Chapter 6: Rules of the Road

The road to Hana was beautiful, but driving it was more than a little unnerving. They headed northeast out of the quiet fishing village, navigating a winding road that often had Mike staring down thirty-foot cliffs at the crashing waves. On a couple of occasions, the road became only one lane, which meant driving slow and hoping nobody was coming from the other direction.

Eventually, the cars pulled off onto a small service road that led them up the hillside to an iron gate that was locked shut with a group of ATVs waiting for them on the other side. They all got out and stretched. Ingrid and Wallace were busy speaking with the other members of the Order while bags were loaded onto the ATVs. Francois found a wooden stump to put one leg on, cutting a rather majestic figure as he gazed out toward the ocean, the wind ruffling through his hair.

Mike, on the other hand, was so suddenly bombarded by the forest that he almost blacked out from sensory overload. There was a massive network of life all around him that sang out like a choir, thousands of voices strong. Ratu clung to his elbow, holding him tight against her side.

“Just breathe,” she said, rubbing his back. He nodded in response, trying to gulp in some air and get his bearings.

“Is he okay?” Leilani was staring at them from her place by the Captain.

“Think he’s just a little carsick,” Ratu replied.

“Weak constitution, eh?” Francois chuckled as he tied a bandana around his forehead, locking his hair back. “Don’t make men like they used to.”

Mike vaguely heard Francois through the chatter of nearby spiders. Part of him debated asking if they’d ever tasted French cuisine. Maybe he’d find a cane spider willing to drop on the man’s head; the possibilities were endless.

“Yeah, you know how it is,” Mike wheezed, playing up the pitiful angle. “Winding roads, am I right?”

Francois snorted, but seemed satisfied with Mike’s response. Leilani stared down at the water, sadness in her eyes.

“That’s where it happened,” she said, pointing over a nearby bluff. “The colony was pretty close to the cliffs. There were far more dead beneath the waves, the beach got the ones we couldn’t clean up in time.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ratu said, still rubbing Mike’s back.

Leilani nodded in response, her features grim as she turned her gaze out toward the ocean. The sun reflected off the iridescent scales that lined her features, particularly around her ears.

Mike stood, letting out another deep breath as he closed off his senses. It was going to take him some time to acclimate to the local flora, along with the spiders. He had been out in the woods of Oregon a few times, but it was nowhere near as busy as the tropical rainforests of Maui.

“It can be overwhelming,” Ratu said as she guided him around the car. “I feel as if a massive heart beats beneath my feet even now.”

“Oh yeah?” Mike looked up the mountain, which was difficult to see through the thick foliage.

“The mountain is alive, and it feels like home.” She smiled sadly, then looked over at Quetzalli, who was standing on a rock and staring at a distant waterfall. The dragon seemed lost in thought, but when she turned around, it was to reveal that she was consuming a bag of chips she had brought from the car.

“What?” she asked when she noticed their attention. “The flavor is Cool Ranch. They are quite tasty.”

“Okay team, here’s what we’ve got.” Wallace waved everybody over to where Ingrid waited. “The ATVs are modified quads, which means two people per vehicle. Our support team will be following us up with our gear, but it will probably be slow going for a bit while you all get used to your vehicles.”

“But if it gets too hard, say something early,” Ingrid added. “The support team includes a couple of spare drivers if necessary. We don’t want to be climbing this mountain all week.”

“As of this morning, we will be able to follow the tracks of ... whatever, most of the way back to the point of origin. It’s rained quite a bit, so parts of it will be washed out, but the quads should manage until it gets too steep.” Wallace looked at Mike. “That will also depend on you. Our guys kept getting turned around despite the obvious trail of devastation through the woods.”

“That sounds about right,” Mike said. He hadn’t been able to test it himself, but the Oregon property had a similar boundary. “It should be fine as long as you’re all with me.”

“Or you could grant us all blanket permission.” Francois smirked at Mike. “Go ahead, Caretaker. Say that we’re all welcome to enter. That’s how it works, right? Then we don’t have to worry about being knocked off course.”

Everyone went quiet as the Captain stared down Mike, all signs of humor gone from his sun-washed face.

