Blood Hunt (Secret Magent Book 3) Page 9

  I called it a camp, but it was really more like a wooden fort. There was an outer stockade of sharpened stakes jutting out. A watch tower had been hastily constructed out of three trees and a few planks of wood too. Fire burned in numerous pits around the muck of the earth, and in the center?

  The flat top of a step pyramid. The rest had sunk beneath the slime of the swamp

  “This is the place,” I said, killing the engine and getting out of the car.

  “But they got here first. How? Only us and those guys with the zombie thralls should know about it,” Itabimori whispered.

  “I have a few theories. Hold this for me,” I told her.

  The snake woman diligently obeyed, holding the suitcase’s handle with both hands. I undid the clasps and opened it wide. It was my emergency kit. For when the world becomes so messed up that a man can’t enjoy his hard earned vacation in peace.

  I strapped Narani’s mana blade to my belt, double checked my Kevlar, then got to the good stuff. One medium caliber pistol, replete with silencer, was embedded in the bottom right side of the case along with two clips of ammunition. The lion’s share of the suitcase however, was taken up by a quartet of hand grenades. Standard issue.

  Itabimori looked on in awe.

  “For cleaning those hard to reach places,” I told her. “Are you set?”

  Itabimori nodded. She certainly looked ready. She was wearing a no nonsense black tank top, with three obsidian bangles dangling around each wrist. Magic amplifiers if I had to guess. Matador red hot pants finished the ensemble.

  I loaded the first clip into my pistol and started for the outskirts.

  The plan was to infiltrate into the temple all subtle like. There was no way we could take on multiple were-beasts if they got their act together. However, if they were spread out enough we stood a real chance to at least slip by.

  We got to within twenty feet of the stockade when a deafening explosion nearly knocked us onto our asses. Screams of pain and gunfire suddenly filled our ears. The air itself grew thick, greasy with magic.

  “I think we just got very lucky, or very unlucky,” I told Itabimori.

  Taking a risk, I shot open the lock of the stockade gate. One peek inside was all the confirmation I needed.

  “That sound we just heard was several blocks of C4 going off at the far end of the compound. Coupling that with the sound of gunfire, and the stench of magic in the air can mean only one thing.”

  “The cultists are under attack?” Itabimori asked.

  “By the Mabinoy, no less. Change of plans. All the guards are rushing to the far side to repulse the Magi. We’re going to run right for the center temple, get what we came here for, and get the hell out. Got it?”

  Itabimori grinned confidently. “Got it.”

  Chapter 23

  Despite the rush of adrenaline, men are still men, and during the fairly lengthy run up to the sunken pyramid, I only had one thing to stare at. Itabimori’s hips. It was hard to pry my eyes off of them and take stock of my surroundings.

  Just a skeleton crew manning the inner stockade. Nothing that a few bullets couldn’t turn into a literal skeleton crew. The shrine entrance on the other hand, was going to prove a problem.

  Only two guards, but I could tell by the way they hunched and moved that they had both been transmogrified. Were-jaguars. A daunting defense, if I was alone.

  Itabimori and I had synergy in spades. Just as the nearest were-jaguar noticed me, an immense rooty vine shot out of the mirky shallows like lightning and wrapped the man-beast’s legs up like a birthday gift. A cry of dismay exploded from the were-beasts throat, as I took my time and placed a silenced shot between its eyes. With Tabi’s vines the man-beast’s agility was easily overcome.

  The beast’s brother in arms didn’t waste any time mourning. Under cover of his comrade’s death, he quickly flanked Itabimori and rushed at her claws bared.

  Quick, but not quick enough. Another flick of the snake woman’s wrist and vines caught the jaguar in a crushing embrace. Desperately hacking at the vines coiling around his ankles, the jaguar-man tore himself free just as I finished reloading my pistol, and double tapping into his chest.

  “Good hustle,” I told the snake woman.

  “We make an awesome team. We’re home free now too, let’s get in there before--”

  “Before reinforcements show up?” I asked, pulling her into the safety of the temple shrine. A smattering of stone tipped javelins pierced the ground we’d stood on moments ago.

