows and leaving large cracks that spread across the fa?ade of the nearby brick buildings.


    ¡°Over there!¡¯ Mom said.


    Through the window, near the Cow Tail restaurant. There was the large Jack-O-Lantern exerting its strength against an equally massive milkshake cup with meaty arms and thick, defined legs that dung into the ground, and it had secured its position like a sumo wrestler. The vines arched up and struck at the cup¡¯s body, and with each movement, the milkshake fired a punch and knocked the vine to the ground as if it had been sheared off by a gardener.


    ¡°The pumpkin has been eating cars,¡± Dad said. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°That''s the wizard magic,¡± Pop exclaimed. ¡°He''s fighting back.¡±


    ¡°Let''s hope it ends well,¡± Dad said, ¡°can we move, or do we need to abandon the van?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re good,¡± Pop said.


    The milkshake shifted its weight and I watched the straw dance back and forth before launching a volley of colored projectiles several impacted the pumpkin¡¯s surface, while a few flew wild.


    ¡°Go!¡± Dad yelled.


    Pop hit the gas, and the van lurched upward, and we hit the curb, but we stayed together and were able to head down the street.


    What effect does fear have on magical creatures? My heart was almost ready to leap out of my chest, and I recoiled in my seat and the question resurfaced. Gwen¡¯s voice carried as though she was standing in an echo chamber, while at the same time feeling like a whisper being two inches from my ear. Her voice sounded airy and doll-like the more I thought about it.


    What effect does fear have on magical creatures?


    ¡°We better take some back roads,¡± Dad insisted. ¡°I don''t care if we have to go to a mountain to get off the main roads.¡±


    What effect does fear have on magical creatures? The girl''s question repeated. My brain edited it. But I suddenly realized what I hadn''t picked up on.


    Magical creatures have strengths and abilities, but they are self-aware creatures. They do get afraid. Everyone is scared of something, and they react differently.


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t being territorial,¡± I muttered. Allowing my recognition of this show as pieces began to fit together.


    ¡°Who?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°The Minotaur?¡± I exclaimed. ¡°We thought he didn¡¯t move because it was unfamiliar territory. That is true, I think we overlooked something that connects that encounter to all of this. Dad, didn''t you say the Minotaur went out to the Morris farm a few times before we encountered him.¡±


    ¡°He did three of four times I think,¡± Dad confirmed. ¡°Why are we talking about him?¡±


    ¡°Why would you go somewhere multiple times and not take or do anything?¡± I questioned. ¡°I think the Minotaur, while posing as a mailman, was affected by early efforts to collect fear, but he probably didn''t realize what it was at the time.¡±


    ¡°That does fit,¡± Pop said, ¡°Something didn¡¯t sit right with me about that encounter.¡±


    ¡°And consider, we have a wizard here at the park.¡± I said, ¡°M.A.G.E probably assumed what we did and that¡¯s why Frankie is there to stir up trouble.¡±


    ¡°Suzy never came because she never intended to,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°Right,¡± I finished, ¡°I think something is going on at the Morris family farm.¡±

 On The Farm

    It''s crazy how things always end up back to where we started.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t Mr. Morris have noticed someone lurking around his fields on a frequent basis,¡± Mom asked. ¡°He''s a nice guy and has been a good neighbor, but he doesn¡¯t seem like the type who would rent out his land unless he was one hundred percent sure that he¡¯d get the land back in perfect condition.¡±


    ¡°Unless that wasn''t him,¡± I said. ¡°What if Mr. Morris, who we spoke to, wasn''t actually the real Mr. Morris? Maybe that''s why the shapeshifter Someone was brought here. They¡¯re great at infiltration. It wouldn¡¯t have been just him, Suzy, and others who would have had to worry about, but his workers as well.¡±


    ¡°His fields are pretty far back from the road,¡± Pop said, ¡°and I bet it wouldn¡¯t be too much trouble to keep his workers away from a section of land.¡±


    ¡°It''s genius if you think like a villain,¡± Tony said. ¡°You attack the town and get the authorities to worry about a populated area. Meanwhile, Suzy can do her job in the middle of nowhere, without any interruption, and no one to bother her.¡±


    I took it in stride, thinking it a half-baked idea, but as we considered it, along with everything that we knew and had determined seemed to put the pieces into place. Suzy had to take out the government agents. Then they needed to get the fear energy on a large scale. Once done, and with some minions looking for where Fowler¡¯s body was located, or some other kind of information. Why not set up a shop where no one would think to look?


    Pop headed out of town, and it didn¡¯t take long before we spotted purple, blue, and gold lines stretching across the sky, resembling something that reminded me of an Aurora Borealis, but it didn¡¯t have the beauty that an Aurora would contain. The further we got from the city limits the brighter and more pronounced the lines and swirls became, and a tint wove them together into something I could only describe as sinister. We moved across some hills and passed some developments and then we reached the county junction.


    ¡°Something is definitely happening,¡± Pop said.


    He motioned to the sky and after about a mile, I spotted ghost soldiers on horseback, and slow moving corpses resembling the stereotypical zombie trudged sluggish through the winds and didn¡¯t appeared impeded by the ditch bank or any sections that were divided by a wire, or a solid wood fence.


    ¡°Since we have a second,¡± Tony said, ¡°I¡¯m curious about fear energy. Is there happy energy, sad energy, nervous energy, or even, I don¡¯t know, rage energy or magic?¡±


    ¡°Based on what the last few weeks, I would say it''s possible,¡± Dad said.


    ¡°I would as well,¡± Pop affirmed, ¡°however, as I mentioned emotions are raw and unpredictable. They can¡¯t exist outside of a being for every long and reactions vary.¡±


    ¡°So, in essence, don¡¯t mistake cowardice for fear,¡± Mom said. ¡°And don''t mistake rage for anger when it could be desperation.¡±


    ¡°Is there a translation to the motivation statements?¡± Tony asked.


    Pop grumbled. ¡°When people are scared, not everyone runs for cover or curls up in a ball to hopefully go unnoticed. Reactions vary.¡±


    ¡°Which would hold true for monsters,¡± Dad said, ¡°as Emma pointed out, while Minotaurs are territorial. The farm is an open space, and I bet he perceived the area as an oncoming threat. Suzy hadn¡¯t called on any ghosts but until we prove otherwise. They must have been priming the spot and when we showed up, it was the tipping point that put him on the defense.¡±


    ¡°I think we¡¯re on the brink,¡± Pop said. He slowed and turned on his bright headlines as fog spiraled across the road filling the fields and the underdeveloped areas that served as parking lots. We continued in silence, and the fog nearly obscured the entire area, and it was only disrupted by tiny flecks of light offered by the distant homes and a few residential subdivisions.


    ¡°Keep your eyes open and stay alert,¡± Dad said, ¡°we may encounter other Minotaurs or some creatures investigating the fear themselves.¡±


    ¡°Should be quite a party,¡± I said.


    ¡°Or a Monster Mash,¡± Tony added smugly.


    We moved up the bumpy road. Small animals were in the weeds and brush, but none had stuck around long enough to be identified as Mr. Morris¡¯s barn, and the main house came into view from the street. The fog had lightened up, but the residual layer was still present, and it gave a fitting but unholy ambiance against the shadows of the various buildings and the larger trees I had passed when we had been there earlier.


    Pop controlled our descent down a hill and rolled cautiously to a stop on the farm grounds. The brakes squeaked twice as Dad pulled to stop and put it in the dark. The main house was dark, and a single light illuminated an empty carport. A few cats scurried toward the trees and bushes for safety as we idled and took in the scene. I spotted a few cows grazing in the manger that had been loosely repaired. The night hid the full extent of the Minotaur¡¯s rampage.


    ¡°Let''s go,¡± Dad said, ¡°but stay close. We¡¯re going to bolt at the first sign of any serious trouble.¡±


    For us Fosters, trouble came in layers, and there were several layers before we hit serious trouble, but each one was progressing worse when compared to our family¡¯s battle plans. Pop remained seated, and we all piled out. I could smell diesel fumes and overpowering manure coming from the corral. I wasn''t sure how anyone could get used to a smell like that.


    Come out, come out wherever you are.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like anyone is home. Do we want to try and search the house?¡± Pop suggested.


    Dad shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s unlikely they would have done anything in there, and if they happened to simply be sleeping, I¡¯d rather not have to explain to a deputy or the Morris¡¯s while we¡¯re back, and late at night, all things considered.¡±


    ¡°If we¡¯re right, I¡¯d suspect there are active traps inside,¡± Mom added. ¡°Just in case a monster hunter or M.A.G.E got suspicious at some point before the strike.¡±


    ¡°Or after,¡± I said, ¡°They could have pieced it together.¡±


    ¡°Fan out,¡± Dad said, ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can figure out what Mr. Morris has been up to today?¡±


    Pop wrinkled his nose. ¡°I don¡¯t think we need to. Has that tractor been used recently?¡±


    We crossed the grounds and stopped beside a large machine shop. I could smell oil, grease, and other smells I tried to ignore, but there were puddles and stains on the ground, and I could see the van¡¯s light reflected across its fluid surface. Pop studied the tractor and risked shining a light on the engine and then the tires before looking at the machine hooked up to the back of it.


    After a minute, Pop clicked his light off. ¡°I¡¯m not sure why or how, but I think this thing has been run into the ground. I can smell the fumes, and visually, it¡¯s in desperate need of fluid changes; there are parts that have been fried, cracked, or nearly mangled. It¡¯s a bit bizarre, the whole thing can¡¯t be over two years old.¡±


    I wasn''t going to question him, but that''s when I noticed the equipment attached to it. I pulled out my own flashlight and examined the blades.


    ¡°The tractor might be two years old, but I think these blades are brand new, or very nearly,¡± I said.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°He had this attached the last time we were here,¡± Dad said. ¡°I nearly tripped over that wheel when I set off the smoke.¡±


    ¡°Why have a brand-new plow or attachment on a nearly destroyed tractor?¡± Pop questioned.


    ¡°It¡¯s got to be for show,¡± Mom said. ¡°Shapeshifters are actors, and this was his stage. He puts this here to keep up the pretense in the event that people come by for a visit.¡±


    ¡°It looks like there are tools and parts out on that table,¡± Tony added, shining a light inside the machine shop. ¡°I bet he¡¯s got his guys working on it, so they stay away from the special place.¡±


    ¡°The question is where?¡±


    ¡°Since we don¡¯t know what we¡¯re looking for, it could be in any of his sheds or the barn,¡± Dad said. He had a look that showed he was piecing things together. ¡°You¡¯ve got something you want to hide, and you¡¯ve got people working on your land. You can¡¯t kill or threaten all of them, so where would you make your move? Would you keep it close by? Or would you try and hide it out in the open? Make it look like a pile of junk?¡±


    Those were all good questions, and as we came to the van, I heard a few cows bellow, and I turned my attention down towards some of the old tin sheds. I squinted into the darkness, and a twinkle of light caught my eye.


    ¡°We need to head down that way.¡±


    I pointed towards the shed as a lone cloud plumed over a shed roof, but its source was hidden several feet past the shed, the adjacent corral, and a line of trees that had appeared near a stretch of railroad tracks.


    ¡°He was down in the fields last time,¡± Tony said. The cloud began to dance side to side before adopting an erratic pattern that enlarged certain portions that began to resemble a human body. The image presented no human actions until its hands rose a few inches and then puffed away and was replaced by a translucent calf bounding up and down like a bull trying to buck off its rider. The calf raced across the sky, and as it circled a shed, I heard living calves cry out to it, and it turned away, but before I noted the splotchy black and white pattern across its body, it even had a number branded across its neck.


    Hand out from the plums. There was a calf. I could make out the black-and-white contrast and a brand mark across its neck.


    ¡°Are you kidding me?¡± Tony said. ¡°That¡¯s a ghost cow?¡±


    ¡°Looks like it,¡± Dad said, ¡°and it looks like we¡¯re onto something.¡±


    The calf ran in circles before taking off through the sky and down towards the fields. I couldn''t see any stars as we descended about some shed and grain storage areas. The live cattle and a few sheep approached the gates but hurried away once they realized we weren¡¯t there to feed or tend to them. A few of them shook their heads in dismay and then seemed to resign themselves to the leftovers. Like grumbling toddlers, the animals stuck their heads through the space between two bars and took a few bites of grain. As far as they were concerned, this was business as usual, and I was happy we hadn¡¯t seen the bull yet.


    Probably licking his wounds.


    Once clear of the shed and a large hay barn. We inched along, half expecting some kind of trap. We hit several bumps in rapid succession. The contact jostled the van, but we rebounded quickly, but each time compounded the intense likelihood that the next one would trigger something. We hit a set of bumps and then moved through a small puddle before mounting a stretch that had been cemented to provide stability for a larger shed housing several enormous bales of straw. A feed trunk sat abandoned beside tractor attachments, a buckle to scoop the grain, or a fork to stack the bales. I could hear our tires crunching the small rocks, and the light reflected across the ground, revealing patches that had been eroded over a number of years. Beyond that, we reached a single-lane road with a line of weeds running down the middle like the mane of a horse. The road separated two distinct fields before coming to a line of trees, a wide canal, and a stretch of railroad track.


    We were getting close, but now that we were here, there was no sign of the cloud or the calf. Mom rolled down her window and stuck her head out a little bit to get a better look at something. With interest, but she said nothing until she pulled herself back inside and rolled the window up.


    ¡°I see some fresh tire tracks,¡± Mom said. ¡°a lot of them, and the impressions look deep, so several tractors or large vehicles came down here, and recently too.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s something to look for,¡± Dad said as we cleared the railroad tracks and found an abrupt incline that jostled the van harder than the potholes had. Our headlights spread across the open terrain. The fields showed ample evidence of the plants and crops that had been harvested. The fall weather had taken a toll. For a brief instant, I saw a section of film that was being fenced off. A decent chunk was left to be done, and I found it odd that what had been done had fallen into considerable disrepair.


    I huffed and settled back in my seat. This open space offers a lot of cover. It was brilliant to plot their scheme this far away from civilization.


    New pockets of trees were grouped and hovered over weeds or fields like decaying fingers. It was a morose comparison, but the lights caught branches, and I expected them to tighten their grip.


    I¡¯ve dealt with my own fair share of scary monsters, but nothing has reached the level of necromancer and a dark witch.


    We passed by some ditches and various birds, and what I assumed were deer scampered off to avoid being caught in our light. The further away we got from the farm''s central grounds, I felt that we were tiptoeing into the heart of an enemy lair. We were truly cut off from any immediate help, and all we had to rely on was each other and what we had brought with us. We had strength in numbers, but we did not know what we were facing and despite my history, I was starting to feel intimidated by that unnerving prospect.


    Pop pulled the van off the road as we reached a junction where we could move to the left or proceed forward until we came to a side road that eventually connected to the main road that led to town. Once I got a sense of my bearings, I saw a falling tree line and the remnants of a recent corn harvest. Some shadows and silhouettes were beyond our ability to identify.


    He probably has animals down here, I reasoned. If I was right, none of the animals braved coming closer, and as long as one wasn¡¯t a bull I figured we¡¯d be ok.


    ¡°Where do we go now?¡± Pop asked.


    ¡°Let¡¯s check for tracks or some kind of clue,¡± Dad said. ¡°We don¡¯t know how much land he has or what they may have done to prepare for intruders. Let¡¯s do what we did up by the house. Don''t wander too far and keep a light and enforcement ready.¡±


    We found out in advance in a predetermined pattern. We created a half arch perimeter, which allowed each of us at a decent line at the van to jump in and take off if others had gotten apprehended. I moved a few feet and came to the edge of the high beams in less than twenty steps. I could see several piles of weeds and several square miles of open space. The plot had been prepped for something, but it didn¡¯t seem at all sinister.