“That is how it works, you’re correct.” Mike kept his features neutral, pushing down the anger that bubbled up through his chest. “I wouldn’t even have to snap my fingers. I could just think and make it happen. Super easy.”

“Then why don’t you?” asked Ingrid.

“Because I don’t want to.” He turned his attention to Ingrid, being careful to keep the animosity from his voice. “Honestly, that’s the only reason I need, like it or not. But if you want reasons, here’s a good one; I hardly know anybody here. Princess?”

“Yes?” Leilani regarded him coolly.

“If I asked, would you grant me access to your kingdom? Allow me to go in unsupervised, do whatever I want away from sight?”

She shook her head. “Gods, no.”

“Because you don’t trust me, right? It’s okay if you don’t, I wouldn’t trust me either.” Mike looked at Francois, who was frowning. “My home and the people who rely on me, they trust me to make the important decisions. It’s my job to protect them, much like it’s Leilani’s job to protect her people. Every choice we make may have long-term repercussions, so excuse me if I’m not up to meeting the Captain’s standards for the sake of expediency or convenience.”

“You speak of trust. Do you not trust us?” Francois swung his arms wide to incorporate the Order.

Mike took a moment to look at everyone, his eyes lingering briefly on Ingrid’s. “Should I?” he asked. To Ingrid’s credit, she didn’t look away, but he could sense the guilt draped across her soul.

“This is such a stupid discussion.” Wallace shook his head and climbed onto the driver seat of one of the quads. “One way or another, I’ve got to hike this damned mountain, so I don’t give a shit what you all decide.”

The Captain’s glittering eyes bored into Mike, but he didn’t care. He turned away from the Frenchman and looked at the quads. “Who wants to ride with me?”

“I do!” Quetzalli ran over, her breasts straining against the fabric of her hiking shirt. When she hugged Mike’s arm, he felt them squish against his body.

“Your other friend can ride with me.” Wallace patted the passenger seat of his quad.

“Hard pass.” Ratu nodded in Ingrid’s direction. “I want to ride with her.”

“Leilani?” Wallace looked almost hopeful, but the mermaid made a noise in disgust.

“Looks like you’re riding alone, partner.” Ingrid chuckled as some remaining supplies were stacked onto Wallace’s passenger seat and strapped into place.

Wallace shrugged, dropping his sunglasses into place and pretending to play it cool. He turned on his quad and pulled ahead up the trail a short distance, likely to sulk in private.

Mike got in his quad and listened patiently to a woman from the Order who went over the controls with him and some tips on driving and riding in one. He appreciated the advice, realizing soon enough that the thing wasn’t simply an overgrown golf cart. It took a few seconds to get a feel for the accelerator, which caused Daisy to squirm under his collar. When Quetzalli sat next to him, he realized that she was holding an unopened bag of chips.

“Where did you get those?” he asked.

“There was a shop in town,” she replied. “They had these by the front door.”

“Who paid for them?”

Her eyes went blank for a moment. “Oh.”

Mike made a mental note to figure out which shop she had gone in and send them some cash anonymously after this whole thing was done. “Did you grab anything else?”

“Yeah.” Quetzalli looked ashamed as she emptied her pockets. She had mints, gum, and a roll of hard candies. “I’m sorry, I thought it was like Paradise and we could just take what we wanted.”

“It’s okay.” He patted her thigh reassuringly and got a nasty zap for his efforts. “I’ll take care of it later, all right?”

She nodded, then dumped her ill-gotten gains into the cup holder as Mike pulled the quad onto the service road to follow Wallace up the hill. The knight looked back to make sure that everyone was ready. The Captain and Leilani were the last to get started as Francois seemed to have trouble steering his quad. He was getting red in the face and yelling obscenities in French.

Mike watched the man with a long stare before turning away. “What an asshole,” he muttered, then pressed his foot down on the accelerator to follow Wallace up the trail.

Cyrus was napping in a hammock behind the greenhouse when he felt something tug at the hem of his pants. He opened his eyes to see a large rat holding a small paper card between its paws.

“This cloak and dagger shit is wearing on me,” he muttered, then took the card from the rat. It had a drawing of an ear on it done in marker.

Well that was easy enough to interpret. He pulled the earpiece from his pocket and shoved it into his ear canal.

“Good nap?” Eulalie asked.