  “Too late,” Tab cursed beneath her breath.

  “I’ve been getting that a lot lately.”

  The were-beast cultists were likely going to retreat to the main temple and force the Magi to besiege them. Not good. At this rate we’d be stuck in here with them, and that only meant a swift and violent death for us both.

  “Fire in he hole,” I shouted.

  I tossed the grenade out the temple arch way. The explosion sounded like God slamming the car door, but if any of the cultists had been caught in the explosion, they didn’t seem dissuaded from their initial plan. Maybe they were desperate.

  “At this rate we’re going to be trapped in here,” Itabimori said. “Charles. The temple should be empty right now. Go down there and get the next clue we need.”

  “What about you?”

  The snake woman laughed at that, “I’m going to valiantly hold them off for you.”

  “Heroism like that really turns me on,” I asked.

  “Snake charmer. Hurry. Dunno how long I’ll last.”

  “Yeah,” I said, and took off.

  Life is cruel and short. It’s filled with the very worst people, and more often than not you’ll be on the receiving end of misfortune. However, every once in a while, even a sworn pessimist like myself is reminded that it can’t all be bad company and shit luck.

  Many women over the years have shown interest in me. Many tried to use me. Many others to kill me. Many more simply wanted something I had. That’s ‘love’ for you I guess. The ‘love’ of a mother for her child. The ‘love’ of a first girlfriend who was short on sacrifices…

  ‘Love’, in my experience was cynical. Self serving to a fault.

  There were perhaps only two women in the entirety of my life that arguably broke that pattern. Itabimori was one of them. Her gung ho personality reminded me of things I once felt for others who ultimately betrayed me.

  I wanted to protect that part of her. I had no intention of taking my sweet time while her life was at risk. I pushed myself harder and faster.

  It was dark so deep inside of the Sunken Shrine, and knowing my luck the information I needed was going to be at the very bottom. The halls were labyrinthine, and the walls were coated in water damage. Faces sculpted directly into the stone leered at me every step of the way.

  “Cho,” I whispered in the dark, retrieving the little creature from my back pocket.

  This would be the first time I’d used the lantern part of his ‘lantern of weakness’ job description.

  “Yes? Master Charles?” he spoke.

  “I need a light.”

  “Weakness: Poor preparation for life threatening excursion,” the ghostly lantern replied.

  “Don’t get smart with me,” I shot back.

  “You didn’t bring a flashlight Charles.”

  “Sure I did. It’s name is Cho. And if Cho ever wants another candle to eat again, he’s going to flip the lights on right now,” I demanded.

  With a low grunt of exertion, dim blue light metaphorically flooded the literally flooded depths of the shrine. The sludgy water was deep enough to reach my knees. If what I was looking for wasn’t on this floor, then I was sure as hell going to rue the day I didn’t pack snorkeling gear into my emergency kit.

  A few more winding corridors, and I saw torchlight in the distance. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Let’s get what we came for and go,” I muttered.

  I stepped into the room and gawked at
the murals that stretched all around the stone walls. Skulls flying. Daggers flashing. A thousand stone carvings came together to form one coherent story about a journey to the land of the dead. Xibalba. It was beautiful and macabre all at once.

  “Cho, I hope you’re getting all this,” I said.

  “I see it. Wow. So that’s how he gets out of that. Yes. All right master Charles, I have it memorized.”

  “Perfect. Let’s go.”

  The sound of shifting waters caught my attention as I turned to leave. What at first looked like a stray log or large plank of wood floating to the left of me suddenly rose up out of the water. Murky liquid dripped from sickly green scales.

  Seven feet tall slouching. Scales like steel. Along its snout sharp fangs sprouted, and in it’s left hand it held a club with sharp obsidian spikes embedded in it. You know, for when bashing someone’s skull in with an immense hunk of wood just isn’t brutal enough for your taste.

  “Say what you want to say about Antonio Tlatani, but that little shit certainly doesn’t lack imagination,” I spat.