    ¡°Being this far away, it''s pitch black,¡± Tony said, ¡°I can hardly see anything.¡±


    ¡°Stay alert nonetheless,¡± Dad said. ¡°They¡¯ve had unfettered access to this space, and we¡¯re dealing with people who deal with the undead.¡±


    ¡°Zombie then,¡± Tony muttered, ¡°Great.¡¯


    The silence felt like a knife hovering over my skin. I dug my foot into the dirt and then turned to the van. A moment passed. Then Tony came over to my side. And we headed back.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing,¡± Mom said.


    ¡°Likewise,¡¯ I said. Was I wrong? Had I misread the whole situation?


    ¡°We¡¯d probably have a better idea of what''s going on here if we could see more than a foot in front of our faces,¡± Tony said. ¡°It''s like looking through a dark curtain into a basement.¡±


    I smiled and brought my hand to my face, and I started wiggling my fingers.


    It was dark. Unnaturally dark.


    ¡°Guys!¡± I hissed, ¡°This is just like the never see me coming!¡±


    We booked it toward the van as a gritty voice yelled. ¡°Giddy up!¡±


    The outburst snapped us to attention, and we hurried to regroup but hadn¡¯t got more than a dozen steps before a figure bolted through the darkness. The movements were swift, and I barely caught a glimpse of the person before they vanished again, but I heard the click of a door, the rustling of leather, and the jingling of keys.


    ¡°LOOK OUT!¡± I cried as a series of engines roared to life. I stumbled and almost fell on my butt as a large, enclosed cab tractor sped forward, trampling the ground where I had been standing. The speed was incredible, and the tractor swerved to avoid me, but not before kicking a fair amount of dust, dirt, and weeds right into my face. I spit, blinked, coughed, and did my best to brush the debris from my face. A fair amount of dust coated my tongue, and it gave me the worst taste in my mouth, and I started to gag. I heard other engines kick into gear and advance across the field. After a minute, I felt like I was back in action. But I didn''t dare move, fearful that one of the tractors would catch me before I could make it anywhere. The sheer number of them, and the amount of exhaust and smog that kicked into the air was immobilizing and terrifying.


    ¡°Roundup,¡± the same voice yelled, and then, for good measure, he added, ¡°Giddy up.¡±


    The words were crisp and distinct, and the tractors obeyed like a pack of dogs, and they began circling like wolves waiting for their Alpha right before they pounced on their prey. I felt the breeze across my face and hair. I closed my mouth to protect my throat and tongue. The breeze helped with the mixture of natural and automotive smells, but the reprieve was short-lived. My senses caught a thick wash of different sends from wood and lacquer and varnish. Then I smelt what I recognized as gasoline and the initial spark that had begun to smoke. One tractor stopped and I saw movement through the darkness, but only in millisecond intervals. Once, my eyes suggested I spotted a structure. I could barely make out some shapes, but then my eyes caught up with my nose, and I saw tiny flickers of orange light and the silhouette of a figure standing at the base of the structure.


    The defense had been an ambush, and we had stumbled right into the middle of it. The figure lifted its hands, and I gasped as the large structure burst into flames in a large and spectacular inferno, that mushroom cloud into the sky and drew all those energy lines into one centralized point.

 Cowboys in the clouds

    A voice coughed in my ear, barely audible over high-pitched ringing, a barrage of mechanical noises firing off with their full strength and compacity, one right after another.


    ¡°If anyone can hear me!¡± The voice was Pop, and he coughed a few times. I felt cold and concerned, but my spirit rose when he continued, and there were minor breaks and slurs, so he didn¡¯t sound injured.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a summoning. That fire! It''s a ritual fire. They¡¯re invoking a ritual.¡±


    Dad didn¡¯t offer a reply, and there was no reaction or follow-up. Pop¡¯s comment layered the problem. A summoning is a magical phone call; the entity will come to talk, associate with the bonded surroundings, and then leave. The danger of a proper summoning was almost no different than standing on the side of the road. Someone might try and hit you, but you¡¯re relatively safe, at least during the day. A ritual dialed up the danger by a factor of a thousand, if not more. If you¡¯re dumb enough to do a ritual. You want to stand in the middle of the road, and you¡¯re itching to gamble with fate.


    ¡°Is everyone alright?¡± I called out, but I got no reply. I quickly took the plugs we would use again, Sirens, and placed them in my ears. The tool deafened the external noises, but it gave me a true sense of just how overloaded and overwhelmed my senses were. There were so many colors in the sky; it looked like a kaleidoscope. Then were the sounds. I heard engines, but I also registered multiple pops, sputters, rattles, quaking, and pulsing in competition with each other. I moved a few feet back and took in the tractors, counting nearly ten of them, but they kept crisscrossing beside one another, which made it hard to know for sure.


    We need to regroup before a new trap is sprung or the next stage is activated.


    I took a few steps and felt my center of gravity twist and turn. The world had become a balance beam when a tremor cascaded across the ground right toward me. The ground cracked and bubbled, and I chewed on my hesitation while I threw myself forward extending my arms and barely managing to come up in a roll when a massive tractor, the kind that occupies the entire road. The driver swerved, throwing a dusk cloud and debris toward the space where I had been standing. I sprinted, and it revved its engine and sped after me, but then it diverged from a direct course and came at my right at an angle, forcing me to either stop or get pancaked into the ground. Now stationary, my attacking tractor continued its path and then ventured further into the field pleased with its execution and intimidation.


    ¡°Mom!¡± I yelled, ¡°Dad!¡±


    I searched the space for any movement, but a new tractor, a smaller loader tractor suitable for hauling or maybe excavation snow, or an entrenched space. The loader moved its arm, and boom, up and down. There was no reason, and it appeared to me that such an act would have inhibited the driver¡¯s field of vision. As it came with twenty feet, it lowered its bucket attachment, and I wet my lips and sprinted back toward the van and the road. Like the Minotaur, I figured these things had to be weighted down. I used a zig-zag pattern, and it didn¡¯t take long for the loader to give up and follow a nearly identical path to the last one. I stopped but could hardly breathe. Such a collection of active tractors had nearly coated the field in a blanket of exhaust and smog. There was no breeze, and the gusts the tractors created only seemed to thicken the intoxicating gases, which didn¡¯t hurt the bonfire as it increased in size every few seconds.


    Tractors aren¡¯t built for high speeds, but these things are moving like race cars, or they¡¯ve been supped up for a demolition derby. How were they managing the turns and speed?


    Dad would have praised the question, but there was no space to think or strategize.


    ¡°Tony, Pop, you ok!¡± I attempted to search the area, and I had no reply, but I spotted a figure running toward the bonfire. A tractor turned wide near this individual and a burst of light from its light bar told me that it was Mom. A second later, I registered further movement and figured Dad would be close by her side. A separate loader, this one with a cab, was considerably larger than the one I had been chased by. Dad urged Mom to keep going, and I saw a flash of metal in his hand, and the loader¡¯s back two tires rose a few inches to keep pace. I waved my arms and called out, hoping to catch my parents¡¯ attention. There was too much distance to cover between us to come together, and I couldn''t hear my voice, and the tractors stayed true to their course, but they didn¡¯t stray too far away from the bonfire. I turned my attention to it but only had a moment to consider the embers, the structure that had been ignited before a tractor with a large tank kicked the brightness of its lights to the full spread. Tears welled up in my eyes. I kicked at the ground in an effort to pull myself away. The earth felt soft beneath my feet, and then I felt plants submitting to my weight.


    I must be near a ditch. Had I made it to the road?


    I considered making a break back to the farmhouse, but we were miles from the main highway, and Grandma would come, but against this, No! We needed to regroup and not get pulverized and become lunch for the buzzards hiding out in the trees.


    For the moment I¡¯m the backup. I had a few enforcements on hand, but the large-scale ones were in the van, and I wasn¡¯t quite sure what would be the best tool against bad drivers and their racing tractors. I closed my eyes and tried to take in a moment of clarity. My stomach churned when the thick stench of manure broke through the smog and smoke. I stuck out my tongue in disgust but I cheered inside when it was accompanied by wonderfully rick fresh air.


    Fresh air?


    The tractors, all ten of them, had slowed to a putter and were inching back to the bonfire like a pack of hunting dogs. This abrupt change in pace returned my attention to the bonfire. No one got out, but the tractors created an arch and seemed content to idle in place.


    What kind of ritual are you? This whole thing hinged on that question. Pop would undoubtedly know more, but I had to make my best guess, otherwise it was going to go through. This sky seemed a lot darker, but the waves of color were still present, and- I cocked my head as I watched new lines spill from the fire like snakes in a tree. The skylines were inching down to connect to their earth-bound counterparts.


    This is certainly something else. The flames flickered, enlarged, and then shrank as they danced across the odd pile of wood. I could make out the bonfire with a more definitive visualization. The pile had an arched frame and symbols, and strange letters glowed with resonating orange light and it moved across each simple like lights being played on a keyboard. A few spots had been burned away, but the whole remained intact and did not hinder the process. This light captured my attention. It was the kind of light you¡¯d mistake for fire, but there was something deeper, something ancient and unrestrained.


    What do I do?


    I wiped some sweat from my forehead with my sleeve and hastily attempted to swallow. My mouth was coated with dirt, and my side ached. One last tractor trudged across the terrain, heading for the last open spot in the lineup. I watched it go, but then quickly looked at the van, which was still in one piece. That was surprising, but a welcome factor to the situation.


    The tractors are a bit too close for comfort. I was startled by how close we had actually been to the bonfire before it had been ignited. I wondered about the ritual, and I tried to imagine how close I would likely get before the group would notice.


    I¡¯d probably get inside., but what would stop the tractors from flipping it on its side like the T-Rex from Jurassic Park?


    The question was replaced by a gunshot. The crack was sharp, and I saw sparks shoot up into the sky. The last tractor had pulled up to within a few feet of the bonfire. Then the driver, a figure wearing a cowboy hat and a long duster, appeared and used the steps to mount the shell of his ride.


    That¡¯s got to be the shapeshifter. I was surprised by the duster. It seemed like an odd choice, but I wasn¡¯t about to question odd style choices to ruin the world. Now in place and using the cylindrical exhaust stack to steady himself.  He set himself into place, then spread his legs as if striking a pose. He looked around, yipping and hollering like a cowboy in a busy cattle drive. Then, in a flash of metal, the figure extended his arm above his head again and fired. A second shot ripped across the starless sky, and I watched something ripple across the lines, like a stone across a pond.


    The lines began to settle, but as the movements stopped, the lines changed their movements and became brighter and started to spiral. The illumination spread across the field, and I ran to the van, dreading the remote chance that the engines were going to drill down hard and come after me. My muscles constricted and my feet tingled. I reached out to the van door but then froze when I realized a moment too late that footsteps were coming behind me.


    It was Mom. She had her coat open, and she had lost her veiled hat somewhere. She spoke to me with rapid speech and a severe struggle to breathe. I worried she was injured but I saw no rips or blood stains on her blouse.


    ¡°Mom!¡± I stammered in disbelief. ¡°You were, how? Where¡¯s Dad, Tony, and Pop.¡±


    ¡°Dad¡¯s going in for the kill,¡± Mom said, ¡°this isn¡¯t looking good, but we need to back him up.¡±


    ¡°Mom, what about?¡± I began.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure they¡¯re fine,¡± Mom replied.


    ¡°Ok,¡± I said, trying to shake the worry. ¡°Lets grab-¡±


    Mom shook her head, ¡°We can¡¯t. We¡¯ve got to get back to him now!¡±


    Mom hadn¡¯t spoken loudly, but the instant the words passed from her lips, each tractor''s front lights switched on. The circular rays illuminated the area. I came up beside Mom and felt the same unrestrained power embedded in cracks and grooves etched across the shell coverings, tire rubber, and windows of the tractors. The same symbols were ablaze throughout the structure within the bonfire. One tractor shifted positions, and I spotted Dad near a faded red little pickup that had been decades old and hadn¡¯t seen a car wash in a long time.


    ¡°He¡¯s going in,¡± Mom hissed. We ran together but stopped near the edge of the light beams as the engines and exhaust began to fill the air. Mom led the way across the field, staying near the edge, and Dad held a hand in acknowledgment to us.


    ¡°Dad!¡± I called out, but he assumed a tactical position and stance. The kind you see when you¡¯re in the proximity of a hostile target.


    ¡°Shows over Someone!¡± Dad yelled. The tractors calmed down, and the cowboy still atop the tractor beside the fire actually, for the first time, seemed to acknowledge him and our presence. Had he seriously not noticed us? Or perhaps did he care? And where was Suzy in all of this? Wouldn¡¯t be present to make sure this went smoothly? I doubted she was one of the ones driving a tractor. No one emerged from any of the tractors in closed cabs. Both mom and I found our attention jumping from each one, ready to take down anyone who attempted to shoot Dad in the back. Meanwhile, I watched him adjust his duster, and I glimpsed the old-fashioned revolver sitting in a leather holster on his hip. His hand drew uncomfortably close to it. But Dad was not going to hold back, and Mom called as he took a few steps forward to ensure that his own shot would be hard-pressed to miss.


    ¡°Touch your gun, and I will shoot you,¡± Dad yelled.


    ¡°Someone, this is over! Tell your crew to shut down the tractors. No funny business!¡±


    The cowboy cocked his head to the side. ¡°Funny business.¡±


    This was the first time the cowboy¡¯s voice sounded like Mr. Morris, but it didn¡¯t sound like the grumpy old farmer we had run into a few weeks earlier, and who I had met several times as a kid.


    ¡°I mean it!¡± Dad bellowed.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure you do!¡± Mr. Morris¡¯s voice called back.


    Unphased by the fact that Dad had a gun trained on him. Like Batman descending from the building. The cowboy stepped to the edge and jumped. His duster billowed and snapped, and I heard spurs jingle when he reached the ground.


    That¡¯s no costume. Like a desperado coming menacing into town. The cowboy approached Dad. His duster flapped as he walked, and thanks to the tractor''s light and how close we were, I caught subtle hints of stains across the lapel and near the shirt collar. That was a genuine article passed down through history. But why would a shapeshifter have something like that? And why all these theatrics?


    The cowboy stopped with enough distance to rehash the popular western shootout. Shapeshifters could die from a bullet, and he seemed eager to coax Dad into pulling the trigger. Dad stayed firm, while the cowboy adjusted his weathered hat, which looked worn and old. There were obvious cracks and patches, and the leather coil along the brim was broken and frayed.


    ¡°Last chance,¡± Dad said, ¡°Tell your crew to turn the tractors off. This thing is done!¡±


    ¡°My crew?¡± Mr. Morris¡¯s voice asked. He sidestepped, and I heard the jingle of his spurs, and then he pulled the bandana off his face.


    ¡°Pyron isn¡¯t coming back!¡± Dad said.


    ¡°No kidding!¡± Mr. Morris said. He sounded a bit puzzled, ¡°but it doesn¡¯t stop a bunch of idiots and newbies from trying.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I muttered.


    Dad gave a slight movement with his shoulders, and Mr. Morris took off his hat and his skin assumed a transparent consistency and purple vein spread across his skin. Dad shuffled and seemed to be trying to pull the trigger, but it wouldn¡¯t work.


