"Working alongside the Monster Control Bureau agents,"-most of the Hunters and all of the orcs started to grumble-"we went deep into the swamp, right into an ambush. It was the creatures from the Christmas party." Harbinger waited for the shouts and swearing to die down. Probably half of the people in the room had been survivors of that night. "The ones we fought at the rift were just drones. These were soldiers. My team and all of the Feds were killed, but when the artifact was activated, we started right before the ambush, only the creatures had been sent away."
"You can't die, Earl!" someone shouted. "That's impossible!"
"Nothing can kill Earl Harbinger!"
"Quiet down," Harbinger ordered. "Y'all know that isn't true."
"But-"
"Shut up!" the director roared. The Hunters instantly complied. "It's possible, because it happened today." He waited a moment before continuing. I did not know what had caused that outburst. Harbinger was a legend amongst the Hunters, but as I had seen back in the swamp, even he had his physical limits. "The artifact was the key. It summoned the creatures. It has power over time and who knows what else. It's a little stone box about the size of a deck of cards. And you'll know it when you see it because it holds a world of hurt, and we're probably going to have to pry it out of the claws of something really bad.
"On this case we have already lost two good Hunters. Jerry Roberts is dead, and Grant Jefferson is missing-either dead, turned or being held captive to be used as a sacrifice tomorrow night. If he's still alive, we're his only hope. So now we're going to listen to a story. It ain't over yet, we still have us a secret weapon… Owen."
The room was still. I gulped. "Yeah?"
"Tell us all your story. Don't leave anything out. Hurry up."
I stood awkwardly and walked to the front of the room.
"He's only a Newb," somebody said. "How does he know what to do?"
Harbinger held up his hand. "Listen up. This is Owen Pitt. His team calls him Z. He killed a werewolf with his bare hands. In the last week he has saved the lives of my team members on multiple occasions. He's killed vampires, wights, gargoyles and demons. He went head to head against Jean Darné. He alone has seen the Cursed One. And for those of you still doubting, he has fought Agent Franks. Twice. And even managed to kick him in the balls once."
"I would rather fight the demons!" someone shouted.
"Me too," I answered.
"Hunters-treat this man like you would treat any member of my team. Some of the things which you are about to hear are going to sound weird, but I personally believe them, so take that for what it is worth. Some of the things which you are going to be told can never leave this room. If this story was to get back to the Monster Control Bureau, then there is no telling what they would do to him. And know this, if anyone here ever speaks to the Feds about what Owen has seen, I will find out. You can know that of a surety, and I swear upon all that I hold holy, I will track you down to the ends of the world, reach down your throat, and pull your spine out your mouth." Nobody in the room said anything. They knew that he was deadly serious. My secrets were safe with this crew. "Owen, tell us everything."
I stood before the room of brave souls. Men and women who in the eyes of some were no better than mercenaries, but whom I knew to be heroes. I was one of them, and I was proud to have their respect, but humbled at the same time.
I shared my story. I told them about the Old Man, from the first encounter with him after my near death at the claws of Mr. Huffman. I told of the dreams. I spoke of Lord Machado and his failed expedition. I tried to convey his greed, his insane ambitions, his hate, and the inhuman desire that kept him alive when any other mortal man would have just been broken and consumed. I spoke of the Old Ones, slime-coated evil from beyond time, and I spoke of their prophecy and of their search for the unwitting fool with the power to unlock the gate and let them in. I warned of the Tattooed Man, the ancient captain, cursed to protect an artifact of unyielding darkness, and his solemn promise to take my life.
Haltingly, I told the Hunters about our deaths in Natchy Bottom. About my battle against the Cursed One's incorporeal self, and my blind luck in triggering the power of the artifact, surprising him, and temporarily wresting it from his control. Finally I spoke of his offer, my loyalty in exchange for a place in his kingdom, and I spoke for the first time about his threats against the others, especially Julie. I searched her out, making eye contact. She nodded slightly, understanding my fear, but her will was like iron, and she was not afraid of his curse.
Nathan Shackleford interrupted my speech. "This Machado asshole is going down!" The young man rose to his feet, fire in his eyes, fully prepared to defend his family from any further attacks. "I'll stake the son of a bitch myself!"
"Shut up, Nate," the senior Shackleford calmly ordered. "And watch your language around the womenfolk. That ain't polite."
"Sorry, Grandpa." He sat back down. Julie smiled in sisterly pride.
"Thank you, Mr. Pitt," the Boss said. "Is that all?"
"I'm afraid so, sir." I spread my hands in apology. The Hunters began to speak amongst themselves, team leads turning around and telling their troops to quiet down. "I'm sorry."
"No need for an apology, son. You've done your best." He pointed his hook at me. "That is all that any man can do."
"Yes, sir."
Harbinger stood back up. I started to return to my seat. "Stay right there, Owen. This is question-and-answer time. We have about five hundred years of collective monster-killing experience in this room, and I want to take advantage of it. We may be able to cobble together a couple semi-functioning brain cells out of this crew and figure out this puzzle."
Questions came from the crowd as the assembled Hunters picked my brain looking for a clue, something that we had missed. Something-anything-that could point us in the direction of the bad guys, and allow us to exercise our gifts for violence. Monster Hunters by nature tended to be a direct and straightforward bunch, similar to human claymore mines with big signs that warned front toward enemy. I uncomfortably tried to answer the questions as best as I could, but it was hard to recall every little thing from the heavily fragmented dreams. I could feel myself growing light-headed. It had been a long day.
Harbinger summed up our scant information. He stood in front of the map, back to the crowd. "So we know he's in Alabama, or at least he was a couple of days ago. Owen saw him underground, but we don't know if he's in a cave, a mine, or even a basement."
"The Elf Queen said that she saw him near water," Milo added.
"Now if we lived in the desert that might help," Sam said sardonically.
I leaned against the wall. I was not feeling very good. It was probably the stress. I closed my eyes. The pulse in my head was pounding, my heartbeat was elevating. My lungs constricted. I felt like I was going to be sick.
"Owen saw the Tattooed Man with Montgomery in the background. He's going to be looking for the Cursed One as well." Harbinger waved his hand over the area representing central Alabama. "But by now he could be anywhere… Owen, was he coming or going? And could you tell what direction? Owen?"
I could not answer. My mouth had suddenly dried up, leaving me unable to speak. My legs had gone numb, and I slid down the wall, flopping to the floor. My vision was fading.
"Owen!" Julie shouted.
"Aw hell." Harbinger hurried to my side. Squatting down, he grabbed my head. "Hey! Stay with me. That's an order." He shook me. "Owen!" Behind him I could see the blurry forms of the other Hunters rising to their feet in alarm.
I tried to apologize, but I was fast slipping into unconsciousness. I felt Julie's hands on my neck as she took my weakening pulse.