  “You are not the master,” snarled the were-crocodile. “And if you’re not the master, then you’re food.”

  Chapter 24

  “He couldn’t have made a were turkey or something, could he?” I shouted, diving to the side has fast as I could to avoid the were-crocodile’s snapping jaws.

  The man-croc swung his studded club after me, splashing water haphazardly as it missed me by about an inch. Steadying myself, I cocked my pistol at his chest and fired. Six rounds shot, but I don’t think the were-beast even flinched. All I had to show for my trouble was a couple of splintered scales.

  “Lord Tlatani. He will see that a new sun is born. A sun bright and oppressive and merciless. And only the faithful will have a place in the coming world. He has seen it!” the crocodile bellowed.

  “Cho, help me out here. Weaknesses?” I whispered to the lantern.

  “This one looks really well put together Charles. You sure know how to pick them.”

  “Not helping,” I shot back, ducking below another swing of the studded club. I drew my mana blade and struck. Not even a scratch. His scaly skin was so thick I doubted all my grenades put together would do more than piss him off.

  “Strong and tough. Not fast, Charles!”

  I blinked in recognition. Cho was right. Not only was the were-crocodile lumbering, but the real problem was his turning speed. I could pivot on a dime, but the croc?

  One more clumsy strike was all I needed. An overhead bash of the crocodile’s club, and I leaped around his girth, mana blade poised.

  The back would be even harder to pierce, but I had perfect access from back here to some convenient holes I’d already shot into him.

  Reaching around, I dipped the tip of the sacrificial dagger into the closest splintered scale and pulled as hard as I could. The crocodile growled and hissed, a trail of blood appearing on his flank.

  At this rate I might have him dead by next Halloween.

  Worse, I made a slight miscalculation in my attack. Just because the were-crocodile looked like an immense lizard didn’t mean that the transformation had completely done away with his human brain.

  The were-beast’s tail slammed against my legs, landing me ass deep in the murky sludge. The crocodile was poised to mash his jaws down on my face.

  “Shit,” I cursed.

  Too late to dodge. No chance to escape from his tail. Just one chance.

  I raised my hand up in front of the crocodile just as his jaws snapped shut with the crushing force force of approximately three thousand seven hundred pounds of pressure per square inch.

  It would have been over if not for my quick thinking. The crocodile looked terribly surprised for a split second, then released its jaws and recoiled, gagging and spitting blood.

  “How could--” the were-beast hacked out, before bellowing, “Monkey. I’ll eat monkey tonight!”

  Sometimes desperate plans pan out nicely. The crocodile had shut his jaws down on the mana blade, which I had poised vertically to prop his jaw open. It spared my head an intimate inspection of the croc’s stomach, and even gave the man-beast a free tongue piercing.

  “Not quite as much armor on the inside, is there?” I asked.

  Despite his bravado, the were-crocodile hesitated. Uncertainty flooded his beady lizard eyes. The true test for the zealous often hinged on moments of turmoil. When in doubt, the faithful fall to prayer.

  “Tlatani,” the were-beast whispered, before shouting aloud, “Tlatani! Give me a boon, that I may kill this unworthy monkey.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that no one was listening. Least of all a college sophomore with delusions of grandeur like Antonio.

  Dagger poised at the crocodile, I said. “I’d tell you to say your prayers, but it seems you’re one step ahead of me. Now do me a favor and die.”

  I could feel the clock ticking for Itabimori, so I charged at the were-beast full throttle. The crocodile let out a bellowing roar but missed with his desperate blow. I rushed behind him and then?

  Then I witnessed a miracle.

  The were-crocodile’s form blurred. Before I could react he had already turned to face me, his free hand descending to slash down my back in bloodthirsty triumph.

  Blood stained my kevlar. Deep cuts, but I was more interested in the mystery before me. It almost looked like he really was blessed for a second there.

  “How?” I demanded.

  The reptile’s confidence surged. “This is the difference. This is what the glory of the sleeping gods is like, monkey,” her gloated.

