Page 27

Chapter twenty-seven

C ars roamed the downtown area en masse. A very unusual thing for a Thursday, but there was nothing usual about Halloween. Slowly, the shifter community was reclaiming the holiday and making it more mainstream in the once conservative town. Bartholomew stared out the window of his office at all the cars driving around in front of them. People were searching for parking spaces everywhere and they didn’t care how close to the local human jail they parked.

Bartholomew switched his zombie apocalypse t-shirt for a Reapers Inc jacket with a lot more pockets. He packed his tranquilizer guns inside the jacket. With his skater shirts and Converse shoes, he was a cross between Pharrell the rapper and one of those TV special agents. At this point, it was too late to question his clothes selection. Instead, he rushed out the door and down the stairs.

In the main foyer of the Station, Pete the Pixie was directing the troops out the door.

“Bart, what are you doing here?” Pete asked.

“Put me to work,” he answered. “Where do you need me?”

“Head out to Main Street near the Perot Theater,” Pete informed him, checking his pixie-size clipboard. “For some reason, that area always gets hit the worst.”

“On it.” Bartholomew ran down the steps of the Station towards his duty location.

Outside the Station Bartholomew crashed right into TJ, who was waving at the passing cars.

“Ouch,” TJ shouted. “Watch it!”

“TJ!” Bartholomew shouted back. “Why are you standing in front of the door?”

“I’m waiting for Abby and sharing southern hospitality with people.” TJ pointed at all the drivers. “These people are rude. I’m surprised they didn’t flip me off.”

“Have you considered we have tons of tourists, and they think you are flipping them off, too?” Bartholomew glanced around the street.

“No way.” TJ waved away the suggestion. “But why are you running into me?”

“I’m off to help the crew. Bob wants as many of us on full patrol as possible.”

“Do you need our help?” Abby asked from behind, making both Bartholomew and TJ jump.

“Girl, how are you so sneaky?” Bartholomew asked, holding his chest.

“Years of practice.” Abby beamed at him. “But seriously, how can we help?”

“Bob said you are both off for the night. Go check out the parade.”

“I have never been to a Halloween parade or party, so I’m sure I’ll be fine if I miss it,” Abby told him.

“I would like to say you aren’t missing much, but not really,” TJ informed her. “Most celebrations in Texarkana, before the Reaper crew moved down, were tiny and intimate. Nobody who was in the supernatural community talked about it or even associated with each other.”

“That sounds lonely,” said Abby.

“Never lonely,” TJ admitted. “Just human.”

“Which means it would be a great time to enjoy being a bit on the supernatural side,” Bartholomew announced, pushing both of them away from the Station.

“Fine, but we are just swinging by my apartment to pick up some folding chairs to watch the parade.” Abby pointed down the street. “We will be on the route.”

“Are you still at the Lofts around the corner from City Hall?” Bartholomew asked, walking behind them.

“Yes.” Abby nodded.

“You should be close to the action,” he admitted. “If you stay near the city hall area and if something comes up, you are both close enough to help. Just take this.”

Bartholomew pulled one of his tranquilizer guns from his jacket, making sure none of the civilians saw him. TJ shook his head.

“I don’t need that.” He shifted his right hand into a claw and back to his hand.

Bartholomew nodded in approval. Abby gasped.

“Don’t be afraid to use it,” Bartholomew reminded him. “It’s going to be nuts today. But you need it.” He passed the gun to Abby.

“I don’t know how to use a gun,” she said with trembling hands.

“Good news. The only thing this has is tranquilizer pellets.” Bartholomew placed the gun in her hand. “Take the safety off, aim and shoot. You will not kill them, but it will buy you time to run away if something breaks down. Got it?”

Abby nodded and took the gun. She quickly put it in her handbag and looked around. “Is it going to be that bad?”

“I hope not, but I’m not taking any chances of losing you two. TJ, keep an eye on her.”

“Absolutely.”

“Be careful and have fun.” Bartholomew gave the pair one last push.

TJ glanced back and waved. Bartholomew gave his friend a big thumbs up. TJ shook his head and walked away with Abby.

“It’s about time those two went out,” Bartholomew told himself, as he adjusted his jacket. “Time to get to work.”

He took off at a light jog down the street towards State Line. He might as well check out the area while he was heading towards his destination.

By five o’clock, the streets of downtown were a madhouse. Bartholomew dodged and weaved between tourists and locals all down Fourth Street. The staging area for the parade was in the parking lot of Beech Street, between the three large churches.

