Infinite Moon Page 2

  It also bothers me Anthony is so calm about everything. To see him sitting in his seat on Max’s plane with his PlayStation portable, you’d think we were on another European vacation trip… or popping down to Venezuela to visit Aunt Elizabeth for a nice family gathering.

  There’s a fine line between confidence and recklessness, and I don’t really like where an almost-sixteen-year-old boy puts that line. I set the bar a little higher.

  Ever since Tammy found Elizabeth, and the woman stared right back at her, she’s been quiet and more than a little freaked out. Don’t think she’s let go of my hand for a full five minutes ever since. I’m sure if she was still as small as a four-year-old, she’d be curled up in my lap. As it is, we’re about the same size now. My daughter is still a bit skinnier than me, but she’s a teenager. That’ll change in a few years.

  Tammy pokes me in the side, managing a nervous laugh.

  I say, “Hey, any forty-seven-year-old who can still fit in the same clothes she wore in college is happier about that than if she won the damn lottery.”

  “Are you saying you won the lottery?” asks Tammy.

  I shrug. “Some days, hell yes. Other days, not so much.”

  I think about Mary Lou, but not in an insulting way. She’s normal. She’s what I’d have looked like at fifty-three. No, ML isn’t fat. She’s normal. Which… Hollywood morons would call fat. Having three kids and a fondness for wine has certain effects on the body.

  To distract my daughter, I end up rambling about my sister’s kids on the flight south. Ruby Grace is a noodle. She’s going to be sixteen in April, but she looks like a tall twelve-year-old. The girl spends so much time reading, studying, and doing academic stuff, she barely eats. Of course, she’s probably going to skip senior year of high school (due to graduating early) and enroll in college. Ellie Mae is twenty and could probably have made a go of it as a model. Billy Joe has turned into quite the athletic young man. He’s eighteen, very handsome, and likes to lift weights. He’s no Hulk, but he turns the ladies’ heads.

  We lament the ravages of time on the human body for a little while. Tammy doesn’t mind the idea of growing old. Considering we’re heading to Venezuela to get in Elizabeth’s way, she’s mostly worrying about not having the chance to get old.

  ***

  When we’re thirty minutes from Venezuelan airspace, Tammy takes off her faerie amulet and begins to concentrate on cloaking us mentally from any vampires out there who might be able to detect our presence. Unfortunately for her, it leaves her vulnerable and unaware of her surroundings. Sort of like a meditating monk, only she has enough faculty left to zombie shamble around if someone is there to help steer.

  Max walks up and down the aisle, handing out small booklets.

  “What’s this?” I ask, taking one.

  “Enchanted passport.” He smiles. “Looks blank to you, but if you hand it to someone expecting to see a passport, it will appear as one in their mind. Also, it will fog their judgment and compel them to let you by with minimal questions.”

  “Oh. Neat. Thanks.”

  He nods, hands me one for Tammy, and keeps going.

  After the plane lands at Simón Bolívar International Airport in Caracas, I help my daughter out of her seat, pull her arm around my shoulders, and basically carry her. She’s acting more messed up now than the night I found her ‘pass-out drunk’ at a party.

  At the customs area, one agent keeps giving her suspicious looks. By the time our turn in line comes, he appears ready to either call for an ambulance or a cop.

  Anthony pats her on the shoulder and manages a passable, “My sister’s special needs” in Spanish.

  Tammy snarls in the back of my mind.

  “She’s gonna whack you with a pillow for that when this is over,” I mutter.

  “I know.” He smiles, handing the guy his fake passport. “She’s cussing me out already, though I could barely hear her.”

  “Well, she’s kinda distracted right now.”

  Surreal is watching a Venezuelan official looking at a tiny blank book, nodding, stamping it, and handing it back to my son as though nothing strange went on. Once the kids, Kingsley, Allison, and I are done with the checkpoint, we walk a short distance down the big corridor and stand in a group with some of Max’s people. While waiting for the rest to bluff their way past the customs agents, I take advantage of being in a crowded place. There are so many people here it’s easy for me to feed.