  A sudden burst of inhuman speed wholly uncharacteristic of the slow bruiser? My mind strained to make sense of it until something clicked. A working theory.

  And with it came a plan of attack.

  “Die, filth of the old world,” snarled the were-beast, appearing before me in the blink of an eye.

  Act fast. I felt sharp claws cut into my fore arm as I warded the deadly blow. Rolling behind the beast, I notched his scales with the mana blade in a futile stab. The croc turned hard and fast, but I was gone before he could catch me. Again, I dove behind him as fast as my legs could push me, a condescending smirk on my face.

  The crocodile-man’s eyes went wide with rage. Instead of slowing down, he increased his speed to turn even faster. The sound of my plan working was very similar to the satisfying crack of ankle bones shattering into a million pieces.

  Groaning hisses filled the air as the were-beast fell to the watery floor, clutching at his now useless leg.

  “Rule number one of body magic. Make sure your inertia never exceeds your body’s limits. Isn’t that right, Nagual?” I shouted to the shadows.

  From the shadows of an ill lit doorway, a misshapen form stepped forth. Skull mask covering too taught flesh. Body both grotesque and gnarled wherever it peeked past a worn trench coat. The Nagual made his appearance, clapping crooked hands.

  “You didn’t even use your magic that time, Charles Locke,” he spoke. “Are you that desperate for a challenge?”

  “Nagual. How else would Tlatani find the Sunken Temple except with your help? It only made sense that it’d be you helping the croc along too.”

  The Nagual chuckled from behind his mask. Ragged, drooping eyes stared through the eye holes. His arm grew massive in an instant, rippling with muscle as it slammed down onto the writhing lizard man. Bloody bits splattered over the grinning faces etched into the walls.

  “I merely answered the creature’s prayers. Tlantani’s too. He deserves a sporting chance, don’t you think?” The Nagual rasped. “Between the omnipotent agent of the Nine Towers and Mabinoy’s Carribean Combine, it really makes you want to root for the little guy.”

  “That’s right. You called them contestants, didn’t you? Why trouble yourself with more rivals in the race to Xibalba when you can just blast on ahead? You know more than you’re letting on. That or this just isn’t any fun for you unless your o
pponents are worthy enough to put up a fight. So, what’s the prize? Something belonging to the One Death?”

  The Nagual snapped to attention when I spoke that name. Bloodshot eyes looked me over. “Full of surprises to know of Hun Came. But I don’t think you have all the pieces quite yet, Charles Locke. And getting all that you need? That’ll require some…sacrifices, don’t you think?”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “Let’s take that interloping godling for example,” he continued. “How brave and noble she was, but in the end? Overwhelmed. You now have a choice. I’m right here. As plain as day. No games and no tricks up my sleeves. If you kill me here, your masters will be most pleased, no?”

  “But if I do, Itabimori is as good as--”

  The Nagual chuckled like a hyena. A grin spread upon his face so monstrously wide it reached past the edges of the skull mask. Primeval fear pinched the back of my brain.

  “Remember where you are, Charles Locke. Here in Mesoamerica we do things differently. Sacrifice. Sacrifice and I’ll entertain your attempt upon my life.”

  Slowly, I shook my head. The life of one good woman was worth far more than the appeasement of Nine Towers. After so many of Lisistrathiel’s genuine attempts upon my soul, the Nagual’s crude temptation was almost laughable.

  “Sacrifice Itabimori to take your head?” I asked chuckling. “I’ve got skill enough to save her and kill you too. Besides. In my experience, a little taunting would be a poor excuse for leaving an ally to die. You damn ugly monster.”

  The Nagual’s voice called after me as I rushed for the exit. “You’re unworthy of Xibalba. Unworthy of me and Hun Came. You will see, agent. You will see the coming storm.”

  His words echoed through the lightless halls. Dark and ominous, like the shadows all around me.

  “You will regret not taking your chances here.”

  Chapter 25

  “This the last of em?” asked an accented voice.

  “Little kids playing with fire. What did they think was gonna happen?” spoke another.