“Am I the only one who is having horrible déjà vu feelings about this?” he asked on the net. Bob had required everyone on duty to use earpieces to communicate.

Fortunately for the team, Bartholomew had found a professional set that just looked like Bluetooth headsets, instead of the wired ones all the secret agents in movies wore.

“As long as this parade doesn’t end with us fighting hell beasts and demons, I’m good,” Shorty told him from his end.

“And you are not on a float dressed like PSY singing Gangnam Style,” Bob reminded him. “Going with nope, nothing like it.”

“Do you still have that suit?” Triplet-3 jumped in.

“Yes,” Bartholomew replied, rolling his eyes. “And it comes down to my calves now. Remember, I was two feet shorter than I am now.”

“You were so small back them,” Triplet-1 added.

“Wasn’t he adorable in those days, with those big, brown curls?” Shorty teased.

“Back then? He still has those curls. He just combs his hair now,” Triplet -2 joined the fun.

“Don’t you all have some security to do?” Bartholomew interrupted them.

“I’m working here,” Shorty complained.

“Relax, everyone,” Bob’s calm voice broke through the chatter. “I get it. Everyone is on edge, and we have a lot of civilians running around that could easily become potential casualties. I need everyone to stay focused and stop hating on Bartholomew’s hair. Not his fault it’s perfect.”

“You are not helping,” Bartholomew told him, but he had relaxed.

There was something calming about Bob’s voice. Bartholomew wasn’t sure if this was Death’s gifts coming across or just Bob’s power of leadership. Regardless, he felt focused.

The parade was scheduled to start at six-thirty, followed by a night festival by the train tracks. The organizers from Universal Vibe had teamed up with the planning committee and were bringing the fire dancers. That presentation was always a tremendous hit with everyone in town. Bartholomew just hoped they made it to the night festivities with no incidents.

In every corner of the downtown area, there were at least two of Bob’s team stationed. Few were dressed as transients, others as drunks and party goers, or housewives pushing strollers, couples holding hands, and the occasional grandma reading palms. If you were not part of the inner workings of the Reapers, you would have missed the diverse collection of spies the team had accumulated. Many of them no longer lived near the Station, but they were all still on the payroll for occasions just like this.

It had been Isis’s dream to help the community. Bob had made that dream a reality by changing the lives of so many. But Bartholomew was sure neither of them understood the impact of their work on the town. The members of their team had a purpose, and they were committed to protecting their new home. Bartholomew gave them a small salute as they passed him by. They all stayed in character, but always nodded back.

“Boss, we have incoming,” Triplet-2 announced.

“What do you have?” replied Bob.

Bartholomew froze on the corner of Main and Second, watching the crowd.

“Coming down Stateline, the witches,” Triplet-2 told them.

“I got the witches,” said Bob. “Everyone, stay alert for werewolves.”

Candy Cone vendors and Italian ice carts passed quickly by Bartholomew. It had been ages since he last saw carts like that. He was used to seeing them when he lived in New York City with Death’s previous intern.

“That has been years,” Bartholomew told himself. It was before Isis, and back then, interns changed locations every three months. They were also going through interns just as fast.

“I might need backup,” the high-pitched voice of Little J broke Bartholomew’s thoughts.

“What’s going on?” Bartholomew asked first.

“I have . . .” screams cut off Little J’s report.

“Where are you?” Bartholomew asked.

“Little J is at the staging area on Beech Street,” Shorty replied.

“I’m on my way,” Bartholomew told them.

“We will meet you there as soon as we can,” Shorty replied.

Bartholomew didn’t wait to see when that would be. He took off running. Teleporting in the middle of the city full of civilians was a recipe for disaster. He could still cover more ground than anyone in their group, at least the human part. The shifters in the team were just as fast, and some even faster than he was.

“I’m two blocks away,” the sexy voice of Ruby came through the net.

“Where have you been?” Bartholomew asked, not even out of breath as he dashed towards the churches’ parking lot.

“Training,” she answered. Bartholomew could hear the wind blowing across her mic as she ran. “Who do you think is training the new recruits? Obviously not you.”

Ruby was one of Bartholomew’s favorite officers. She was efficient, talented, and moving up in the ranks fast. Bob had turned over the training of all new recruits to her, and she was doing a great job. Unfortunately, with the increased number of people joining them, Bob had moved the training site to a new compound in New Boston. With over fifty acres of land, the recruits could truly be trained in all forms of combats situations. That also meant Ruby was hardly around.