    ¡°Ah!¡± Dad cried, and he released his grip hesitantly and moved a few backward in retreat. Dad¡¯s gun remained where he had been holding it without any visible help. The gun twisted and shook slightly. The three of us stared at it, horrified that it was going to be turned in, focusing on any of us. But then with a flick of the wrist. The gun went flying into the night.


    A shapeshifter wouldn''t be able to do that. That sort of power was something only a magician or a wizard could do. Dad cleared his throat and clenched his fists. We had been up against terrible odds before. And Dad was a rather good example of keeping his cool under pressure. But with hardly any effort, Dad had lost his most viable weapon. In any instant, all of our skills, all of our experiences, all of our training, and the knowledge we had accumulated over hours of study from our ancestors who had taken on monsters in a variety of situations. It was all trivial.


    Dad let out a huff. ¡°Where is Suzy Sourblood? Is this the part where we jump into a roll call?¡±


    ¡°No,¡±


    Dad brought his fists up. ¡°Drop the act. We know you''re a shapeshifter, and everything that has happened in town has been building up to this moment. You tried to hide under the radar, but you weren''t good enough. There were monsters and beings on to you from the beginning.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Mr. Morris pursed his lips, and he furrowed his brow in bewilderment. Briefly, it seemed like he was about to transform. But instead, he shot dead and reproving glare. Mr. Morris waved a finger right in front of Dad''s face. Then he pulled back his coat. And brush the hand against the gun he still had strapped to his hip. As his fingers brushed against the metal. We all saw a purple essence rise from its surface. Even in the darkness, I could see Mom''s face go white.


    ¡°We were wrong. He''s not the shapeshifter, honey,¡± Mom said, aghast. ¡°He''s a necromancer.¡±


    ¡°R.I.P.?¡± Dad snapped in alarm.


    Mr. Morris uncharacteristically snickered at us in amusement and annoyance. ¡°No, I''m not. R.I.P. I''m good, but I''m not that good. You¡¯d be dead, trust me.¡±


    Dad unclenched his hands and raised them up by his face for a passive surrender. ¡°Then what is all this?¡±


    ¡°It''s a call to the wild.¡± Mr. Morris replied. ¡°And to your credit, you''re not entirely wrong. Ever since Suzy and her group have been running around town. I knew it was them, as did several people. Most of them decided to run for cover. Me. I was smart enough to see an opportunity, and I was not going to look at a gift horse in the mouth.¡±


    ¡°What about Pyron Fowler?¡± Dad asked, ¡°If you''re a necromancer, wouldn''t you want him to come back? Couldn¡¯t this opportunity be a problem for his return? What if they decided to come after you?¡±


    Mr. Morris scoffed at that. ¡°I know some late boomers would love to have Reagan back in the White House. Fowler did a number on the practice and on society, but he was a hack. There have been plenty of people who¡¯ve tried to find his body and bring him back. The funny fact is, only a handful of us seem to know that the fairies took his head. This could be a problem, and maybe they¡¯ve gotten lucky. I doubt it personally. Dark witches are scary, but they¡¯re not invincible. You¡¯re only as smart as the information you have.¡±


    Mr. Morris fingered his gun, ¡°and I''m glad the infamous monster assassins I¡¯ve been told about aren''t as dumb as history has made you look.¡±


    Monster Assassins? Did he actually just say that?


    I looked at Mom and Dad, who both looked stone cold confused at the comment. Mr. Morris puffed out his chest. And he assumed what to him would have been a confident expression. He looked a decade younger than he had the last time. His shoulders were broad, and his vitality doubled.


    ¡°Haha.¡± Mr. Morris laughed, and he pulled his hands together to offer us some sarcastic applause. ¡°Wow, that was far more satisfying than I thought it would be. For years, I''d imagined what this moment would be like. I grew up terrified that people would see zombies working in my fields. I worried that reanimating animals would start to rot before I could sell them. Every time, I wondered if I was getting to my front door, walking into my barn and having someone try and shoot me in the back, or prime me for information. The Foster family of Monsters Assassins. I¡¯m no academic, but this is history in the making. You¡¯ve all been stories for so long, I¡¯ve wondered if you¡¯ve been real.¡±


    I wiggled my toes and mentally acknowledged my shock and astonishment. Monster hunters were common enough, but he didn¡¯t miss a beat. Monster assassins and there were stories about us.


    ¡°This is historic?¡± Dad pressed. ¡°How is it historic if you¡¯re taking advantage of other bad guys and their hard work?¡±


    Mr. Morris pulled the bandana around his neck, then scratched at the scruff on his chin. He had obviously shaved in a few days, but it hadn¡¯t quite become a full beard.


    ¡°You should like a monster lawyer.¡± he replied, ¡°aren¡¯t assassins just supposed to get in, shoot the place up, and then make their getaway?¡±


    The question seemed to amuse him but then he shrugged it off. ¡°Jim, you talk a great game, and I¡¯ll admit you seemed to be more knowledgeable and prepared than some, but you are out of your league.¡±


    Mr. Morris reached into his duster pocket and pulled out a leather-covered book from its steps, and he dropped it just shy of Dad''s feet. Then he brushed his hands together.


    ¡°Not that it matters.¡± Mr. Morris continued. ¡°you¡¯ll probably keep pestering me with questions and stall all of this until your family members hiding somewhere out there can into position to try and take me out.¡±


    Mr. Morris put a hand over his eyes, but it was all for show. ¡°This is an opportunity, and don¡¯t log me in among the petty critters who rip people''s heads off or scare people into doing their dirty work. No, I do what I do because I¡¯m great at it, and I¡¯m aiming for something higher, something everlasting and wonderful.¡±


    You are something else, Mr. Morris.


    The abrupt end to the conversation without any threat tossed some worried glances between the three of us. Dad was the first to move. He dropped his hands, and we hurried up beside him.


    Mr. Morris, meanwhile, reached the nearest tractor, climbed back up the steps, and heaved himself onto the hood. Once in place, he seemed composed and had his attention squarely on the bonfire while smoke curled around the edges of a circular pit that had been visible in the beginning. The flames licked the border and then curved like softly swishing curtains, but the distinct edges quickly began to coalesce like a stream of steam above a pot. Why wasn¡¯t he scared that we would attempt something else? What contingencies did he have that made me self-assured and self-absorbed to think that his plan wasn¡¯t going to fail?


    ¡°Dad, what do we do?¡±


    For the first time in a while, Dad didn¡¯t seem quite sure. He watched the fire and then glanced down at the book lying in a pile of dirt a few inches from his feet. Dad wrinkled his nose and then stooped down to snatch it.


    ¡°Honey, No, no,¡± Mom began.


    ¡°NO!¡±


    Dad recoiled, and dust and small rocks pattered against the aged leather cover. Dad jumped upright as Pop and Tony hurried over. I looked at Pop, who had his teeth clenched and his face was flushed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch it!¡± Pop exclaimed, ¡°At least not bareheaded. I heard everything he said and ruled one about dark beings, and necromancers never touch anything they offer: weapons, foods, and objects like books.¡±


    ¡°Would Mr. Morris be foolish enough to give us a grimoire?¡± Mom asked. ¡°He was wearing gloves.¡±


    Pop handed Dad some gloves, but Dad didn¡¯t seem too eager to put them on. ¡°My point exactly, leather journals are prime real estate for fanatic scribbles, deadly drawings, and invisible worst enemies. He could have compelled a spirit to exist within those pages.¡±


    ¡°It would have been child¡¯s play,¡± Mom confirmed.


    ¡°I thought spirits could only possess living things,¡± Tony said.


    ¡°That¡¯s true, but possessed objects are typically referred to as cursed objects.¡± Mom explained. ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong, there are curses like difficulty sleeping, breathing, or seeing yourself as an old person in the mirror. There are curses and there are curse breakers. You must break a curse to fully eliminate it, just like washing a shirt to remove a stain. On the other hand, a possessed object is a similar but different kind of challenge because when a nearly sentient being resides inside the object. If you don¡¯t know it''s there, it will link itself to you until it''s exorcised.¡±


    ¡°It''s no picnic to extract them either,¡± Pop added. Clearly, he had dealt with a few possessed objects in his career. ¡°If you get marked by a possessed object, the spirit inside has nearly complete rein to make your life miserable. They''ll follow you around, and it''s basically where the stories of imaginary friends came from.¡±


    ¡°Message received,¡± Tony said, ¡°don¡¯t touch the book. Can anything be possessed?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much,¡± Pop said, looking hard at this blaze and structure.


    ¡°What about tractors, Pop?¡± Tony added grimly.


    Pop¡¯s eyes widened with alarm. ¡°Yes, yes they can.¡±


    At that moment, it all made sense and like a scope coming into focus, my attention zeroed in on the nearest tractor. Sparks dance across the tractor''s tires and a ghastly fog spills from the cracks. Joints, bolts, and the engine¡¯s grill. My entire body tensed As the tractor''s outer shell expanded, cracked, bubbled, or became warped and went rigid. Each of the tractors began to undergo some kind of transformation. Their exhaust stacks curved like devil''s horns or split and twisted to become spears. The particular models with headlights transformed from standard rectangles to narrow eggshell shapes with varying hues of orange and red. They were literally burning with what I could only assume Pop would call Hellfire. They paused in harmony. While the engines and exhaust now sounded like. Not just dogs barking. There was a deep, throaty thrum to their sounds. Each beat sent a chill down my spine and made me squirm.


    ¡°Oh crap,¡± Tony said. Look at the windshields.


    I glanced at the windshields. Right on cue, the wipers screeched across the glass, and they maintained a narrow-angle resembling angry-looking cartoons that wanted to glare at another character or the reader themselves. This look wasn¡¯t funny; in fact, it was downright devilish when put together with the flaming fires and menacing purple sigils.


    The open cab tractors, while they didn''t have any windshield wipers to speak of, their buckets or the fork attachments immediately became curved or jagged, resembling dinosaur-sized teeth. Once visible, the front lights on the loaders cracked and sizzled before becoming narrow tear dropped shaped dots of light that looked like dilated pupils with a beast like viciousness.


    ¡°Thanks for appeasing the showman in me!¡± Mr. Morris said triumphantly, ¡°That was golden! And, Oh, it fills me with no small amount of pleasure to see and point out that good old Teddy Roosevelt feared what would happen to the West. And it only took centuries, technology, and a bunch of idiots to prove him right.¡±


    He unholstered his gun and fired into the air. There was no discernible target. But he seemed to be doing it with a reason and was content to do so. After several shots, I figured the magazine or chamber would be empty, but he continued to fire without any sign that he would stop. I made a note to talk to Pop them, an enchanted gun with an infinite magazine.


    ¡°Oh, how I''ve dreamed of the open range.¡± He said with longing in his voice. ¡°I''ve played and toiled in these fields for so long I want to ride free.¡±


    ¡°What is his game,¡± Tony yelled.


    ¡°He''s acting too nostalgic,¡± Dad said, ¡°and nostalgia at this level could only lead to something catastrophic. He doesn¡¯t like how the world is, so he wants to have a reset.¡±


    ¡°That makes him unpredictable, and you lost your gun, James,¡± Mom said, ¡°we can¡¯t beat him. Not like this!¡±


    My parents locked their eyes and held it for several seconds. ¡°We haven¡¯t lost yet and I¡¯m not ready to give up.¡±


    Dad popped his neck and pulled free from Mom''s grasp. Smoke curled around him, and we lost sight of him for several seconds. When he reappeared, thankfully, the tractors hadn¡¯t moved, and Dad, doing his best to ignore them, strolled to a point and then cupped his hands over his mouth.


    ¡°Roosevelt was worried about the West,¡± Dad said, ¡°but I bet professors would say that change had to happen; society was evolving! Why go through all this trouble? What is the call of the wild? I don¡¯t get it.¡±


    The tractors backed away, and the tractor Mr. Morris was on top of did an about-face, crept up to him and stopped to where Mr. Morris could move to his knees and talk.


    ¡°Herbet, it looks to me like just begging for trouble. M.A.G.E could arrive at any moment, and you said you¡¯re taking advantage, which means you hope this will work, but we can¡¯t be sure of anything. Magic is unpredictable.¡±


    Mr. Morris tapped on the tractor¡¯s engine and the idling lowered to a level close to a cat¡¯s purr or the next best thing if someone was trying to recreate the sound with old gears and a scratchy fan belt.


    ¡°Jim, you and I both know magic is at our fingertips, and magic is unpredictable, but you can channel it into incredible things. I use my skills, as do you, but unlike you, I¡¯m not scared of the unknown. I embrace it.¡±


    His expression then hardened. ¡°I assume your weapons and clothes have some magical protections, but you¡¯re not fooling anyone, especially me. You play it safe, and you¡¯ve reached the end of your rope. You¡¯re trying to salvage your confidence and take on a new challenge. It pathetic that you¡¯re trying to assume a high ground to keep us lowly monsters in our place?¡±


    ¡°You consider yourself a monster?¡± Dad called out.


    Outraged, Mr. Morris shook his head and dismissively gave my dad a rude gesture. ¡°Only on paper because I do things that people disagree with, or what the powers that be have decided should be frowned upon.¡±


    ¡°Dark magic is not just frowned upon like a poor choice.¡± Dad shot back. ¡°It¡¯s a vice that tears your soul apart. No one should compel another, and you shouldn¡¯t desecrate the dead for profit.¡±


    ¡°That funny,¡± Mr. Morris shot back. ¡°a murderer is lecturing me, a necromancer of morals. You come after monsters and then do what? Go on with your lives unafraid of the looming consequences. Aren¡¯t you scared that there are beings who could squash you like flies? You don¡¯t get to lecture me! I almost lost everything because of you.¡±


    Dad lowered his gaze and Mr. Morris looked seconds away from spitting in his face.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t lose everything because of us,¡± Dad clarified resolutely. ¡°You would have because you were stupid enough to light the fuse before clearing the area.¡±


    Dad''s argument was sound, but Mr. Morris wasn''t having it. His discourteous attitude wasn''t surprising, but it was the only way Mr. Morris would give us some information.


    ¡°I''m not having this debate with you,¡± he spat. ¡°Do you really think you could talk me down?¡±


    ¡°Honestly,¡± Dad said. ¡°Not really.¡±


    My heart was pounding for the next part. We all knew what was coming. I just needed to be ready.


    ¡°Then why¡± Mr. Morris began. But Dad cut him off.


    ¡°When the bad guys are really angry what most crave more than power is validation,¡± Dad confirmed. ¡°But honestly, all this chatter was meant for, was to give my family a chance to make a move.¡±


    Mr. Morris glared at Dad and then up at us. I clenched my fists and flung my hand outward in an instant.


    When a Foster says, they¡¯re not ready to give up. That is code for a sneak attack.


    I realized my fingers and my tambourine soared through the air like a frisbee with percussion accompaniment. Dad hurried back a few steps, and the tractor kicked balls of fire into the air. Mr. Morris rose to his feet, and as expected, he trained his gun on me. The surprise had baited his reaction time, and my instrument gained speed, jiggling and rattling as it flew straight toward his chest. Mr. Morris tried to fire, but the motion was impulsive, and the recoil threw off his balance. He remained atop the tractor and grunted as he composed himself, brandishing his gun to take a second shot. The individual symbols encased in the wood were the next enforcement to active. Mr. Morris fired, and his bullet hit the wood frame, and it splintered, but a second later, the frame fell away, and like tiny shooting stars, each symbol either struck Mr. Morris, some in arms, legs, and chest, while the rest hit the tractor and burst in pockets of bright light. The tractor puffed smoke into the air and its engine growled in discomfort. The other tractors followed suit, and they attempted to assume a different formation, but their movements were erratic and a few hit into each other as they tried to escape the light blasts.