“It was, thank you.” He put his hands on the rope hammock and gave it a push. “What is this material, by the way? Some kind of silk?”

There was a long pause, and then Eulalie chuckled. “A rare kind, actually. I’m calling to let you know that I’ve got movement up the street. The SoS is nearly there.”

“Fuck.” Cyrus got out of the hammock and picked up the bag he had stored nearby. Ever since his phone call with Eulalie earlier, he had been busy putting together some essentials in case things went south with the SoS. When he had asked the Rat Queen about a potential hiding spot for it all, she had directed him to a hidden location in between a cluster of bushes and trees that grew along the west wall of the greenhouse. When he had spotted the hammock, he had radioed in to Laurel to let her know he would be off property for a bit, then settled in for a nap.

“How long have I been out?” he asked.

“A couple of hours. Don’t worry, Jenny’s been keeping your team busy.” Eulalie chuckled ominously.

“I can’t wait to hear all about it.” Cyrus pulled out his own phone and noticed that Laurel hadn’t messaged him at all. That was to be expected, since she was clearly aiming to be in charge. “So you’ve got eyes on the SoS?”

“All eight of them.” There was a long pause, and Eulalie coughed. “Because we’re using drones.”

“You aren’t flying them, are you? These guys will probably spot them.”

Another long pause. “Not really. I landed them in strategic locations to monitor the roads. You’ve got about ten minutes before they arrive.”

“Okay, then.” Cyrus opened up his bag and contemplated the contents. He had raided a local storehouse for the things he needed without anyone being the wiser. Opening up his coat, he started shoving wands, powders, and various magical implements into the stitched-in pockets.

“Aren’t you hot in that thing?” Eulalie asked.

Cyrus took a look around, but didn’t see how he was being watched. “Hardly,” he replied. “This coat is vintage Order construction. Keeps me cool in the summer and warm in the winter. They don’t make them like this anymore.”

“You look like a nerdy Rambo gearing up for war.”

“I kind of am.” Cyrus paused, then patted himself down. It had been a long time since he had loaded himself down like this. “Once the SoS gets here, they’re likely to take lead on the operation. You never know what to expect from these fuckers.”

“Why does the Order hire them?” Eulalie asked. “These guys are big news in the underworld. I’m looking at three confirmed regime changes that they’re responsible for.”

“They’ll do anything for money,” he replied. The Sons of Sin really only had one rule: you couldn’t hire them to kill their own members. They were a team, a group committed to making the impossible happen for the right amount of money. The SoS strongly preferred jobs that challenged their skillset, and they were capable of taking down some powerful cryptids with proper preparation.

They were also disposable in the eyes of the Order. Once the SoS took a job, they guaranteed results, and didn’t hold grudges with the client as long as the task was reasonably described. He remembered a story about a dictator who hired them to take out some monks at a monastery, which turned out to actually be a nest of guerrilla fighters. Even though the SoS had easily exterminated the fighters, they assassinated the dictator the very next week for lying about the target.

If members of the SoS died, it was far preferable to losing knights and mages. There were already so few of them left that the Order was never going to replenish its ranks with their current losses. The SoS could replenish their ranks from anybody with combat experience and the ability to follow commands. Secretly, Cyrus wondered if the men of SoS had a death wish and figured they would wager their lives for some big payouts before shuffling off their mortal coil. They also never took women. Cyrus didn’t know what that was about.

A quick final check reassured him that he was ready for almost anything. Once the SoS were here, he was going to be under tight scrutiny. They weren’t really known for subtlety, either.

“Keep me in your ear,” Eulalie said. “I’ve got eyes on you, but want to hear what’s going on.”

“Roger.” Cyrus crouched down and crawled on all fours to escape his secret haven. He would have to remember this place next time he came to visit, it seemed like a nice enough spot. A pair of rats watched him as he crawled free of the brush, disappearing into the shadows once he was clear. He brushed himself off and strolled along the edge of the perimeter like nothing had happened.

The first thing he noticed was that the groundskeeping staff were gone. The property was quieter than ever, but other than spotting the man who culled the roses, there was nobody else around.

“Did they abandon ship?” he wondered aloud while scratching his jaw in case anyone could see his mouth.