Bartholomew reached the staging area in time to see the fight starting. Three shifters in bright-orange shirts were moving fast on two smaller ones wearing green-camouflaged pants, with Little J smack in the middle. One shifter in orange moved at that inhuman speed of theirs and took a punch at Little J.

“Christ!” Bartholomew shouted. He Increased his speed as he worried he wouldn’t make it in time. Little J was human, and a punch like that would surely crack his skull.

Little J, frozen in front of the fist flying his way, was too slow to duck. Bartholomew rushed, but he was still several feet away. Ruby, long, brown hair tight in a ponytail, stepped in front of Little J, and landed a right hook on the incoming shifter. Before the shifter could recover, she delivered a kick to the stomach, sending him stumbling back.

“Didn’t your mother teach you some manners?” she demanded, adjusting her combat stance.

Bartholomew reached Ruby and Little J in time for the shifter to recover. “Nice skirt.” Bartholomew told Ruby.

“It’s a skort,” she corrected him.

“A what?”

Ruby raised the front of her skirt to show off a pair of shorts connected to it.

“Here I thought you were flashing people as you kicked them to the next zip code,” Bartholomew teased as he blocked the next shifter rushing at them.

“Not today,” Ruby told him, doing a roundhouse and connecting with Bartholomew’s assailant. “Little J, stop staring and clear out those people.”

Ruby’s orders brought Little J back to reality. He rushed to the two smaller shifters in camouflage pants. They were barely teenagers. One with freckles, the other with a multicolored mohawk. “We need to go,” he told them.

“Not so fast,” a male shifter in another one of those hideous orange shirts blocked their way, as two more of his friends walked slowly towards them. “We have some words for these two.”

“Sure, you do.” Little J smiled and pulled out his tranquilizer gun. With no warning, he shot the shifter in front of him with two shots to the chest, taking him out.

“What the . . .?” his friends screamed, but Little J unloaded the remaining rounds on those two, knocking them out as well.

“Are they alive?” the freckled kid asked.

“They will be fine,” Little J informed them. “Besides a pounding headache and maybe a temporary case of baldness, but nothing permanent.”

“That was awesome,” his friend with the Mohawk told him.

“Not awesome,” Little J corrected him.

“Why are you still here?” Ruby asked, getting ready to tackle another half-dozen men heading their way.

“I’m just more afraid of her than I will ever be of them.” Glancing over his shoulder, he waved at his sergeant. “Moving, sergeant.” He dragged the kids with him as more shifters rushed the area. “Sarge!” Little J stopped. “We got a problem.”

Bartholomew spun around. They were being surrounded by shifters. The humans in the area noticed the trouble and had cleared out. Unfortunately, Little J was trapped between them and too many of those orange-wearing maniacs.

“We need to get those kids out of here before real bloodshed happens,” Bartholomew told Ruby.

“Please tell me you have a plan,” she said, moving slowly backward to join Little J and the teens. “Because I’m not sure if we can hold them off for much longer.”

“They are not interested in us,” Bartholomew clarified. “Just messing with the other packs.”

“And?” Ruby eyed the growing shifters. “We can’t fight them and protect those kids at the same time. One of them will break through.”

“Then let’s get the kids out.” Bartholomew winked at her. “Little J, how much ammunition you have left?”

“Two full magazines, Mr. Bart,” he said, dragging the kids back to his superiors.

“Ruby, take my guns.” Bartholomew handed her both of his tranquilizers.

“Bartholomew, what are you planning?”

“Just following Little J’s inspiration,” he said softly. “I’ll be gone thirty seconds. As soon as I’m gone, open fire on everyone standing.”

“Now, that I can do,” Ruby said with a smirk. “Little J, just like we drilled. As soon as Bart clears the area on my six, open fire.”

“What about us?” the teen with the freckles asked.

“You hold on to me for dear life and try not to puke on my shoes on the other side.”

Ruby shook her head but smiled. “Little J, get ready.”

“Let’s give the bitches hell.” Little J adjusted his guns.

“Save me some,” Bartholomew told them.

“Go!” Ruby shouted and opened fire on the shifters.

Bartholomew blinked out of existence, dragging the teenagers with him.

In a blink of an eye, they were standing in the main foyer of Union Station.

“Holy hell,” the freckled boy said, dropping to his knees.