    Grandma would definitely call this bedlam.


    Now that my tambourine was expended. Mom, Pop, and Tony put their own tools to use while I engaged my zap ring and moved in a wide arch, looking for a chance to get in close. Tony was the closest and had a gun himself. With expert precision and control, Tony leveled the gun and fired. Mr. Morris brought his arm to his face and the bullet struck his shoulder, but instead of a howl of pain and blood. We watched the translucent outline of a person materialize in front of our faces. There were definitive features, but I cringed when I heard a ¡°Ye ha!¡± as it vanished.


    ¡°Don¡¯t waste the bullets,¡± Pop snapped. ¡°His duster is possessed.¡±


    ¡°Herbert, don¡¯t do this!¡± Dad yelled.


    ¡°I¡¯m too close to give up now!¡± Mr. Morris hollered. He fired a shot and then yelled. ¡°Take them out! And make it hurt.¡±


    The tractors immediately assumed a single fire line like trained soldiers. I found myself near a ditch, so I hurried and climbed inside. We had used our opening, and Mr. Morris now knew that we weren¡¯t playing games, and he was done with civility. I rolled into the depth, and the prickly brush, weeds, and small rocks bit into my exposed skin by my legs and thighs. It was uncomfortable. But for the moment, at least in my primary concerns. Dow here, I didn''t have to worry about being flattened or impaled for the moment.


    I peeked over the edge of the ditch as a rusty orange tractor did a doughnut, allowing some kind of attachment with circular blades to rise in the air like a spiky ball and chain. Tony darted sideways like a football player and then dove to avoid getting hit before he pulled off his own trick to avoid getting crushed. Dad, meanwhile, employed the disorienting derby to his advantage. Pop hurried to his side and handed him something. Then he booked it as fast as he could through a gap near the old red truck and the bonfire. The tractors hadn¡¯t noticed him, and Mr. Morris observed our response and leveled his gun toward Tony who had taken off and had reached the rear of the van. For a brief instant, his legs were exposed when he tossed the door open. He jumped as a bullet struck the door and I assumed he was scrambling. Two shots followed; the first hit close to the original, and the second pierced the window, but Tony wasn¡¯t stupid. He would know to stay clear of that.


    Dad leaped over the old farm truck, leveled a new gun, and fired. Mr. Morris¡¯s tractor mount ground its wheels into the dirt and Mr. Morris cursed as it pulled away. The bullet hit the window, but it didn¡¯t break the glass.


    Dad fired several more times. A few of the bullets struck the tractor, but it only seemed to antagonize the spirit inside the machine. Mr. Morris laid out a string of profanities and ordered it to return to its original position. The tractor relented, took aim, and fired at its tire. Mr. Morris was ready for this, and he didn''t employ his earlier trick, but he fired several shots that pushed Dad to dive into the back of the Red Farm truck for cover.


    ¡°Do you know why Custards Last Stand went wrong?¡± Mr. Morris cried, As Tony, who had managed to slam the van doors shut, took off at a run with several objects in his arms. ¡°Do you know why McCarthy was so scared of communists?¡±


    I wasn''t sure how, but Mr. Morris magnified his voice when presenting these historical questions, and his tone came off as vengeful. He really wanted to drive something home and make the argument hurt.


    ¡°It was because of all of you, the Fosters. There was always at least one who was around to make a blunder of everything.¡±


    Mr. Morris fired a single shot, which was the loudest of all he had let off. The tractors pulled away from any pursuit and settled on a path around the perimeter of the field. They would have disappeared if it hadn''t been for the light that was the indication of their possession. They began to maneuver in a single line. The purple energy traced the sigils and their tires dug into the ground, kicking up small mounds of dirt that looked like a barrier for a makeshift track.


    ¡°I think you Fosters would be surprised about some real history.¡± Mr. Morris spat, ¡°And you''re not going to mess this up for me. Let''s see how you do without all of your fancy toys!¡±


    I watched Mom approach the van. Pop steps behind her. Mr. Morris put his fingers to his lips, whistled, then pointed right at them.


    ¡°No!¡± I cried, ¡°Get away from the van.¡±


    I was too far away, but Pop and Mom were smart and managed to grab a duffel bag, and they barreled away, disappearing beside or within the nearby ditch as a loader tractor with a bale fork jaw charged the van.


    Horrified, I clapped a hand to my mouth as the curled teeth cut through the van¡¯s shell, and the tractor lifted it up and flung it backward. The van came down with a crunch, and the line of tractors passed over a part of it without breaking formation.


    We were stuck.


    ¡°It''s time for the last ride,¡± Mr. Morris cried, as thunder cracked across the sky and a deep boom cascaded from the bonfire.

 The Eternal Herd.

    The loader did a three-point turn and rejoined the others on their track while one of the back tires spun loosely on its axle.


    ¡°Well, this has gone from terrible to horribly bad really quick,¡± Tony¡¯s voice came over the comm, but it broke up as the link captured the engine noises of the tractors. ¡°Does anyone have any brilliant ideas to deal with demonically possessed farm vehicles?¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t really a great time for jobs about cars getting repossessed, Tony,¡± I said. I wanted to laugh. It would have been great to clear the mind. I stayed in the ditch while the rumbling got steadily lower, quickly sounding like a rapidly beating heart of the quick procession of a drum, moving up and down the lowest bass scales. We were all in various positions and Mr. Morris stared at the fire as it mixed with the sky.


    ¡°I''ve never seen something this big before,¡± Pop said, as he unzipped a duffel bag. The aurora had turned into waves sloshing across the sky like the gentle tide of a quiet beach. It would have felt serene and peaceful if the lighting didn¡¯t pierce the harmony illuminating the mountain line that saw off to the southeast. The whole sequence felt like drips of watercolors being dipped into a large bowl that was being gentle. Mixed with a spoon and till the colors were meant to set in.


    ¡°Why are the tractors outlining the field,¡± Mom said, ¡°Mr. Morris ordered them to come after us.¡±


    ¡°They will,¡± Dad said, ¡°If we try and get close.¡±


    A thunderclap intensified the incalculable challenge implied beneath Dad''s words. Mr. Morris had planned this out perfectly. Splashes of crimson, maroon, amber, and purple spilled across the ground, spreading in multiple directions. The essence closely resembled fog but morphed into puffs of smoke, like an engine being a countdown.


    ¡°That drumming!¡± I said, ¡°Is that a countdown?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re probably,¡± Pop began, but the colored smoke began to trace the edges of the tractor path. Each one maintained the proper speed, and the tractor exerted a ton of force to make a strong impression on the ground. Once the colors reached the road leading to the other parts of the farm, and back toward the house. I recognized a path being charted right toward the bonfire and the field. Whatever was going on, it seemed like it was reaching its pinnacle moment.


    ¡°I think something is coming,¡± Dad finished.


    Far down the path, it suddenly became occupied. I watched two dozen if not more, white and blue specks bounce up and down. The drumming continued, but it was pretty obvious now that it wasn¡¯t drums. Rather, it was hooves beating against the ground.


    ¡°Come on, yeah.¡± Multiple voices yelled.


    ¡°Keep it together!¡± a higher-pitched voice yelled.


    ¡°Yaw, stay strong!¡±


    ¡°Everyone stays put!¡± Dad ordered.


    I felt my chest seize as the measure of a massive herd came charging across the neighboring field, and with clear focus and drive, the massive round-up followed the path and began to pursue the fleeing tractors like a humongous, out-of-control stampede. I ducked back into the ditch and shielded my head out of self-preservation. Yet, it didn¡¯t take long before the last few wranglers and wandering cattle were following the path, but they were several feet above our heads.


    ¡°They¡¯re all ghosts,¡± Mom said, over animal sounds and relentless huffing and puffing. The wranglers hollered and bellowed as their horses fought to keep pace with the cows. The herd sped across the sky, and every few seconds, more cows came into view. They were all translucent, but their horns were dark, and I could see dirt being kicked up from beneath their hooves.


    What¡¯s it going to take to bring them down to the ground level?


    The cowboys directed the herd, and as one solid group, they sped up and curved in an arch, tracing the perimeter of the field. As they came closer, the energy spilling out from the bonfire spun, swirled, and swayed. Then, the dust clouds trailing behind the herd expanded and hung within the energy, and like a tiny stream of water, the energy began to feed into the herd, and it slowly worked its way up across the hide of each cow.


    ¡°Why a cattle drive?¡± Dad asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a symbol of the Old West, I would imagine,¡± Mom replied. ¡°He said this was an opportunity.¡±


    But for what? Irony kicked me in the teeth as I thought about the point of view, and the answer came as the high-pressured pace of the herd intensified following the scurry yip of several dogs that pulsed visible and invisible as they fought to keep their positions while the cattle were on the move. I counted three dogs, and they held my attention for two laps. Once they began the third one, within my observation, my insides prickled when something strange leaped across a barbed wire fence. I didn¡¯t catch it at first, but thunder cracked multiple times, and a figure on horseback kicked up a lot of dirt. I followed its path, and as expected, it came to a stop right beside the bonfire and the van¡¯s crumpled remains.


    ¡°There¡¯s a new ghost!¡± I said, I watched a horse leap over an unseen obstacle before disappearing like a smudge being cleared from a countertop. ¡°It''s bringing up the rear. I don¡¯t like this one. There is something different about him.¡±


    ¡°Bark bark,¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it!¡± a voice yelled, ¡°You show them whose boss!¡±


    For a moment, there was one dog and then four more rallied up behind the first, who was the largest and most vicious of the pack. All five were ghosts. The wild canine spirits growled at each other and then darted around each other nipping at their legs. Wranglers rode up beside them, and one of them tossed multiple small objects into the air. The dogs barked and plowed into each other, snatching the projectiles out of mid-air. The dogs licked their chomps and chewed merrily before bounding across the sky toward the charging herd. They caught up to them in less than a minute. A few cattle tried to break away. Each one let out a bellow and darted toward the inside of the field in an effort to evade the dog, but it had to pull back, alarmed and frightened when a second dog joined its brother and pushed the fleeing animals back into line. Each of the cows bucked and bellowed, but in the end, they compiled. A few others tried as we witnessed their advance, but none of the new ones made it nearly as far.


    When the herd cleared the track running near the bonfire. The herd came closer to the group. They didn¡¯t break stride, pace, or appear phased by the change in position. The cowboy reappeared, along with impressions of heavy barrels and large rocks. The cowboy sped toward the obstructions and vanished, only to reappear a moment later mid-leap across the land. His horse came down with a triumphant winny and then snorted before racing across the field. He seemed the only one able to break away. The cowboy came close as four cows broke away and I felt a chill that made me shiver as his mere presence pushed them back in line. He fingered the lasso strapped to his horse''s saddle.


    ¡°Everyone,¡± Pop said, ¡°We¡¯re dealing with an ascension ritual.¡±


    ¡°A what?¡± Dad asked.


    ¡°An ascension ritual is a rite of passage,¡± Pop said, ¡°I¡¯ve only ever heard of one person ever trying it. Back in the eighties, some idiot thought he could build a rocket and launch himself into space in an effort to take over the skies from Zeus. He was captured before liftoff and his house and capsule were loaded with occult tomes, spellings, potions, and symbols on the tractors.¡±


    ¡°Could it work?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Pop admitted. ¡°This is a new level of crazy, and that cowboy gives me the creeps.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like every ghost story and Wild West,¡± Dad said dryly. ¡°Like the old Stan Jones song.¡±


    The herd, the wranglers, and the cowboy completed another lap and descended toward the ground. The bonfire erupted with streaks of color as they neared me. My eyes fell on the cowboy, he looked human, but there was a hellish fire that burned inside him.


    There are holes in his head! I averted my gaze, not wanting to see anything that resembled a brain. The cowboy vanished and then reappeared a moment later. He looked a bit more solid, and less ghostly as he gripped the reins and was leaning into his horse, who was pushing a full gallop. In any other situation, I would have thought the horse¡¯s heart and lungs would explode from the excursion. The riders approached the wranglers, who cleared a path. His duster whipped and shuttered behind him like a cape. He leaped over unseen obstacles, and his horse¡¯s movements proudly displayed well-defined muscle. The horse shook its long mane, and I couldn''t hear it breathing, but I saw snot fly out of its nose, and its side compressed and expanded as it fought to fulfill its dream and to catch up with the never-failing herd that had grown in number since it had appeared. I watched the wranglers move in and out of focus, along with the dogs. None of them were gone for more than a few seconds, and occasionally new wranglers materialized and took over for the others. With each completed lap, the herd and crew came closer. The sky sparkled, twinkled, and shimmered. The whole thing looked like a canvas, recreating a scene where the writers were in the middle of a roundup and were enjoying every minute of it.


    ¡°What are we going to do?¡± I questioned. ¡°What¡¯s going to happen when the herd reaches the ground?¡±


    ¡°Emma,¡± Pop said, ¡°Are you near the farm trunk?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m coming to you.¡±


    The riders continued hollering, and they lashed out with whips and fired wild shots into the air. No one had noticed us or didn¡¯t seem to care that we were there. A clump of weeds rattled, and I glimpsed an animal poking its head out to watch.


    Bark. Bark. I winced as a few mangy-looking dogs hurried over. I ducked down worried they would have seen me. I heard them sniffing at the ground, and as quickly as they had come. The animal spectator decided to leave. The dogs panted, and it wasn¡¯t until a wrangler whistled that I couldn¡¯t glance back across the field. The dogs were lean, vicious, and dirty, even for ghosts.


    ¡°Emma!¡±


    Pop and Dad came up at a crouch beside me. I looked over Dad¡¯s shoulder, but I didn¡¯t see Mom or Tony. They had probably stayed back, so we hadn¡¯t all conveniently congregated in one place.


    ¡°Honey,¡± Dad said over the comm, but we had to pause as the tractors made a loop past us. ¡°You two good?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Mom replied. ¡°What was all of that talk about Westerns?¡±


    ¡°Pop called it an ascension ritual,¡± Dad replied.


    Mom audibly gulped. ¡°Pop, do you think the cowboy, is that the Ghost Rider?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the only thing that makes sense,¡± Pop replied.


    The ghost rider made a rush towards what appeared to be the back end of the herd. He was trailing them by several feet, but he made up that distance pretty quickly. I felt a slow gulp make its way down my throat and nearly make me choke. The lagging cows. Doesn''t it somehow manage to get away from the wranglers, and the dogs put on a burst of speed? Such an act only egged the Rider on. There was a brief glimpse of excitement on his face before his eyes burned with such a loathing fire that it made my skin crawl. He glanced in our direction, and he smiled a toothless smile. The energy from the sky washed over him. And then I glimpsed the skull tinted with a sickly blood-red stain every ounce shrouded by what I could call describe as hell fire.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t the Ghost Rider the devil?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°I¡¯d wager people think so,¡± Pop said, ¡°but ascension rituals aren¡¯t your run-of-the-mill evil plan. They¡¯re getting closer to the ground by the minute. When they do, that is when Mr. Morris is going to go for it.¡±


    Indeed, they were closer. The wranglers and cattle put on a burst of speed and were nearly on top of us visually if the area had been divided into levels.


    The Ghost rider veered up upon the nearest of the trailing cows, and they put on a burst of speed, quickly running back to the original herd. There were a few others. The Ghost Rider decided to lag back despite his horse¡¯s protest. There he waited.


    The rest of the Herd in a unified arch comes back around for a brand-new lap. The tractors were coming up right on them, smoke billowing from the engines and the hard shells were bubbling and oozing due to the heat. They veered slightly to the side, inching closer to the ditch and to us.