“Went home. They’re cryptids, but not the kind that can take a bullet, if you catch my drift. Your team is over by the gazebo.”

“Thanks.” Instead of heading straight for the gazebo, he continued his walk along the wall. The shrubbery was tall enough in places that hiding from sight was easy. Over by the gazebo, the Order was clustered in a group, so he took the opportunity to move further down the yard before emerging, hoping it looked like he had snuck in through the entrance. He was halfway across the yard before someone spotted him, and Laurel waved him over.

“What’s going on? Where did everybody go?” When he got to the middle of the group, he spotted Bradford, white as a sheet, staring into the distance. “What happened to him?”

“That fucking doll, that’s what.” Blake stood by, his features twisted up in anger. His hands were balled up, a wand clenched tightly in one of them. “The damned thing baited us.”

“Baited who?” Cyrus took a moment to survey the situation. On the ground, a scorched spirit board lay smoldering in the grass. There was a chunk of metal and plastic nearby that he assumed were the remnants of the spirit box. He lifted his eyes to look at Laurel, who was immediately defensive.

“Nothing should have happened,” she declared. “We took the appropriate precautions.”

“I make no accusations,” he said with a soft voice, then gestured for her to continue. “Can anyone tell me what happened?”

Laurel scowled, and looked at Mads, who stood nearby. Mads took this as a signal and stepped forward.

“Contact was initiated by the front door,” he explained, pointing at the house. “We set up the spirit board on the porch, by the swinging chair. Sister Laurel had Bradford help her, since the spirit was most active around him.”

“A reasonable approach,” Cyrus replied, doing his best to make friends. “I would have done the same.”

“We did proper spirit board prep before beginning,” Laurel added. “Just so you all know.”

Cyrus nodded, then looked back at Mads. “Continue.”

“The conversation started innocently enough. The spirit told us her name was Jenny and that she was trapped in the body of a doll.” Mads screwed up his face. “We had trouble getting any solid answers from her, past that, which is when we switched to the spirit box.”

“That little bitch played us.” Laurel’s cheeks turned red. “There was a bunch of interference, and when she did speak, it was too quiet for us to hear. She kept saying Bradford’s name, so with some coaxing, I got him to hold the speaker to his ear and cast a spell to diminish external sound so he could hear better.”

“And then what happened?” Cyrus looked down at Bradford.

“The spirit board came to life and chased Laurel around like a bat. The planchette actually bit her, somehow.” Mads shook his head. “By the time we took it out, we noticed Bradford was screaming. We didn’t hear him because of the soundproofing spell. His eyes were all dark, and it took three of us to get that box away from him.”

“She’s waiting for me in the dark,” Bradford muttered. “I don’t want her to take me apart anymore. It hurts.”

Cyrus knelt down and put a hand to the man’s head. “He’s burning a fever,” he said. “We need to get him out of here, have him properly checked out.”

“A spirit shouldn’t be able to do this,” Laurel hissed, gesturing at the house. As if in response, the curtains on the second floor opened, but nobody was there. “It got into his head somehow, made him see things.”

“You are correct, Ssister Laurel.” He turned to scan the yard. “And what of the grounds crew?”

“They all disappeared while we were dealing with this.” Laurel took a step toward the remains of the spirit box and kicked it, sending it tumbling across the grass.

“Easy,” Cyrus cautioned, then gave a knowing look to the man closest to him. “Getting mad won’t help the situation.”

“This was an attack,” Laurel shouted. “A clear breach of our agreement with Radley.”

“And what would you suggest?” Cyrus cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Weren’t you the one who wanted to initiate contact? This is the equivalent of knocking on somebody’s door and being mad when they bother you.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Mads replied, but Laurel pushed him out of the way.

“This was an act of hostility. We were lured in, and I won’t stand for it. Nobody here will, in fact.” She gestured at the men and women clustered around her, but more than a few didn’t look so sure.

“I have yet to hear a plan from you.” Cyrus shook his head. “Being mad and shouting doesn’t accomplish anything and certainly isn’t the hallmark of a good leader.”

“I don’t need advice from someone who fucked a cheesegrater with his damned face!” She was about to say something else, but Mads interceded, pushing his mage away from the group. The others looked uncomfortable now, but Cyrus focused on Bradford.