  Eventually, the remaining Light Warriors are past the security station. Like some kind of strange tour group, we move en masse to the foyer near the airport’s main entrance. None of us have brought much in the way of luggage, spare clothes, or even toiletries. It’s all rushed and last-minute. Some of Max’s people have small bags, though they all look like they ran out the door in whatever they had on in the moment.

  Max approaches us, forming a circle with me, Kingsley, and Allison. Anthony is a little behind me on the right, holding Tammy up while she focuses on hiding us from Elizabeth or anyone loyal to her.

  “Any idea where the hell we’re supposed to be going from here?” asks Kingsley.

  “Tam can’t search for her without giving us away.” Anthony adjusts his grip on her. He can’t pull her arm across his shoulders like I did, or she’d be off the ground.

  “Should we get a hotel?” asks Allison. “Or just find some place to hang out?”

  Max taps a finger to his chin. “Yes, a hotel would make the most sense.”

  I nod at the group. “That works. You guys go make whatever preparation you need at a hotel. I can go try to see if anyone in the city knows anything.”

  Mom, don’t get too far away, says Tammy in my mind. Past five miles, I can’t hide you.

  Max, Kingsley, Allison, and Anthony nod simultaneously, all hearing her ‘group’ broadcast.

  “Well, I highly doubt she’s in Caracas,” says Kingsley. “Far too many people, not enough privacy.”

  “Indeed.” Max nods. “Though she needs a major ley line nexus. We’ve discovered six significant intersections in Venezuela, three of which are rumored to be quite powerful. The problem is, they’re hundreds of miles apart and all in the jungle. Sadly, I believe the presence of modern technology and so many people who no longer respect mystical traditions have eroded the lines in the bigger cities. We will likely need to travel south into the jungle. Tammy’s vision did show an area of lush vegetation. However, we’re looking at an area encompassing hundreds of square miles.”

  “Someone in town here has to have seen something I can pluck out of their heads,” I say.

  “Remember, Ma,” says Anthony, “that ninth-dimensional alien thing made a gateway straight to the ley line nexus,” says Anthony. “They didn’t exactly go through customs.”

  “Good point.” I fold my arms, thinking.

  “Doubt she’s within a hundred miles of Caracas.” Kingsley sniffs the air.

  I reluctantly accept it will be useless to roam around the city randomly reading minds. “Well, crap.”

  Allison raises both eyebrows. “I could try the ol’ crystal ball again.”

  “Excellent idea.” Max smiles, hanging up his cell phone. “I’ve made arrangements at a nearby hotel for us.”

  “Lead the way.” I gesture at the airport exit. “We don’t have a ton of time.”

  Chapter Two

  Dead Man Talking

  My son amuses himself by making a game out of minding his sister.

  He’s acting as if she’s a really lifelike stuffed animal he can pose on chairs, or, once in the hotel room, see how many pillows he can stack on top of her head. She’s too out of it from concentration on masking us to offer any protest, though I have a feeling she will pay him back somehow, as soon as doing so won’t kill us all.

  Max had arranged rooms for us in a decent hotel. What passes for ‘nice’ down here is roughly on par with a giant Best Western. According to Kingsley, there’s a major jump from ‘meh’ to astoundingly expensive, sort of like having a crumbling hotel across the street from the Ritz Carlton. This place isn’t exactly falling apart around us, but five star it ain’t.

  I sit with Allison on the floor along with two of Max’s people, Yasmeen and Olivia, both mystics gifted with scrying. Yasmeen looks about Tammy’s age. The girl has a bit of an accent, though I can’t tell which part of the Middle East she came from. Olivia’s right around thirty and never outgrew the goth phase. Jet black hair, pale skin, and pigtails are a bit weird to me on a woman her age, but, hey. Whatever.

  Allison sets up her crystal ball (she brought her supplies since she had them right there at my house). The four of us hold hands and start trying to get a read on where Elizabeth is. While we do this, Kingsley and Max make arrangements for dinner. Anthony keeps an eye on his sister.