    ¡°Options, people,¡± Dad said, coming up beside Mom. He was breathing heavily, and he had a cut across his temple and a bruise forming across his cheek. He favored one side, but he did his best not to let it be noticed.


    ¡°There''s nothing we can do except try to confront Mr. Morris directly. A ritual builds up energy, like fear energy, but it will eventually burn out. The herd is here because of the fire.¡± Pop spoke with aggression I couldn¡¯t recall him ever embracing. Neither him or Grandma had been too eager for any encounter, and I was beginning to understand why.


    At the same time, he was right.


    Pop spoke again, ¡°I wish I understood what Mr. Morris was trying to accomplish. The ritual will burn out eventually.¡±


    ¡°If we can keep him busy, then it could go to waste,¡± Dad said, ¡°It¡¯s not pretty, but we can work with that.¡±


    ¡°He said something about fulfilling his dream,¡± Tony said, ¡°and I¡¯ve got riot ammo, fudge your senses, and a strange catcher¡¯s mitt. How could we even get close? They''re running so fast, and if you didn¡¯t notice, the van is a pile of scrap metal.¡±


    ¡°When dealing with phantomists and necromancers you¡¯ve got to understand their motives.¡± Mom said, ¡°They compel their targets to do their bidding. Why create the path? Why use fear to bring the herd here?¡±


    I dug my fingers in the dirt, ¡°What do you think Mr. Morris meant when he said wanted to fulfill his dream?¡±


    ¡°He referenced history,¡± Dad said, ¡°But what does history have to do with the ghost herd and rider except that their story is built on myths and legends.¡±


    I snapped my fingers. ¡°Legends! He seemed almost sad that the West had been destroyed like the one President Roosevelt said. Cowboys, the free spirits, that¡¯s a popularized stereotype. What if Mr. Morris was to live it for real?¡±


    Pop coughed as a wave of cold washed over the field. ¡°Mr. Morris wants to be something he¡¯s not. He wants to take over and ride with the herd. As the Ghost Rider himself.¡±


    Dad pulled his tie off and tossed it on the dirt. ¡°Necromancers teach themselves self-animation. What if what he''s trying to do is just a branch off of that?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve come down more,¡± Mom said, ¡°and Mr. Morris¡¯s tractor has joined the chase.¡±


    I searched the field as Mr. Morris cut at an angle and assumed his position right at the front of his tractor line. The symbols burned, but the tractors were looking mechanically ragged. There was no coming back from this endeavor, but that was what Mr. Morris had been counting on. Mr. Morris balanced himself on the exhaust stack as a lone cow lurched across the field, and a wrangler and a dog laughed and barked in delight while in hot pursuit. The cow bucked and tossed its head back and forth. This one had decent-sized horns on its head that easily could have enlarged a man¡¯s belly button with such fierce swings.


    ¡°Get him, girl!¡± the wrangler yelled. He had lean frame and a round face perfect for riding what looked like a fast horse if given the chance. I watched him sniff and then spit while the dog darted around, barking and nipping at the cow¡¯s hooves. The wrangler yelled and then tossed a lasso that spun through the air. For a moment, I thought the cow was going to get away, but the lasso flew true, and the wrangler didn¡¯t waste a second to pull the loop snug. The cow tried to bolt, but with one precise tug, the cow snorted and then collapsed on its side. It hollered and jerked off effortlessly to try to get back upright, but a second wrangler rushed forward and looped a second lasso, which forced the cow into complete submission. The wrangler pulled the wayward cow upright, and they had no sooner set their hand positions than the ghost rider rushed up. The wranglers handed over the duo lines with glowing eyes and a snarl across his face. The Ghost Rider tugged on the rope, and after a few attempts, the cow began to trudge sluggishly in the direction the rider wanted him to go.


    ¡°Come!¡± the ghost rider barked. The single word snapped like a firecracker. The delivery had carried a sharp, malicious tone that, for a moment, my mind felt blank, and a submissive spark nearly compelled me to follow. The wranglers and the dog veered upright, and the dog jumped in a twirl as its master tossed her a treat.


    ¡°Let¡¯s head to the far side,¡± Dad suggested. ¡°We don¡¯t have much cover-¡°


    ¡°No, no¡± Tony exclaimed. ¡°Pop, what are you doing?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean,¡± Dad turned and scowled when he realized Pop wasn¡¯t there.


    ¡°Pop!¡± Dad said.


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    The tractors rocketed past us. Several of them were now smoking skeletons. Hoses had been snapped and were spraying liquid across the dirt. Some of the tires looked deflated, and the engines were gridding gears and spitting small bits into the air that had broken free from their larger counterparts.


    ¡°There!¡± I yelled.


    Pop had made it across the field and stood beside the farm truck where he hid and hoped Mr. Morris wouldn¡¯t see him. He hid on the far side and looked most successful. At the same moment, he rose though, the Loader tractor that had skewered the van began to slow. The movement was subtle, but then it whipped away from the pack and accelerated right toward Pop.


    ¡°Not good, not good,¡± Tony exclaimed. ¡°It¡¯s heading right for him!¡±


    Dad bounded from the ditch, but I seized his hand and pointed at my belt buckle. This was the first time I had seen Dad display anything resembling panic. He acknowledged me and helped me out of the ditch. I was amazed my belt was still intact, and I wasn¡¯t about to complain. Instead, I smacked the buckle and felt power tickled through my hips and down to my calves and my toes. My muscles and organs pulled in the power, like curling up in a blanket and feeling warm and relaxed. The sensation was exhilarating. I immediately felt loose and lively with a spring in my step.


    ¡°Go!¡± Dad said.


    There was no telling what Pop was doing, but he hadn¡¯t moved very far, so it was possible, given the noise, that he didn¡¯t know the loader was on his tail. I took a huge breath and set off at a full sprint. From the corner of my eye, I could see Tony had triggered his own belt. Buckling was coming up behind me. The enforcement helped us clear the distance. With labored breath and a shredded lab coat, Pop tossed his goggles aside and held up a glowing canister with a meter level that was bright like a glow stick.


    ¡°Pop, get out of the way,¡± Tony yelled. ¡°There¡¯s a tractor.¡±


    whether Pop heard him, I wasn''t sure, but his shaky hands and dancing in place told me how worried he felt. We closed the distance, but we didn¡¯t have a plan other than to get to him. I considered changing course, trying to get the loader to chase me. If I did that, Tony would have a chance. I checked to see if Tony hadn¡¯t done what I had planned to do. Instead of seeing my brother, my attention fell on Pop who extended his arm and pressed a glowing red button. Time slowed as I registered what was in his hand. He held it like a football and the illuminated portion of his device began to blink. It blinked slowly but then began to pick up speed as though it was set to blow.


    Blinking lights. Ominous beeping. Those are things we don''t question. An explosion is an explosion, no matter how explosively combustible or obnoxiously loud. You do not want to be within the blast radius. Especially if Pop¡¯s the one setting it and had pieced it together under duress.


    Tony pulled away and I relented as Pop and the Loader engaged in their standdown. I pulled to a stop as Pop watched the oncoming tractor, and he fumbled with his device in the firelight, I could see knobs, buttons, and small external boxes that appeared loose, held in place with zip ties or duct tape.


    The Loader leveled its prongs. Within the last few feet, I felt an iron grip, and my chest was going to burst. Pop pulled back his arm as the Loader¡¯s engine shell split down the middle. The casing popped and also began to curl while the body shook as it hit divots created by tractor tires or previous passing animals.


    Tractors do not have the best turn radius. They''re built for strength. Not for bestial pursuits.


    Pop judged the distance and then threw the device as hard as he could. I started to run back to the ditch; Toy was heading back to Mom. While Pop was no longer eager to be anywhere near the fire, the trunk, or the tractor.


    The loader drew close, but recognizing the device like a mouse near a trap, the tractor swerved to avoid it, and it moved wide, but the movement wasn''t enough. The Loader lifted its fork, and the bomb exploded. I picked up my feet to run, but I only managed a step or two before I felt my feet rise off the ground. At the same time, power threw me forward, while gravity brought me crashing to the ground. Pop had been coming toward me, and I perceived something being thrown over my head.


    I closed my eyes and did my best to bring my arms up by my head. I rolled and then found myself on my back. All I could see was black, and then dozens of stars twinkled across my vision. I tried to crawl out, but my voice went mute. I hit the ground and then rolled. Surprisingly, I still remain conscious. I put my hand in front of my face. It was night and dark, but I could not see the slightest indication of my hand. Had Pop''s device blinded me? I tried to roll onto my side and curl up, but as my abdomen constricted, My lungs froze. I remained motionless and felt paralyzed. I waited, unable to smell, unable to process, unable to comprehend what had just happened.


    Then I saw my finger, and then my arm came into focus, and I saw blood running down from my elbow toward my wrist. The warmth and the wet sensation felt odd, but it was enough to bring my senses back to life. And it reminded me that I was still alive and could still move. A moment passed, and I got to my knees. I crawled toward Pop, who was lying on his stomach a few feet away. I crawled, fell to my stomach, and did more of an army crawl. Once I was by his side, I found the strength, got back to my knees, and then placed the hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°Wow!¡± he said, shaking his head and he swayed from the shock. ¡°I¡¯m surprised that worked.¡±


    Pop shuttered, and then, through gritted teeth, he had a hand wrapped across his chest and favored his lower back. I didn''t see any blood. And there was no indication that bone had broken through his skin. I was pleased that he was intact.


    ¡°If anyone tells you explosions are like getting punched. Don¡¯t let that person anywhere near a fuse.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± I said with effort. I pulled myself into a sitting position and stared wide-eyed at the tractor marooned at an awkward angle thanks to a glossy pile of orange goo.


    ¡°What the?¡± I stuttered.


    The explosion had caught the Loader near the back tire. The sudden upward force had knocked the entire tractor forward, basically making it fall on its face. The fork prongs or teeth broke off, while the attachment nearly severed itself from the tractor¡¯s arm and boom. It hadn¡¯t been a concussion charge, something that would have super-focused energy into one place to make a crater. No, Pop had used a combination to stop the tractor in its tracks.


    We¡¯ve always joked Pop¡¯s spirit animal was a mixture of the old shows MacGyver and Columbo with a sprinkle of Bill Nye, the science guy, and this moment was a prime example.


    Now suspended at a permanent angle, The back wheel spun at a breakneck speed, kicking fire and purple essence within a few feet of its position. The other tires dug into the ground, kicking dirt, weeds, small bones, and twigs into the air, trying like an animal to break free from a larger one''s unbreakable grip.


    Tony hurried up beside us. He held out a hand and I stood up. My entire body felt constricted from the movement and pain compacted against my shoulders and upper back. I groaned; but grateful I was no longer in the swimming aerobics class.


    Bruises are not sexy in a two-piece swimsuit.


    I was going to be sore tomorrow if I was lucky.


    Tony helped Pop, and I saw the blood across his forehead and his lip had split. His tux shirt was stained, sweaty and a shoulder had been torn. I moved to Pop¡¯s side, but he pushed us both back.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me!¡± He huffed.


    ¡°We¡¯re worrying about you!¡± I shot back. ¡°I¡¯m glad it worked, but why did you do it? Grandma would never have let us live this down.¡±


    Pop chuckled. ¡°It was her idea. When you get to be our age in this job, experience comes from testing the waters and a lot of risk. I wanted to test a theory, and I think we¡¯ll have our opening. Look.¡±


    The herd was now only a lap or two away from the ground, and Mr. Morris, who had finally taken note of what had happened, stomped his foot atop his tractor and shook his hands in the air in childish outrage. His tractor broke from the pack and rocked and bumped across the ground. Mr. Morris made a motion, and it came to a halt. He then jumped down and sprinted the rest away to way to his immobilized tractor. There was no compassion as he examined the damage and the substance. There was only fury. We weren¡¯t too far from him, but his sole focus was trying to get it free. The elevated wheel twitched back and forth, and exhaust came out in weak puffs that almost resembled tears.


    ¡°Shouldn''t that thing be out of gas by now?¡± Tony spat.


    ¡°All of them should,¡± Pop said, ¡°but that¡¯s what happens when things are possessed. The visitor is rarely a happy tenant.¡±


    Mr. Morris gripped his pistol but then extended his hand, creating three purple dots that leaped from his fingers. Each one flung itself over and three men in battered hats, ragged coats, and rusty pickaxes appeared beside the tractor. All three spirits had nimble bodies and feeble frames. With nothing more than a gesture, the worker ghosts set to work ripping chunks of the substance out with solid, consistent strikes.


    ¡°Why worry about one tractor?¡± Tony said. ¡°He¡¯s got so many.¡±


    ¡°A show of force,¡± Pop said. ¡°I found it odd that since the herd appeared, he¡¯s not fired his gun. Instead, he ordered his tractors to attack us. Essentially, he compelled his minions to take us on.¡±


    ¡°Like the rider,¡± I finished, ¡°when he ordered the one cow he lassoed back into the pack.¡±


    ¡°You felt that,¡± Pop said. ¡°Terrifying, but yes. The wranglers are keeping everyone in line, and his necro fire is sustaining them being here, but if he¡¯s going to take over, he has to show the forces in play that he had the command to never be challenged.¡±


    ¡°So why not just shoot us?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°Because he can¡¯t,¡± Pop said. ¡°I wondered if he has unlimited rounds, and I¡¯d love to study his gun, but anyway. The Rider is his end game. He¡¯s going to take a shot.¡±


    ¡°So, you can kill a cosmic being?¡± Tony asked. ¡°That sounds dumb.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Pop agreed. ¡°You can¡¯t upset the cosmic balance without paying a huge penalty. Morris assumes he¡¯ll become the rider if he can take the current rider out. He might be able to do that, but he can¡¯t show weakness which is why he¡¯s working to get that loader unstuck.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s only got a few more minutes at best,¡± Tonu said, ¡°That fire looks to be at its peak.¡±


    ¡°Those tractors have got to be on their last leg as well,¡± I added. ¡°Do we have a chance to take them out as the literal body gets weaker?¡±


    ¡°Maybe but we can¡¯t wait it out,¡± Pop replied. Mom and Dad hurried over to us. Both of them had ripped or shredded outfits and had severe injuries across their faces and exposed skin. Dad held up a withered and severed arm and then tossed it aside before pulling off his trench coat.


    ¡°Possession and physical strain do go hand in hand but a mechanical possession. The nonliving parts, like iron alloys, would hinder that connection. Mr. Morris must have cushioned the entity in order to empower the machine for as long as they¡¯re along for a ride.¡±


    Off in the distance, we watched the phantom miners pull back as they extracted the last of the material, and the loader tractor came down with a resounding thud. The miners glanced at each, and then each one vanished in a swirl of purple smoke. Mr. Morris grunted in annoyance before tossing some purple energy toward the tractor and then he pointed toward the lineup. The loader kicked some exhaust into the air, and then it began to move. It picked up speed, but considerable damage had been dealt to the wheel and its connecting joints.


    The spirit is cushioned inside and is powered by the fire. It¡¯s a connection. I followed the dirt, and a grim thought came to mind, but I also pictured the solution.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I said quickly, ¡°Can we consider possession a link or bond?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but,¡± Mom began.


    ¡°And if a being is being fueled by an external power source, is that a bond?¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Pop said.


    Everything began to take shape. I recalled Pop¡¯s attempts at comedy. I worked through what had been said about ghosts and possessions and spotted a blinking light, a fragment from Pop¡¯s incendiary device. Next to it, ironically, a tractor passed by, and I glimpsed a familiar device. A device that gave me a plan.