“I’ll help you get him to the car,” he said, looking up at Blake. The mage’s eyes flicked back and forth between Laurel and Cyrus, then eventually settled on Cyrus. He put his wand away and helped Cyrus walk Bradford down to the entrance of the property. The whole time they walked, Bradford stared straight ahead, and either mumbled or cried.

“Are you sure she’s still not in his head?” Blake asked once they were down by the cars.

“I don’t believe so,” Cyrus replied.

“She isn’t,” Eulalie confirmed in his ear. “You all would know. All he needs is time and probably a career change. Jenny can be a bit much, but if she broke this man so easily, he wouldn’t have lasted in your job.”

Cyrus digested this piece of news with a frown. After all, this was a fellow human in pain, a man whose mind was broken. He was conflicted at best, but he also saw wisdom in Eulalie’s words. As if with a mind of its own, he touched the scars on his face and shivered. That particular moment in time would stick with him until the end of his days. If anything could have broken him, it would have been that.

Down at the street, he helped load Bradford into the back of one of the suburbans. The man curled up on his seat and cried quietly as Blake moved up to the driver’s door.

“I’m gonna burn this fucking place to the ground,” declared the mage before he got in and drove off. Just as his vehicle turned onto a side road, a group of white vans appeared.

“And here they are,” Eulalie muttered. “Punctual little fuckers.”

Cyrus stood at the curb and waited to greet the unwelcome guests. Instead of stopping on the street, the white vans pulled into the main drive and headed for the apex of the loop. They drove up onto the lawn itself, clipping a few bushes in the process.

“So much for meeting them first,” muttered Cyrus as he limped his way up the hill. His lower back was stiff, a likely result of his nap. Getting old sounded way better back when he was young.

By the time he made it back up the hill, the SoS had torn up a chunk of the yard getting the vans nearly to the gazebo. Men dressed in black athleticwear emerged from the vans, milling about as they threw open the rear doors and started pulling gear out. Cyrus frowned when he realized that they were pulling out weapons as well as body armor.

Their leader, a man with short white hair and black sunglasses, was chatting amicably with Laurel. By the time Cyrus arrived, he was more than a little out of breath.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded, pretending to be shocked.

The man with white hair regarded Cyrus coolly with one hand hovering over the grip of a gun in a thigh holster.

“These are the other arrangements,” Laurel explained, gesturing to the man with white hair. “This is Dirk. He is the head of this unit. Have you heard of the Sons of Sin?”

“I have,” Cyrus grumbled. “But that doesn’t tell me why they’re here.”

“That’s on a need to know basis.” Dirk looked to Laurel, who nodded her head slightly. “We are planning to coordinate entry into the home and have been authorized to use lethal force if necessary.”

“Excuse me?” Cyrus’ jaw hung open.

“These guys are going to help us break in.” Laurel smirked.

“But they ... we can’t...” Cyrus gestured at the lions. “We were warned that any sort of hostile activity would be met with massive repercussions.”

“Magic hostility.” Laurel pointed to the nearest van. A battering ram had been pulled out and set on the ground. “Physical violence won’t activate the home’s barrier.”

“What of the residents?” Cyrus pointed at the door. “That place is swarming with powerful cryptids.”

“We have countermeasures.” Dirk’s lips curled into a grin. “We are well equipped to deal with any sort of physical offensive.”

“And defensive magic won’t trigger the home’s defenses. So if someone comes out throwing fireballs, we’ve got shields at the ready.” Laurel’s eyes were practically sparkling. “The plan is to break in, identify potential assets, then bring them back out.”

“Idiots,” muttered Eulalie through the earpiece. “They’re going to get someone killed.”

“But ... would that really work?” Cyrus scratched at his jaw. The question was for Eulalie, but Laurel thought he was talking to her.

“With a high degree of success. The Director needs results within the next forty-eight hours, otherwise he’ll have to lock down the Caretaker on the island until he gives them what we want.”

“And what do we want?” Cyrus asked. “A magical book that’s only rumored to be there?”

“That’s on a need to know basis.” Laurel smirked. “And according to the Director, you officially don’t need to know.”

“Ouch,” Eulalie muttered. “Sounds like you’re officially on the outs.”