  An hour later, the guys walk in carrying aluminum trays of food. Mostly barbecued chicken, pork, and sausage over rice. Predictably, Kingsley eats a ridiculous amount. Anthony does quite a bit of damage, too. Tammy’s got enough function to chew, but I have to feed her.

  Having had no luck thus far, we take a break to eat, then resume.

  A few minutes after the four of us focus magical energy into the crystal ball, a transparent man wearing a plain dark green military uniform phases into the room through the wall. Ordinarily, a ghost appearing wouldn’t startle me into jumping, but this guy’s been slashed open from throat to belly. I’m not jumping at the presence of a ghost, but the shocking amount of gore. At first glance, one might mistake the wound for the result of pissing off a lion, but the slashes run too deep and have sliced his bones, too. Something with beyond-human strength and claws far sharper than nature intended anything to have killed him.

  My claws could make a similar wound, though
perhaps slightly shallower.

  Yeah, this guy most likely died at the hands one of Elizabeth’s ascendant dark masters.

  “We have a visitor,” I say.

  Allison, Yasmeen, and Olivia look at me. I point. The three of them glance toward the spirit, but only Allison reacts—by wincing like she just saw someone stub their toe.

  “What is it?” asks Yasmeen.

  “Ghost,” I say.

  “I’m going to try talking to him,” says Allison.

  “In Spanish?”

  “Yeah. Hang on.”

  She does just that, introducing herself. This is followed by another sentence or two that I can’t understand. Allison translates for us quickly. “I asked if he’s here as a result of our opening ourselves to the spirit world or if he’s just a curious local haunt.”

  The man speaks back in Spanish, far too rapidly for me to make sense of other than picking out his name, Jose Ureña, and something about monsters killing him. Via my mind link with Allison—which is easier to follow than having her translate—I pick up that he’d been a soldier of the Venezuelan government who was part of a group defending a ‘cultural heritage site’ from looters, criminal gangs, drug traffickers, and rebels. Jose describes ‘tall, soulless monsters’ coming out of nowhere in the middle of the night and slaughtering everyone in sight, including him.

  According to Jose, Elizabeth and her army have taken up residence at an ancient Incan site deep in a region known as El Caura. Only one road, a dirt trail, leads anywhere near it, and still requires a two-hour hike to reach her camp. The closest city of any respectable size is called Ciudad Bolivar. He suggests we go there first and speak to a guy named Matias Reyes. The man runs a small mercenary outfit that sometimes does questionable things, but generally hires out to rich foreigners looking for ‘jungle adventures.’

  Reyes’ group can lead us to the site he calls Kancha Huanca. Jose also tells Allison we will need an armed escort to have any chance of reaching the place alive, though we both initially sorta chuckle internally at the suggestion, since myself, Allison, Kingsley and Anthony as the Fire Warrior could probably hold our own. That said, the Light Warriors Max brought along are all ordinary people with magical abilities, most of which are designed to help them combat supernatural creatures and demons. Against ordinary humans and combat rifles, they probably do need a little help. At least having armed mercenaries escorting us would provide some cover. Hostile parties would focus on shooting at them before firing on anyone who appeared unarmed—plenty of time for me and my merry band of misfits to do our thing.

  Allison eventually translates everything Jose says so Max, Kingsley, and the others can follow along.

  “Why do we need to bother with these mercenaries?” asks Kingsley. “Can’t this ghost lead us to the temple?”

  Allison relays the question in Spanish, then listens to the ghost’s reply. “He’s only here due to our spell. As soon as we end it, he’s going to be dragged back to the site of his death.”

  “Give me a few minutes.” Max pulls out his phone and spends a while tapping the screen. “Hmm. Doesn’t seem to be an airport at Ciudad Bolivar. Should be able to hire a bus, though.”

  “It’s a couple hundred miles and there isn’t exactly a six-lane freeway through the jungle,” says Kingsley. “Elizabeth’s going to be long gone before we’re anywhere near the place.”

  Max offers a placating smile. “My mother isn’t going anywhere, my good man. Not yet, anyway. Opening inter-dimensional gateways takes time. At least a week. Many days, certainly. We should have plenty of time to reach her.”