    ¡°The fire in the linchpin,¡± I said firmly. ¡°So, let¡¯s sever the connection.¡±


    ¡°We won¡¯t get close, and you¡¯ve used the speed belt- Emma!¡± Pop yelled.


    My step felt like a nail being driven through my heel. My skirt billowed around me as I rushed forward, snatching up the discarded duffel. I quickly reached inside and pulled out the odd-looking baseball glove; the You''re out, sparky! The thick glove felt awkward as it pinched my fingers and was snug across my palm.


    A hard shell of plastic stretched across my knuckles, and a section stretched upward and encased a small portion of my thumb. There were wires woven through the material, carefully stitched, and secured by what appeared to be little copper brackets of some kind. I moved my hand around. And notice the crisscross section that came up over my knuckles. I had only glanced at the instructions, but there was no time to do anything else.


    The herd was on a parallel track with the road, and they were inches from touching the ground. The air wreaked of ash and I clicked switches and hopefully set everything into place.


    ¡°I¡¯ll destroy all of you!¡± Mr. Morris yelled.


    He charged at me, and I felt my legs buckle, but I stayed put. Mr. Morris glowed deeply, sickly purple. He had reached the peak of his power. I waited for him to draw his weapon or call on an undead to challenge me. When he didn¡¯t, I settled on the realization that he was going to run me over.


    I spread my feet apart as Mr. Morris cut in front of the herd, and I held my arm out, unsure what to expect and unsure if it would even work. I winced, but then I heard a soft bell chime. My jaw dropped, and a hard vibration rocked up and down my arm. I seized my wrist, and that brought a relentless pressure down on my chest before power began to centralize in my palm.


    A massage pillow hell.


    I screamed and momentarily saw Mr. Morris get thrown off the tractor, and he rolled across the dirt while his tractor went dark and began to sizzle and smoke from everything that had been put on it. My joints popped, and I felt a strain beneath intense cold followed by intense heat. My hand danced wildly around in front of me. Whatever I held wanted to pierce my chest and throw me around like a rag doll.


    ¡°Hold it.¡± Dad and Pop appeared by my side. They both grunted and gasped beneath the pressure as they tried to support me.


    ¡°It has to be the redirected,¡± Pop yelled.


    ¡°There,¡± I cried, but the dust in my mouth made me cough. I tried again. But the coughing only intensified. I tried to twist and turn, then let my hand drop. As my eyes fell on the old farmer''s truck. There was a blast and a creak, and I felt something sink into my skin. I yelled and screamed as the pain shot up my arm and concentrated in my shoulder.


    Dad pulled me close to his chest, and I watched as a blast rocketed through the air and hit the tailgate of the truck. The transformation was nearly instantaneous. The old phone track spit flames from its exhaust. The bumper arched into an awkward demonic smile, and the headlights became narrow triangles. Then, multiple jagged edges created pointy teeth along the grill. The truck''s fiery look was quite intimidating. But then it kicked up dirt into the air. And the engine roared. But even with the possessed powers. It only produced a whine, about the equivalent of a little newborn puppy.


    ¡°I don''t think it''s happy,¡± Pop said. ¡°It''s like the power. It wants to be back in the tractor.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s probably not going to end well,¡± Dad barked. We staggered a few steps back as the track back tires began to smoke. It had obviously been years since the truck had moved, and its condition was causing some problems for the ghost. The engine section and the spit twisted and moved side to side before lurching forward. The entire body of the truck wobbled, and its top speed was no more significant than that of a bike going down a steep hill. With the demonic power, it kicked in and gave it a small burst of speed, almost like a Sprint near the finish line. I can see the determination in the truck¡¯s triangle headlight eyes. The truck is like someone running through mud. First, it moved a few inches, then crept forward a bit before, and in a frantic burst of speed, it kicked itself forward towards the fire.


    ¡°NO!¡± Mr. Morris yelled indignantly.


    He''d come out of nowhere. Purple veins were spreading across his body at the exact moment Mr. Morris aimed his gun and fired at the truck. The truck jumped into the air and crashed into the bonfire, showering the entire area in Amber''s ash and construction material. It soared several feet into the air and went limp and dark as it collided with the ground in a thundering crash and bang.


    ¡°Look,¡± Pop exclaimed, ¡°the herd.¡±


    Dad helped me turn, and we watched as the herd began to visibly fade away, along with the wranglers and their hound dogs. Thanks to the colors, the ripples in the energy. The entire area seems to have been shadowed by an Aurora borealis. Mr. Morris screamed in outrage, leveled his gun, and fired again. I followed the bullet¡¯s trajectory on a line of energy that streaked through the air like a firework. The ghost rider reared up on his horse. Mr. Morris''s shot would have been perfect if he had had time to do it just a few seconds sooner.


    The Ghost Rider pulled away, then in one fluid motion as the shot streaked past him. The cowboy reached out and grabbed the trailing. Power tail. Mr. Morris attempted to fire again. The three of us watched. His entire body went limp, and he had no strength to pull the trigger. He brought his hand down, but a stark white, ghostly impression of his hand remained in the air. Little by little, as he lost his strength, Mr. Morris''s physical body fell to the ground. The look of horror on his face was abject and mortified. He looked towards the Ghost rider, and then he glanced at us. There is a furrow in his brow. And I will say they told me he wasn''t ready to give up. This wasn''t how it was supposed to be. He clung to his dream every second he could, and it pained him as outside energies were pulling it away.


    ¡°You Fosters have done it again,¡± Mr. Morris wheezed. As the Ghost rider gave another tug on that trailing purple line that connected them? Nearly a third of the herd had faded from view, and the tractors, one by one, had begun to sputter and darken as the truck had. One lost a wheel, and another had multiple pieces fall to the ground and smolder. Mr. Morris''s wife, where was she? I hadn¡¯t often felt sorry for the monsters we¡¯d dealt with, but I couldn¡¯t pull my eyes away from Mr. Morris and started to feel sorry for him.


    I rationalized this was his choice, and I wasn¡¯t upset that he had dealt with the penalty. Mr. Morris swayed back and forth, but it was a vain effort, and his entire body buckled in duress.


    ¡°Fosters, you''re living,¡± he said breathlessly. ¡°On borrowed time.¡±


    Then I felt his gaze fall on me and his eyes went white before he muttered. ¡°No Reservation!¡±


    My heart throbbed and I grasped.


    No Reservation. My recollection made me shiver, and my entire body tingled with numb, passive pain.


    Mr. Morris chuckled and regained a moment of his humanity. He sighed, then gazed longingly at the sky, before glancing out at his fields. He said nothing more, but I was sure he regretted the outcome. There was a look of cherished horror. The mix was bizarre, as I considered it. Mr. Morris had loved his land and had taken steps to be immortalized along it forever, although it was not the way he wanted. The ghost rider, followed by his horse, snorted smoke, and then it reared up one last time with effortless delight. I watched the translucent Mr. Morris fall forward, dragged by the long purple tether. After a few inches, his ghost form expanded. His hands and boots became hooves. And horns sprouted from beneath his hat.


    ¡°You only get one chance,¡± Mom said. With one hand over her mouth, terrified. When the ghost cowboy crossed the dividing road between the two fields and moved into the following field, he had a steer trailing behind him. The steer pulled hard on the guiding line but was ultimately resigned to follow. Mr. Morris tossed his now cow head back and forth, audibly snorting until they vanished into the night.


    That¡¯s why they wanted to get away. I shuttered at the idea.


    For several moments, we just stood there in disbelief. Mr. Morris had become a cow. I wasn''t sure if I should feel stunned. Surprised. Terrified or mortified.


    ¡°We better go,¡± Mom began. But she was having a demanding time keeping focus and composed. She ran her fingers are crossed Dad''s arm, and then he pulled her into his chest. They embraced for a long minute, and it was hard to process everything we had seen and dealt with. We should have perished, but somehow, we hadn¡¯t. We stood silent for a moment, and then Dad spoke.


    ¡°It''s not quite over yet.¡±


    Pop handed down a silver tube similar to what I had used against the vampire and the craft store. That extended the baton to its full length and then released. The catch revealed the thin blade.


    Mom came up beside me. Dad let me go, and immediately, my legs felt the weight and visibly blurred.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok,¡± Mom whispered. She pulled me close and was careful around my shoulder.


    Dad and Pop moved towards Mr. Morris¡¯s crumpled body. Pop used his foot and positioned it against Mr. Morrison''s shoulder. And then He turned his head to the side and closed his eyes. Dad held the blade and quickly covered his face, but not before I caught sight of the heavy energy traveling through. Mr. Morris''s body. I knew what it was, even though I hadn''t seen it personally before today.


    Even though Mr. Morris was a necromancer, we all knew what had to be done today. Dad flexed his fingers across the handle and took it in both hands. He had a hesitant look. And he gritted his teeth before making one smooth strike at Mr. Morris''s neck. His head came free, and the body rolled to the side, a bottle of purple liquid pulling beneath the neck.


    ¡°Necromancers don''t die easily,¡± Dad said, ¡°and I''m not going to take any chances that Mr. Morris''s last words were a threat. If we''re living on borrowed time and if we have other enemies. I don¡¯t want them to have any advantage.¡±


    ¡°Grandma is on her way,¡± Pop said, ¡°it''s not going to be long before some higher hands show up and wonder what the heck happened here today.¡±


    ¡°We''re going to have to leave them with the questions,¡± Dad said. ¡°But we''re certainly not going to leave any answers here. The town''s had enough scares for one Halloween.¡±


    Dad stripped the body and then wrapped the head in the duster along with the guns, and he carefully. Also picked up the discarded book.


    ¡°What''s the play, Dad?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing we can do about the tractors or the van,¡± Dad replied. ¡°This damage is way too severe, so we¡¯ll need to strike the van and blow everything and Mr. Morris¡¯s body. We¡¯ll need to be in the blaze.¡±


    ¡°What was that about scares and speculation?¡± Pop asked.


    ¡°The van links us here, and with everything going on, we can¡¯t have it traced back to us.¡± Dad said, ¡°It''s not the happiest solution. This is prime farmland. Sadly, all of this has to be burned. It¡¯s the only way to ensure the sigils aren¡¯t discovered, and society needs to see this as one more ridiculous thing.¡±


    No one argued. I briefly hoped that perhaps no one would notice for a day or two, but rationally I doubted that would happen.


    ¡°Accidents happen all the time,¡± Dad said. Sounding a bit solemn, ¡°I''m just sorry it had to happen to someone I thought was one of the decent neighbors.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Mom said. She looked at the fire pit, ¡°I wonder what happened to his wife?¡±


    ¡°We''re just going to have to leave that one alone,¡± Dad said, ¡°I think it¡¯s better we don¡¯t know.¡±


    Thirty minutes later, we were safely on the road. Grandma had red eyes, but she arrived promptly and did as Pop asked. Five minutes later, Mr. Morris''s fields, barn and home were up in flames.

 My name is Emma Foster. I am a Monster Assassin. I am scared out of my mind.

    Most Fosters don¡¯t exactly take pleasure in the kill. We deal with monsters because for some reason, we were the ones gifted with the knowledge to do something about it. We had thwarted a plot, but it hadn¡¯t been the one we¡¯d set out to deal with. We stopped a necromancer, who had been hiding in plain sight. While, as far as we knew Suzy Sourblood, Someone, and Amy One, both shapeshifters and possibly other villains, were still at large.


    I fell asleep on the ride home but was far from restful. A cow¡¯s cry, the thunderous, repetitive beat of the herd hooves, or the grind of the tractor¡¯s engine.


    Grandma filled us in that the Monster Mash we had driven through had pulverized nearly two dozen businesses. Knocked out power for three-quarters of the town, destroyed dozens of cars and trees, and hospitalized a number of individuals and families.


    The first few days in November were quite somber, and the weather reflected the tense mood that plagued leaders, business owners, and even the neighborhood pets. Before this job, Mr. Morris had been right. Assassins, we do get in and get out, and we make sure the authorities never suspect we were there. This time it was different.  Initial news reports and social media posts talked about the town being in shambles, but that was an understatement. This was an aftermath we couldn¡¯t hide from, could we? We followed the reports and kept a low profile the best we could, watching for any hints or comments about us while we licked our wounds and made a plan to be ready in case something was going to backfire.


    After three days, we relaxed, but the world was still on high alert, and we had new questions and a whole new perspective about how we fit into it.


    You¡¯re living on borrowed time. Mr. Morris¡¯s words hung over us, and it was a challenge to step outside, let alone go to campus or follow the newly established city ordinances put into place while the town worked to rebuild. Overall, after a preliminary investigation, reporters announced that the two giant monsters had practically decimated nearly seven city blocks. Federal agencies spoke in multiple new briefs, and their dark SUVs were often seen idling on street corners, city hall, and by crucial areas like school zones, banks, and grocery stores. No one had come forward to take credit for the damage, but city councils and business groups were furious at the apparent stall in the investigation. Thirty-three businesses were completely shut down or temporarily closed pending investigations and excavations. At the same time, authorities removed cars and other debris from the storefronts or whiles while the owners awaited hefty insurance payouts. School districts suspended classes for security reviews for a week, and mental health professionals were booking appointments 6 to 8 months in advance.


    There was little enthusiasm for Thanksgiving, and it was hard to tell if anyone was hopeful. By the time the news broke regarding Mr. Morris and the dismal state of his farm, the investigation tried to link potential perpetrators to the city damage. There were plenty of pundits who spun decent arguments, but most residents outside the city limits had been inside and with the variety of machine parts and the charred remains of his tractors, no one put much thought about it and ruled it mechanical malfeasance.


    I looked out the window and appreciated the natural frost that obscured my presence from the street. There were droplets of condensation, and the three of them reminded me of the three robed ghosts I now understood were the Omens.


    No reservations.


    What did that mean?


    A dog sprinted across our yard, and when it barked, I recoiled, feeling the memory of his claws nearly catching my cheek as he swiped at me. My muscles tensed as I replayed every move I made. I clocked him in the shoulder, and his jaws had nearly snapped my tambourine.


    All right, it''s time to do something.


    I was a feeble newborn calf, hardly able to walk but I persevered and limped from my room, taking a break in my doorway before going out into the hall. I hadn¡¯t looked at the clock, but I felt that it was at some point in the late afternoon.


    On this particular morning, Mom had kept me bedridden as much as she could. When I reached the stairs, I could hear noises coming from the kitchen. Was I ready for an earful?


    No, I needed a distraction.


    I pulled back from the stairs and headed towards the bridge, where I knew Dad would be working.


    I was my dad¡¯s daughter, and I was ready to have a problem to mull over.


    The doors slid open, and I wandered inside. Dad dimmed the lights, and he stood with his arms behind his back between the two front consoles. An image was on the viewscreen, but I realized it was a video call once I saw movement and a few shadows. Silently, I settled into Counselor Troi''s chair.


    Pop had a front-facing camera angled downward toward a long rectangular box with runes stenciled on top of a brown board overlaid on the seams of the transparent case. Inside was the book Mr. Morris had pulled from his pocket and dropped on the ground.


    ¡°There are definite signs of age,¡± said Pop somewhere off-screen. ¡°Despite the damage from the night, which appears to be superficial, I guess it''s somewhere between. 60 to 80 years old.¡±


    Dad didn''t respond right away. He seemed deep in thought. And was just letting everything, Pop said, have a chance to sink in.


    ¡°Did you see any brand, initials, or some kind of a mark to indicate past ownership or purpose?¡± Dad asked.