“I’m going to die,” the other one said, turning to vomit on the floor.

“Glad you missed my shoes.” Bartholomew hopped away from the boys.

“What in all creation is going on here?” Pete shouted, as the new officer on duty watched the kids with disgust.

“I’m not cleaning that.” The officer pointed to the ground and the two puddles of horrible meat residue.

“Bartholomew, you know the rules,” Pete floated next to the Reaper.

“Improvising here,” Bartholomew explained. “Not sure which pack they belong to, but please make sure they are returned to their respective group. I’ll probably be back with more.”

“Damn,” said Pete. “Is the fighting started?”

“Not if we can help it.”

“We got you,” Pete responded. “You drop them here and we will redistribute. Larry, get a few buckets. We are going to have more sick people.”

“Yes, sir.” The officer saluted.

“Wish me luck,” said Bartholomew.

“You don’t need it. You are a Reaper,” Pete replied, this time saluting the young man. “We’ll be ready.”

Bartholomew nodded and vanished.

His timing returning to the Beech Street parking lot was not the best. A fist flew past his face, only inches away. Bartholomew jumped to the side as Ruby’s leg intersected the incoming attacker.

“Sorry about that, Bart,” she said, kicking a few more guys out of the way. “You really should get a bell to warn people when you are coming back.”

“Or not land in the middle of a war zone.” Bartholomew jabbed another shifter, rushing Ruby from behind. “Kids are secured. Let’s move to the other side.”

“We can’t,” Ruby told him. “More shifters arrived, and they are going into a frenzy.” Ruby kicked a tall werewolf that was half transformed. “If we don’t contain this situation, they will all go berserk. All three churches are full of kids doing Trunk-O-Treat. It will be a bloodbath. We need to hold them until reinforcements get here.”

“We are not holding anything. They are too many,” Little J shouted, joining the pair. “I’m almost out of ammo.”

“Can’t you do your Reaper thing on them?” Ruby asked Bartholomew.

“Killing them is not something Death endorses,” Bartholomew explained.

“Can’t you do something less drastic?”

Bartholomew glanced at Ruby, and a wild idea crossed his mind. “I don’t know how this will work, but when I give the word, both of you get as low to the ground as possible.”

“What?” Little J asked from behind.

Bartholomew didn't give himself too much time to think about his options. He pulled his scythe from his pocket and engaged the mechanism. As soon as the scythe was at its full range, he looked back at Ruby.

“Now!” Bartholomew shouted and Ruby tackled Little J to the ground, using her body to shield the human boy.

Bartholomew slammed his scythe to the ground, using the weapon as a guiding rod to expand his power. It wasn’t just his intent he let loose on the shifters, but a wave of magic that hit them like a bomb. Everyone in a hundred-yard radius got hit with the blast. Windows exploded, alarms went off, floats tumbled over, and the sheer power of his magic knocked shifters out.

The only sound in the parking lot was that of the alarms blaring. Bartholomew collapsed to his knees, shaking.

“Bart!” Ruby rushed him, dazed but unharmed. “Please say something.”

“That,” he said softly, “is a onetime trick. I’m out of power.” Bartholomew leaned his head against Ruby, and she held him tight.

“I didn’t mean for you to kill yourself by taking everyone out,” Ruby chastised the Reaper. “Sometimes, you don’t have to be an overachiever.”

Bartholomew’s breathing was ragged. Ruby held him tight. Little J had a bloody nose, but otherwise was unharmed.

“Ruby, what was that?” Bob’s voice came across their Bluetooth gear.

“It felt like an earthquake,” Shorty added.

“Or a bomb,” Bob continued.

“All the above,” Ruby said softly, stroking Bartholomew’s hair. “Kamikaze Bart just took out over fifty shifters and two blocks of windows. We are safe for now, but he needs medical attention.”

“We will be there in three minutes,” Bob told her. “People are running wild now and we can’t get through.”

“Boss,” Triplet-3 jumped in. “We are just around the corner. We can grab Bart and take him to the Station. Will let the Doc know we are on the way.”

“Do that,” Bob agreed. “We will secure the area as soon as we arrive. Ruby, go with them.”

“Yes, Boss.” Ruby replied. “Now you don’t pass out on me,” she told Bartholomew. “We need you alive here.”

Bartholomew could barely keep his head up. It felt like his entire body had been squeezed dry and there was sandpaper in his veins. All he wanted to do was crawl into a bed and sleep for days.