Cyrus held up his hands in defeat. “I guess I just question the wisdom of this move, especially so soon after what just happened to Bradford.”

“What happened to Bradford?” asked Dirk.

Laurel gave Cyrus a dirty look, but he ignored her. “Malevolent spirit got inside his head, messed him up.”

“This true?” Dirk asked, addressing Laurel.

“Yes,” she admitted. “About fifteen minutes ago.”

“And I count, what, twelve of you?” Cyrus did another head count. “The SoS are good, but that number seems small.”

“Oh, fuck me,” Eulalie muttered. “We have more incoming, I wasn’t paying attention.”

A van honked at the end of the drive, and Cyrus turned to see six more vehicles pull in. These ones drove up onto the grass, followed by a truck pulling a trailer and a moving van. The trailer came to a halt at the apex of the drive with the moving van behind it.

“Don’t worry about our numbers,” Dirk said. “Okay, people, I want a perimeter around the trailer, nothing outside our teams goes near it without my permission. Once we get the Command Center set up, we will get a debrief from Laurel here, who is our point of contact. Any paranormal contact is to be reported immediately, and I want eyes on the sky with those Barretts.”

“Barretts?” Cyrus asked.

“Sniper rifles. Will blow the wings off a gargoyle from a mile away.” Dirk waved his hand in a circular motion, and the men around him split into teams of three, forming a fractured semi-circle between the Order and the house.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Eulalie muttered, then her voice became distant. “Someone tell Abella to get off the roof, now!”

Cyrus stayed back and watched as the Order fell back, allowing the SoS to take over. Laurel commanded mage/knight teams to join up with the SoS teams, making groups of five that now kept watch on the house.

Realizing that he was being ignored, Cyrus wandered toward the trailer. He recognized it as the kind the Order used, meaning it would be magically warded. The moving van opened up to reveal racks of heavy weaponry, which someone with a clipboard began handing out.

“This is really bad,” he muttered. “They’re going to come inside, you know.”

“We’re not too worried,” Eulalie replied. “But we need to get everybody inside, first. Ah, shit sticks.”

“What’s up?”

“We just lost two drones, and ... yep, there goes a third. Looks like they’re on to me. Dana is gonna be pissed. I gotta go, leave your earpiece in.” The call went silent, leaving Cyrus alone with the SoS. He didn’t know what they hoped to accomplish, but more than a few were giving him odd looks now that he was standing nearby.

“Is there anything I can help with?” he asked, approaching the moving van. “I’m more of a consultant on this job, so they don’t need me up there.”

The man with the clipboard stared down at Cyrus, then nodded. “We need somebody to do a double check on the wards in the Command Center once the truck drops it off.”

“I can do that.” Cyrus stepped back and watched as the trailer was leveled and then unhitched from the truck towing it. The truck was parked further down the driveway as a small team started unfolding the trailer, its side walls folding up to become the roof as tent flaps were unfurled from within. Enchantments had been stitched into the fabric, making the Command Center impervious to psychic attacks and scrying. The last time he had been part of an operation that utilized a Command Center was almost a decade back against a nasty coven of witches who were sacrificing people for immortal life in Europe.

A few mages joined him in his efforts, and the Command Center was up and running after nearly an hour. Dirk stopped to check on progress, but spent the bulk of his time surveying the exterior of the house. When Cyrus finished his job, he sat down at one of the tables inside, citing old age. Nobody seemed to question it. Shortly after, he heard a pop of static, and Eulalie let him know that she was back and listening.

Laurel dropped in about fifteen minutes later and sat down across from him. She didn’t say anything at first, but finally broke the silence by sliding a tablet across the table to him.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“A peace offering.” She sat back in her chair and waited while he read the tablet. It was an email from Laurel to the Director, detailing that Cyrus had been instrumental in their early efforts at the house. Judging by the look on her face, it was clear she felt like this was a huge gift to him. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about your face.”

He snorted. “People have said worse,” he replied, then slid the tablet back over. “So what’s the current rumor? About my scars, that is.”

“What do you mean?”

Cyrus chuckled. “I’ve heard at least a dozen different stories about how I got them. Some of them are pretty funny, actually. So I’m curious which one you’ve heard.”

“Wendigo,” she replied. “Someone said it got hold of you and tried to chew your face off.”