    ¡°We haven¡¯t opened it yet,¡± Pop admitted, ¡°When we secured the book in this box, we found that it bulked up.¡±


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Dad said.


    ¡°Loose pages or hard card stock,¡± Pop observed. ¡°


    ¡°There were a few loose cards in the spine, but there''s nothing on them. I¡¯ve had Grandma help me, and we''ve tried every test imaginable. There isn''t anything of interest on the spine, and the paper seems quite ordinary. Which isn''t to say that someone couldn''t be inside or somehow inscribed on a certain page or in a drawing that could be activated if we¡¯re not careful.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll look at every page, and card one at a time,¡± Dad said. ¡°It¡¯s not every day we get prime insight into our bad guy''s operation.¡±


    ¡°Unless it¡¯s a wild goose chase kiddo,¡± Pop said.


    ¡°Unlikely,¡± Dad said, ¡°Mr. Morris was overly pleased to rub our noses in this information. We wanted to make us squirm.¡±


    ¡°Well, he succeeded,¡± Pop said, ¡°I¡¯m still taken aback that he called us Monster Assassins.¡±


    ¡°My stomach nearly splatted on the ground,¡± Dad said, ¡°I was sure he was going to hand me a business card with a pirate black spot on it.¡±


    Pop¡¯s fingers drummed against his workbench. ¡°Son, you realized this changes things. We¡¯ll have to be more careful with the job we take. We¡¯ll have to vet our information. We can¡¯t get caught so unprepared.¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± Dad said, and then he shot a look over his shoulder toward me. I waved and decided it was better to remain silent. ¡°For now, we¡¯ll take it one step at a time.¡±


    ¡°For all the good it will do,¡± Pop said, as he inched his hands toward the journal¡¯s leather chord.


    ¡°Moment of truth?¡±


    ¡°Nice and slow,¡± Dad said.


    ¡°And then some,¡± Pop said. ¡°I¡¯ve pulled out all the stops, but we¡¯re not taking any chances.¡±


    This is one deadly game of Operation.


    Like a trained surgeon or a bomb technician, as far as I could imagine, Pop worked his fingers into the knot and, with careful precision, began to undo the cord. Pop twirled his fingers around a small length before setting it aside. It wasn¡¯t a wide book measuring, I guess it came in between six and eight inches. Once the pressure was released, the wrinkled pages gave a careful exhale. It wasn''t a thick book, but the inserts they had been talking about added to its thickness, and some near the middle had been doubled over.


    ¡°Page one,¡± Pop said. He pulled the cover back and let his video camera capture every detail. Pop gingerly slipped his finger beneath the paper, and he slid it down the length of the book. He moved slowly, obviously wanting as much time as possible to take cover if some type of danger was to reveal itself.


    ¡°The writing is really finite,¡± Pop said as he navigated the book''s contents. He went slow, carefully documenting a few pages at a time. ¡°I¡¯m no expert, but most of this was written by the same person, and it was written in sections.¡±


    Dad cocked his head to the side, and with one hand on the console, he zoomed the image closer onto the page.


    ¡°Is that cursive?¡±


    ¡°Only in presentation,¡± Pop said, ¡°but it''s not entirely written in English. I see symbols, accents and letter combinations I doubt there are English sounds for.¡±


    Dad stepped toward the view screen. ¡°Magic does come from Germanic groups, and some date back to ancient civilizations. We¡¯ll put out some feelers and see if we can pin down a translator.¡±


    ¡°We should be able to scan the page, and Grandma would know who to ask,¡± Pop said, ¡°We may even want to explore some handwriting analysis as well. We should know how many people contributed to this composition.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hardly a one-person operation,¡± Dad confirmed. As Pop advanced a few more pages. ¡°What¡¯s next?¡±


    ¡°Here are our first inserts,¡± Pop said.


    Pop extracted a stack of cards and pictures and began to cycle through them. He gave each of them a few seconds on the camera for documentation. When we looked at Suzy¡¯s background, we noticed small visible cues hinting at age, such as discoloration and small portions being distorted. Those images had been digitalized. This was unique because it was a chance to examine the real deal.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a variety of landscapes, official buildings, and features that will be an adventure to identify.¡±


    Why do bad guys always have location pictures?  Pop continued without further comment on some advertisements and a set of business cards. They were generic and seemed low-grade. They had probably been printed but were never put to use.


    ¡°Price Fix Inc?¡± Pop read. ¡°RATE A WEEK LLC?¡±


    ¡°Fake, I would guess,¡± Dad said, ¡°What is that last one? It''s larger than the others.¡±


    ¡°Some big city warehouse district, I suspect,¡± Pop said, ¡°and it looks like there are a few candid shots.¡±


    I didn¡¯t quite agree that the pictures were necessarily candid but after the warehouses and a few more street pictures. I could see people walking up and down the streets. The discoloration obscured a few street signs, and while a few people were closer to the mystery photographer than others, I didn¡¯t see any central focus on one particular person or group. There was a man reading a newspaper and a woman attending to a baby on a park bench for the old stroller beside her. There were a few couples in restaurants, and multiple individuals stood, looking through aisles at a library or bookstore.


    ¡°What do you think, Pop?¡± Dad asked, ¡°Could those be family photos?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not posed shots, so I doubt it,¡± Pop replied. ¡°The more I look at these pictures and this book, I feel like Mr. Morris either stumbled onto it or someone gave it to him. We can¡¯t read it, so it doesn¡¯t tell us much until we can decipher the writing and figure out who these people are and if they¡¯re important.¡±


    ¡°Do you know any archivists?¡±


    Pop laughed. ¡°I do, but they aren¡¯t exactly a reliable bunch.¡±


    Dad folded his arms. ¡°Sounds like there is a story there.¡±


    ¡°More like a standoff,¡± Pop said, in a voice that firmly said, Drop it!


    I watched Pop flip a few more pages. The handwriting was significantly larger and had been drafted in maroon-tinted ink.


    After a dozen pages, Pop came to others that were all blank. Dad zoomed in on the page, and Pop flipped the page back and forth a few times and grabbed a black light, with no happy result. They were empty.


    I decided to interject. ¡°Based on how we got this book. That is underwhelming. How could a book so old and occult in nature have blank pages.¡±


    ¡°Things aren¡¯t always what they appear,¡± Dad said. ¡°Are those more inserts?¡±


    Pop proceeded through the following few pages. These had been written in green ink and the author had been by far the most delicate of the contributors. Pop cleared a page and then extracted an insert that had been folded into four parts. I straightened up as Pop set this out. The insert was a pencil sketch of a cafe table with a latte sitting on top of a saucer and a half-eaten sandwich on a plate beside it. There was incredible shading, careful precision, and detail, focusing on capturing the elements from the cracks in the bread and the different layers. Of everything from the tomato, the lettuce, and the meat, just seeing it made my mouth water, and I felt a sensory tickle when I recognized lines that were meant to simulate steam.


    ¡°That¡¯s pretty impressive artistry,¡± Dad said. ¡°Are those are pencil drawings?¡±


    ¡°Pencil or possibly charcoal,¡± Pop interjected. There are some smudges along the edge, but they''re very minuscule. This artist has an expert-level control.¡±


    ¡°The images look recent,¡± Dad said, ¡°The style of bread, the cup. The source image couldn¡¯t be more than a few months to a year old.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve got more,¡± Pop said.


    He flipped to the next one, which depicted a dozen flags, which were designs I didn¡¯t recognize. It seemed like something recreating the United Nations. But the building wasn''t quite right. I couldn''t quite put my finger on why, though. The following page depicts an alley with a vague statue and multiple shadows peeking from the depths at several angles. The following picture was of a clock sitting on a mantle. Pop smooth out a crease. Then he moved to the next page.


    ¡°Cafe Mystere,¡± Pop read. With the best French accent, he could manage.


    Who are they? Salad. 2-10-87


    Influential pizza. 4-16- 62


    Do they know Latte? 3/23/49.


    Who is in play? Infinite.


    See drink options.


    Invites are Live 10/31/23


    Reservations TBD


    I gripped the seat when the Omen appeared beside the view screen. The three of them looked at the screen and then I heard the voice graze my ear.


    Emma Foster, No reservations.


    ¡°That is an unappetizing menu,¡± Pop said as he finished reading the listed items. Some of them he read again to make sure he had read it right.


    I couldn''t help but think the same thing. Pop and Dad shared a few theories, and while they conversed, I reread the menu myself, and I couldn¡¯t push away a sense of foreboding. And then Dad, without word or warning, sprinted up the walkway and began messing with the controls along the arch behind the captain''s chair.


    ¡°In Business School, they always emphasize that you should read the fine print,¡± Dad said, messing with the controls.


    After a moment, Dad then added, ¡°Pop, can you adjust the camera angle towards the logo at the top?¡±


    Pop did so, and beneath the banner, a small line of text carried A tagline: We strive to foster a majestic and one-of-a-kind experience.


    Pop, read, and reread the phrase multiple times. Our last name stuck out to me with a zit on my forehead. His voice sounded breathless, and his words cracked even with the tension and horror that the message implied.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°That''s quite a subtle calling card,¡± Dad said, ¡°The owners or powers behind this caf¨¦ could have instructed him to give us this book. He might have had a falling out at one point, which could have motivated him to go after the herd and the Ghost Rider.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of societies, leagues, councils, and cabals, but never a cafe,¡± Pop added, ¡°Is it a place where bad guys hang out? Why have they taken an interest in us?¡±


    ¡°And more importantly, how do they know about us?¡± Dad said, ¡°We¡¯ve got to warn the family. Until we know more about them, their operation, and their goals. Everyone has got to be on their guard.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m happy or terrified that I now know about them,¡± Pop said, ¡°It¡¯s a strange name.¡±


    I raised my hand. ¡°It''s French for cafe mystery.¡±


    ¡°Cafe mystery,¡± Dad said. ¡°I''ll give them points for a cliche name, and props for the French touch.¡±


    ¡°Dad, how do you think Mr. Morris got his hands on this, and how would he know about the caf¨¦? He didn¡¯t seem like the type of fine dining.¡±


    ¡°As a necromancer, he could have known, been contacted, or been on a list of patrons.¡± Dad said, ¡°The last line of the menu talks about reservations.¡±


    ¡°That tells us something to look for,¡± Pop said, he picked up the book and then set it back down. ¡°Let¡¯s see if there is anything else.¡±


    Pops continued and double-checked each picture, making sure that they were clearly seen on the camera. After a new pass at each of the drawings, pop moved through several more pages of multilingual entries. But then, when he came to the last few pages, he found them empty.


    ¡°I am more puzzled and confused by this book,¡± Pop said. ¡°I expected this book to be overflowing with even more cryptic entries and materials.¡±


    As he turned the page, he removed a card. A card that said valet was on one side, with the Cafe Mystery logo on the other.


    ¡°I think I see something etched on the card at an angle,¡± Dad said. ¡°Pop, can you tilt the card toward the wall?¡±


    Pop did so, and there, shimmering beneath the light, we saw the words reservations solved. The picture clues.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Pop said, ¡°So the reservation is a test. Are you smart enough to solve my riddle?¡±


    ¡°Maybe their enemies come to them,¡¯ Dad began, but he stopped as Pop turned the page and pulled back when he revealed a clock drawing that covered the entire page length, which was ticking, audibly ticking.


    ¡°Pop!¡± I cried. I could hear the ticking coming through the audio system. Dad stood rigid as the camera pulled back and shook as Pop and probably Grandma were in retreat. We both heard several objects fall to the floor, and the camera began to pan wildly back and forth. Dad called out as we both registered footsteps and muttered cries. Dad dropped his arms and practically yelled.


    ¡°Pop, is everything ok?¡±


    There was no reply for several minutes, multiple grueling minutes. Dad looked ready to sprint out the door and drive over there. He remains still, and during that time, the video remained active. I could still hear the ticking and awkwardly see the hands. As they continued to move.


    ¡°We''re alright,¡± Pop stammered from the distance. I heard some footsteps, and then he returned to the camera. It shook as he set it back up, and Dad¡¯s chest relaxed. I spotted a few papers on the floor, but nothing had exploded or been damaged.


    ¡°I was afraid that I had triggered something. I told you we pulled out all the stops.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re alright,¡± Dad gasped, ¡°What sort of trick would enchant a paper to be the timer or set up a countdown.¡±


    ¡°A doomsday clock or some sort of failsafe,¡± Pop began, but a beep cut him off.


    ¡°Kitchen to the bridge,¡± Momma''s voice urgently called out, and she repeated herself multiple times.


    Both Dad and I glanced at the door. Mom was in the house and would have just come to the bridge. There was rarely any reason for her to use the com badge. Unless there was a problem.


    Right on cue, the navigation console blinked, and an image appeared on the screen that slightly resembled our front door, only now it was partially obscured by swirling clouds of white mist. Dad raced to the door and wedged between them before they opened. I followed him. We hurried down the hall and cautiously approached the stairs. A hundred possible scenarios rattled through my brain. I didn¡¯t know what time it was, but would Suzy send a henchman into a populated subdivision? She had attacked Main Street, so why not attack a residential area? This wasn¡¯t just problematic; it was a disaster. People would ask questions, and the authorities would knock at the door if we didn¡¯t take care of this.


    One problem at a time. We needed to survive this first.


    Dad descended first, and we met with eyes with Tony, who stood beside the counter. Mom gripped a wooden mixing spoon and looked beside herself as both of their attentions were on the front door. I stepped back and was not in alignment as I saw their pale faces and stunned expressions.


    ¡°What''s going on?¡± Dad demanded. He was ready to pounce. Mom said nothing but motioned to the door. Everything seemed quite ordinary until thin lines of white smoke slithered through the gap between the door and the floor and along the space that valued up to the door handle with slow, conscious movements. The white smoke licked the door surface, waving back and forth like ripples across a pond after a rock was thrown in. They hesitated, careful only to move a few inches at a time. I looked at Dad, who looked stunned. He opened his mouth to speak, but he had nothing to say.


    I turned to Tony and mouthed. What is it? Tony blinked several times, then shrugged. But then he held up five fingers. I pointed at the clock, and he nodded. Whoever that was had tried to come in five times before Mom had made the call to Dad.


    We were getting infiltrated in broad daylight and cut off with no plan to escape.


    We watched the smoke lines try to work their way around the door for a sixth time. They stretched out along the edge and fumbled with the lock before coalescing around the hinges and returning to try for a seventh on the lock and handle. I nervously wet my lips as a single strand stretched out and stroked the doorknob, but it seemed unable to touch it for some reason.


    ¡°Out the back!¡± Dad urged. ¡°We can¡¯t chance getting boxed in. If they can get this close to the front door, I do not want them to gain access to the bridge or any of the offices.¡±


    There were murmurs of agreement, and I was the closest to the back door. I took a step towards it. I saw sunshine peeking through the clouds, and the porch looked clear. I reached for the handle but stopped as new smoky lines came into view, slithering from beneath the bushes and around large rocks, and some even dropped through the barbeque.


    ¡°The back is occupied too,¡± I hissed with no small amount of dread.


    We should have considered that someone this brazen enough to attack the front door would also take a chance to breach the back door. I pulled back. As the smoke lines reached the steps, they moved up them, creating a condensation layer spreading across the glass. Once completely covered, I watched snowflakes and water droplets coalesce across the surface and spread from edge to edge, from top to bottom. Without any prompting, we headed to the hall. In the direction towards the bridge, it was our only option.


    ¡°Pop was on the line when you alerted us,¡± Dad said. ¡°We should only have to hold out for a few minutes and-¡±


    ¡°Dad, look,¡± Tony urged. He pointed to the back door as three words appeared in the condensation.