  I hold a finger up. “Except she has a ninth-dimensional being helping her.”

  Most of the color drains out of Max’s cheeks. “I see. Then make that a day or two, tops. Still, we should have enough time. I recommend everyone turning in and get as much sleep as possible. I will make arrangements with the buses. We leave in the morning.”

  Allison thanks the ghost, who promptly vanishes.

  It’s a good thing I can replace sleep with extra feeding. No way am I going to be able to relax tonight.

  Chapter Three

  Mercenaries

  The bus pulls up to the hotel less than half an hour after Max gets off the phone.

  Nothing like money to make the world go around. On top of what the bus company wanted to charge for a short-notice trip to Ciudad Bolivar, Max promised the driver a $1,000 USD cash tip once we got there alive.

  Waving a pile of money around is one way to motivate people to take a four-to-five hour ride on the spur of the moment. So, we all piled into a rickety old thing only slightly nicer than a school bus inside. Doesn’t matter if the seats are crummy, almost everyone in our group catches a nap on the way.

  Max takes a small bottle out of a boxy carrying case he’s been lugging around and offers it to me. “Here, give this to Tammy.”

  It’s about the size of one of those ‘Five Hour Energy’ shots, but dark blue. I look it over, one eyebrow up. “What is it?”

  “She cannot eat, drink, or sleep while she remains focused on concealing us from Elizabeth. This elixir will satisfy her body’s needs for twenty-four hours.”

  “Wow…” Allison whistles. “You could make a fortune selling that.”

  “I don’t need to make a fortune.” He smiles in an ‘I already have one’ sort of way. “And there would be no way to reveal this to the world without repercussions. Society is not ready for magic.”

  Tammy transmits a vague suggestion that if this potion works, she wants Max to give her some for hell week once she’s in college. Hell week being the lead up to final exams when she’ll be cramming.

  I feed her the potion, which smells like blueberries.

  Spanish music comes from a small speaker up by the driver’s seat. I didn’t get his name, but he’s a short older guy in his early fifties with grey hair and a beard. Based on the animated conversation he had with Max upon his arrival at our hotel, I assume the driver agreed to Max’s terms. That, and the somewhat dangerous pace the driver kept.

  It irks me being unable to do anything but wait, but I have no choice. Going there alone is asking to get overwhelmed. Getting too far away from Tammy is also asking for things to go wrong. No telling what Elizabeth would do if she sensed me coming after her when she’s this close to her goal. Maybe I’m thinking too much of myself. It’s quite possible she’d sense me coming, simply roll her eyes, and laugh at little ol’ me thinking I’m going to stop her. While I am fairly dangerous, no way do I think it possible for me to go in there and take on forty or fifty ascendant dark masters plus Elizabeth plus Izeth. No idea how much—if any—power the ninth-dimensional creature has in our world, but he has to be at least as deadly as any of the dark masters.

  For that matter, I still haven’t worked out exactly what to do once we get there, short of the most simplistic cavewoman approach: stab the bitch. Aside from having more telepathic power, and probably nastier magic, Elizabeth is physically similar to other ascendants. My Devil Killer has already proven itself capable of ending them for good. I start to wonder if Azrael gave me this sword because he knew I’d need it for her down the road, but decide it’s an unintentional coincidence. The Angel of Death recruited me to be his protégé on Earth, tracking down demons. Neither Elizabeth nor I are significant enough to warrant actions ‘in accordance with prophecy.’

  This might all be as simple as flying in there on my angel wings and stabbing her. Sounds anticlimactic, but it just might work.

  That she’s also Max’s one-time mother is another thing entirely.

  Hard to kill a mother in front of her son.

  Wow, this just got complicated.

  With that thought, Max glances over at me and holds my gaze. No words pass between us, and no thoughts, but being like the second greatest telepath in the world, he knows what I’m thinking.

  After a long moment, he finally nods.

  He’s given me permission to do what I need to do.

  To do what he can’t do... kill his own mother.

  I think I’m going to be sick.

  ***

  We arrive in Ciudad Bolivar a little after six in the morning local time.