    Knock, knock, Fosters. Complete with commas and a period.


    I heard the squelch of an unseen finger making contact with the glass. The unseen writer pulled away with a flourish, but not before adding a period after our last name.


    ¡°Spooky and grammatically correct,¡± Tony said.


    ¡°Spooky is an understatement,¡± I said.


    Seeing our name spelled out on the glass did not help the mood. And it only increased our apprehension. I cringed while my parents exchanged glances. Dad whispered to Mom, and they came close to one of us before we moved back to the kitchen. Dad entered first and was about to pull up in the pantry. But then he stopped when we heard the deadbolt click, and the front door swung open.


    ¡°Take cover,¡± Dad ordered.


    ¡°Not necessary,¡± said a new voice. I expected it to come from the couch or a chair behind us. They¡¯d be sitting there, looking smug and pleased that they¡¯d caught us unaware.


    No, the speaker was coming from inside the cloud.


    Now that the door was open. The entire entryway and the front porch were completely obscured. The cloud hovered over the rug and had entered more than a few feet.


    ¡°Hold on!¡± the voice called. ¡°I¡¯m having some trouble.¡±


    Holy Crap! Someone had managed to infiltrate our house.


    The cloud shifted in size, and much to my surprise, a designer high-heeled boot stepped from the cloud. Or rather, the leg extended from the mist with a pointed toe, and carefully, the leg came down and tapped the ground to make sure they¡¯d have a solid footing. The boots had small buckles and a unique gold trim that ran in vertical lines from the ankle up to about an inch beneath the portion that hugged her calf. A moment passed and its twin appeared, and her hips began to sway back and forth. She wore light blue jeans and had no bulge to indicate she had anything in her pockets, and her belt was a plain design.


    ¡°Wow!¡± the voice said mesmerized. ¡°Just wow!¡±


    The whole thing reminded me of trying to fit through a tiny space in the dark. I whipped out my phone and typed out a text since the infiltrator could hear us.


    What are the chances the sexy legs have some backup hidden in the mist?


    Dad handed his phone to Mom who read it and then showed it to him. Dad wasn¡¯t going to take any chances, not after everything we¡¯d been through. The infiltrators stress seemed genuine, but we had no idea if it was an act.


    My phone pinged an alert. It is possible.


    The legs turned, not visible up to her waist. Like a model leaning seductively into a car¡¯s trunk. She set her legs apart, and with some effort, she extracted herself from the cloud''s depths.


    ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± she said, reaching back into the cloud and pulling out a white pinned striped fedora which she proudly placed atop her head. She had blond hair; softly highlighted with chestnut brown streaks. She was tall, enviously curvy, and proudly modeled a designer jean jacket, covering a plain black stop.


    ¡°Wow, I was not expecting that to be that difficult. I''ve never had this much trouble getting into a place before.¡±


    She brushed a few lengths of blonde hair from her shoulder and some white dust from her arms. It smudged for the first strokes but vanished as she repeated the process.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a compliment,¡± Dad said, ¡°we¡¯re not accustomed to having uninvited guests.¡±


    ¡°I imagine so,¡± she said, taking a look around the room and observing the space like an interior designer would as they prepared for a new design. She didn''t come off judgmental but was reevaluating her initial impression. Dad stepped forward with a resolute glare across his face, and he held a gun right on her.


    ¡°Who are you, and what are you doing here?¡±


    The girl put her hands on her hips. She didn¡¯t seem phased or surprised looking down the barrel of a gun. ¡°My name is Samantha Spector, or I guess you could call me Agent Samantha Specter. Yes, it''s an M.A.G.E alias. And I¡¯m happy to tell you why I''m here. But first, quick tip, you are good, but you gave yourself away by not asking how I did that or trying to pretend to be in awe with my entrance. If you want to continue to hide in plain sight, I wouldn¡¯t immediately take a tactical position. It¡¯s a dead giveaway. No pun intended.¡±


    She gestured to the cloud that still lingered behind her. I started to wonder what the neighbors must be thinking.


    Samantha gave a wink. She was confident and quite impressed with herself. ¡°And if you¡¯re wondering I¡¯m the only one who can do that. I specialize in all things ghost, and I¡¯m really good at spotting tails and carefully dealing with spies and informants.¡±


    Samantha pointed to the door, ¡°You¡¯ll find three goblin corpses beneath the hedges, and a fourth was hiding in your neighbor''s bird fountain. I¡¯ve got three ghouls trapped who I¡¯d wager you¡¯d like to question.¡±


    Samantha paused and then smiled; a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial. ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡±


    ¡°So, you killed all your competition so you can have the honor of taking a swing at us?¡± Dad snapped. ¡°No one in M.A.G.E knows who we are, and they don¡¯t know where we live.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re not watching,¡± Samantha shot back. ¡°M.A.G.E isn¡¯t a tyrannical government, and for now, we don¡¯t have a swamp of career idiots, but there are a lot of smart people, and some of them see the value in off-the-radar, undercover operations. The rest, they¡¯re not happy because based on the little they do know or have guessed. They¡¯re worried you¡¯re a loose cannon. They¡¯re worried you¡¯ll go off the rails and take on enemies you have no real power to deal with permanently.¡±


    ¡°We have a pretty good track record,¡± Dad retorted, ¡°but nothing you¡¯ve said changes anything. We¡¯re not going to be blackmailed into enlisting in government service or doing jobs at your colorful request.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not here to blackmail or coerce you into a corner. Heavens no!¡± Samantha replied. ¡°Believe it or not, I am an M.A.G.E. Agent; everything I¡¯ve said is true and given the spectral activity in this area. I came to investigate it.¡±


    Samantha took a look at all of us. ¡°I can also promise, for the moment, and it''s lucky for all of you, M.A.G.E¡¯s more aggressive loudmouths. They¡¯re suspicious, but they''re working on faulty information. I promise. They''re nowhere close to figuring out who or where you are.¡±


    Dad tightened his grip. He was not ready to drop the gun. ¡°So how did you find us? We don''t exactly advertise, and if you¡¯ve been here since all of this started, why contact us now?¡±


    Samantha shrugged and had a pleased expression, but she was humble enough not to flaunt it in an annoying mean girl sort of way.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been at this for a while, even if you think I look young. I¡¯ve worked hard to blend in and get information, and I also am pretty good at seeing what others don¡¯t. I caught wind that there were operators in town. M.A.G.E has been on high alert, so at first, I was curious if you were agents, but I soon realized, especially after the siege that attacked those high school students. You folks are the real deal, and you¡¯re not like amateurs or the more competent hunters. You handle yourselves like a well-oiled machine. You¡¯re careful, you¡¯re intuitive under serious pressure. It''s not far-fetched to say you¡¯re Monster Assassins because you¡¯re in a category all of your own.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ve been spying on us?¡± Dad pressed.


    ¡°Kind of,¡± Samantha said, ¡°but I¡¯ve been busy, and while, at first, I was curious, the enemy of my enemy is a friend, plain and simple.  We were spread pretty thin because there were two other groups of agents who were attacked.¡±


    ¡°Really,¡± Mom said.


    Samantha nodded, and the tension in the house began to deflate. ¡°They were a lot quieter than the ones here. M.A.G.E was able to send someone in, and the locals were curious at the abrupt change in management, but life continued normally for them, so they didn¡¯t care. We had to watch, though, because, for weeks, we were worried that the attacker would come back.¡±


    Samantha stepped forward, her cloud dissipated, and the door gently swung shut.


    Dad maintained his position. ¡°If you¡¯re really an agent, what do you know about a possible Dark Witch in the area.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± Samantha said, ¡°Suzy Sourblood, and her friends, not that she has any real friends. I¡¯ve got it on good authority that three warlocks, a goblin kingpin, and a wraith master have been on the move and are coming here.¡±


    She at us like a teacher wanting an answer. ¡°Any idea why?¡±


    Dad shook his head slightly. ¡°There have also been some necromancers here too. We believe Fowler¡¯s right hand, R.I.P., was looking for Fowler¡¯s body and was trying to bring him back.¡±


    ¡°Also true,¡± Samantha said, ¡°Thankfully that problem has been dealt with.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s true, I¡¯m happy to hear it.¡± Dad said, ¡°But now, let''s focus on why you¡¯re here and why you forced your way inside.¡±


    ¡°I wanted you to see just how good I am,¡± Samantha said, ¡°and as weirdly as it sounds, I needed you to take me seriously because things are not back to normal, and I¡¯d much rather have all of you in my corner as things get ugly and I want you to know that I am an ally.¡±


    ¡°Things get ugly!¡± Dad repeated, ¡°Do you think we¡¯re stupid not to recognize a code word.¡±


    Dad hurried to the front door and tested the handle. He then moved to the window. Tony stayed beside Mom and Samantha remained where in place and lifted her hands in a placating gesture. She looked at me and then motioned to her jacket pocket.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got you,¡± Tony said, as I approached. I gingerly pulled her jacket open, and I glimpsed the corner of what looked like a card or an envelope sticking out from its depths. Samantha said nothing and made no fuss as I pulled it out.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Tony asked.


    ¡°A letter,¡± I replied.


    The envelope was wrinkled and weathered and had brown stains from water damage and a few rings from being placed beneath a coffee mug at some point in its existence.


    ¡°Look at who it''s addressed from,¡± Samantha said.


    EDWARD FOSTER.


    ¡°The postmark,¡± I said, ¡°The stamps. That thing has been around the world.¡±


    ¡°Yes, it has,¡± Samantha said, ¡°and sadly, I wasn¡¯t the person who opened, and before you say anything, just remember that monsters have a very different view on privacy.¡±


    Samantha dropped her hands, as I picked up the letter and glanced over two pages of strange-looking symbol markings. The age and damage to the paper made it hard to comprehend, but after a minute, I connected the child-like gibberish to the planner pages I had picked up when Lauren and I had the run-in with Melvin, the love-struck werewolf.


    ¡°I''ve seen that before,¡± I said.


    ¡°It''s been circulating all over the state,¡± Samantha began. But Dad cut her off.


    ¡°The content is concerning, but the envelope has Edward Foster on it, but he lived way before this kind of paper or the envelope was made. He couldn''t have sent this.¡±


    ¡°At the same time, though,¡± Samantha pressed, ¡°That is his handwriting, isn''t it?¡±


    Mom nodded in the affirmative. ¡°I¡¯ve been his signature plenty of times that James, I¡¯m sure it¡¯s his.¡±


    ¡°Why do you need our help then?¡± Dad asked.


    Samantha extended a hand, and I handed the pages back. ¡°For starters, I¡¯m pretty sure Edward wasn¡¯t a Phantomist or a necromancer, but for the life of me, I can¡¯t comprehend why someone would be writing to him in a language he shouldn¡¯t have been able to read, and it''s even more complicated to try and write more than a few words in the language.¡±


    Samantha secured the pages back in the envelope. ¡°I need your help to talk to him because if you have any connection to the dead, with training, you can read it. I¡¯m pretty good at it, but everything I¡¯ve picked up has been cryptic and unclear. Edward is the only name I¡¯ve come across who might be able to give me some answers.¡±


    ¡°A simple ghost conversation should be a walk in the park for an M.A.G.E agent,¡± Dad said. ¡°Why don¡¯t you talk to people within your ranks, unless you¡¯re a fraud or suspicious about something?¡±


    ¡°Mr. Foster,¡± Samantha said, finally sounding annoyed. ¡°You¡¯re fishing. You ask decent questions, but you¡¯ve got to think fourth-dimensionally. I¡¯m suspicious of a lot of things. Everyone in the investigation department talks about eating suspicion with their morning cup of coffee. They do have people, and I¡¯m one of the best. I¡¯ll admit it, I¡¯m stumped, and I¡¯m assuming you¡¯re aware that a ghost doesn¡¯t have to respond. I¡¯ve asked, and that¡¯s all I can do. If I do anything more, I¡¯d be dabbling in necromancy, which is frowned upon.¡±


    Samantha glanced at Mom. ¡°I hoped he might be more willing to manifest for a family member. I believe you have the licensure, don''t you?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Mom said. ¡°But we''ve got no reason to help you. You claim to be an agent. You talk like a seasoned agent, but you could be the very person Edward wanted to keep that information from.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± Samantha said. ¡°How about a trade? You can all be present at the conversation. Once done, I''ll share a few tricks to strengthen your defenses against ghosts. And I''ve got some critters in custody, as I mentioned. I''ll hand them over to you.¡±


    Samantha then produced a card¡ªa card with the Cafe Mystere logo.


    ¡°Have you heard of this place?¡± She asked.


    ¡°I have actually,¡± Dad said. ¡°I¡¯m skeptical of your game, but we¡¯ll play ball for now. Unless my wife disagrees, we¡¯ll call him, but before you go, you¡¯ve got to answer some questions, too.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Samantha said, exasperated. ¡°Do we have a deal?¡±


    Mom looked hesitant but then reluctantly nodded before adding. ¡°I won''t compel a visit either, and before I do this, we get your side of the deal whether he comes or not. Agreed.¡±


    Samantha nodded. ¡°If that''s what it takes.¡±


    Mom licked her lips, then pulled opinion from beneath her blouse. It was a silver rectangle with rounded edges near the clasp and chain. Mom held the pendant beneath her hands. Then she closed her eyes in a flash of purple. A square appeared, and then triangles formed, creating a spiral downward in a 3D pattern that, after a moment, resembled a descending staircase. Tony and I exchanged astonished looks. He even dropped his jaw in awe and disbelief. Mom and Dad had talked about her abilities, but we had never seen Mom do this before.


    After a series of clicks, I watched tiny purple dots speckle Momma''s hands and cheeks, and once most of her exposed skin was covered, she looked like a kid with some weird-colored chickenpox. We all waited silently, and both Dad and Tony stood ready to spring into action as Samantha tried anything funny. Meanwhile, I kept my attention on Samantha herself. She exuded confidence, but it wasn¡¯t simple model-like confidence with a strut and a look for a glamor shot. Samantha had skills and background, and she used her skills with power. Then there was her fedora. Her fedora seemed oddly familiar. After a moment, it hit me.


    ¡°You were there,¡± I said. ¡°You were there on the street when those ghosts attacked the families and high schoolers.¡±


    Samantha gave me a thumbs-up. ¡°Did you know there are two families with the last name Foster on that street?¡±


    ¡°I didn''t know that,¡± I said. ¡°Is that why those ghost monks were there?¡±


    ¡°More or less, and we can come to them in a bit,¡± Samantha replied. As distant footsteps began trailing up the staircase, Mom had conjured. The footballs were quick for several seconds but then slowed to an almost marching pace. It was quite a dramatic entrance for a ghost, the most dramatic entrance I had ever seen. Occasionally, I had been in interviews, but Mom did the summoning alone. The top step swayed back and forth. Then a triangle stair vanished, say, for one single step.


    ¡°Is that supposed to happen?¡± Tony asked.


    No one replied as a poll rose from the center of the triangle. It peaked at several feet; then a wooden sign dropped on a peg or hook as if it had been freshly hung by an unseen hand. The same thumped against the pole, and its weight caused it to swing back and forth. When it stopped, we all read the words: Gone to lunch. Try again later.


    Mom released her grip a moment, and she began to sway. Dead hurried to her side, but she stayed upright and wiped it, beating a sweat from her face as the purple polka dots disappeared. Once Mom regained her composure, she looked scared. Before, she looked angry.


    ¡°What is that mean?¡± Dad asked.


    ¡°It means someone has already summoned him,¡± Samantha said. ¡°And they''re preventing his release.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Dad asked.