Monster Hunter Guardian Read online

  We’d been making real progress too. Owen was terrible at anything requiring a delicate touch, but he was great for manual labor. Because I’m not very good at staying with one task, various rooms were in different states of renovation at all times. And because varnish, paint, and particulates are almost as bad for pregnant women and babies as monster hunting, I hadn’t been able to do much for over a year now.

  And then of course, stupid Franks had shown up, and he and Earl had trashed the place. I’d hired contractors to fix the worst of it so the house would at least be livable again. I could have kept them on until the whole house was done, but that didn’t seem right. That was my job to finish.

  I really wanted to get back to it too. And back to monster hunting. When you actually like what you do, maternity leave kind of sucks. Being a mother makes you feel both really powerful and really helpless at the same time, which was a mind twist I hadn’t been looking for.

  With Ray on a crossbody sling, holding his bottle and drinking with horrible grunting slurping noises, I went to check on the other resident of the house.

  My grandfather is Raymond Shackleford the Third, grandson of the legendary Bubba Shackleford, who founded Monster Hunter International back in 1895. I didn’t remember a time when I hadn’t looked up to Grandpa. He was tough, competent, and what he said went. Everyone respected him. The scariest, toughest Hunters in the world were a little afraid of him. This was the man everyone called the Boss, with a capital B. With that scarred-up face, missing an eye, and a hook for a hand, he was intimidating to most, but I loved him.

  It’s kind of funny, but it says about lot about Monster Hunter families. I’d been pretty young when he’d lost the eye and got the hook, but I’d baked him a get-well cake with a pirate on it. He’d thought it was hilarious. He’d gotten disfiguring and crippling injuries, and he’d just had a laugh about them, then gone back to work as fast as he could.

  You’ve got to understand. This man has always been my rock. But now there was something wrong with Grandpa, beyond the scars and the old wounds. If I was to believe the doctors, he was dying of old age and…well…tiredness. His body had taken all the beating it could take and was just done. He hadn’t been well for a long time, and though he’d tried his best to hide it from us, even before the others left for Severny Island it had gotten obvious.

  I’d asked him to move in, ostensibly for me to have another adult to help with Ray, but really it was so I could keep an eye on him. Except he’d really started to deteriorate over the last few months, and there wasn’t much I could do for him. When he’d gotten to where getting around was a challenge, I’d had to hire a very nice nurse who specialized in geriatric cases.

  I’d put him up in one of the finished suites, a room that connected to another room next door by an inside door. It had either been a suite for a married couple or a nursery next to the parents’ room. Now it did very well for a dying Hunter and his caretaker.

  Her name was Amanda Fuesting. She’d once been a surgical nurse who had the misfortune to be helping with surgery on someone who’d been bitten by a zombie, and when the patient died on the table and came back chomping, she’d beaten his head to a pulp with the IV stand. She’d saved the life of the doctor and the other nurses, but when the Monster Control Bureau had needed a cover story and she’d refused to cooperate, they’d just said that she’d lost her mind and killed a patient. For some reason, this was the sort of thing that tended to blight one’s official career.

  MCB had gotten her labeled insane, but a kindly read-in judge made sure she was sent to Appleton Asylum, where people who had monster encounters could find affirmation and healing. That place was run by my old friends, doctors Lucius and Joan Nelson. They’d helped her out, taught her how to not piss off the MCB, declared her rehabilitated, no longer a threat to society, and I’d been happy to give her a job.

  As I approached the hallway, Ms. Fuesting came out of her room. I swear nurses are some form of supernatural creature, both because they hear everything and because they can move without making any sound, like some sort of haunt. She was short and petite, dark-haired and pretty and frankly looked like she was about fifteen years old, so every time I saw her, I wondered what she was doing here, looking after a cantankerous, dying Hunter. It was only when I saw her being stern but reasonable at Grandpa that I realized she was more than capable for the task.

  “Morning, Julie. He’s just waking up. He’ll be happy to see you.”

  She spent much of her time encouraging everyone around to hang out with Grandpa while they could. It supposedly made things much easier for both parties, if you knew you’d spent as much time together as possible.

  “Sure. I’m going into work in a bit, but I’ve got a while.”

  “Oh good. Talking with you is the highlight of his day.”

  Sadly, right now I was all the family the Boss had nearby. Everyone else was laying siege to the City of Monsters. I aimed my formless worry and guilt vaguely in the direction of someone up above and asked Him to keep my friends and family safe. I wasn’t brought up particularly religious. It’s just that no one can go toe to toe with evil so often without getting a very clear idea that there is something else up there, and that He has a soft spot for humans. Otherwise, we would’ve lost a long time ago.

  “Is he doing okay?” I wasn’t stupid. I knew he was dying. And yet a part of me, the part who’d been little and knew that the Boss could do anything and was immortal, still hoped for a miracle, for something extraordinary to happen to have him be fine and live a long time, and run the company and get to help me raise little Ray.

  Ms. Fuesting shrugged, “Well. He’s not doing too badly today. I’ve got him on something for the pain and shortness of breath, plus liquid Ativan for anxiety, and we have his cough under control with Duoneb nebulizer, cough drops, and Robitussin. He didn’t want breakfast, but he had some water.”

  The no breakfast but some water made me anxious, but I wasn’t about to ask. I didn’t want to know if this meant he was near the end. I wanted that miracle. I wanted Grandpa to be there. If I’d lost everyone else, I’d still have him.

  “Just go on in.”

  He was sitting up, but his eye was closed. His hand and his hook were resting atop the turned-back sheet. He looked so tired. It seemed unfair that someone could fight through so many battles and end up dying in bed. I always wanted Hunters to survive every fight, but it seemed like it was better to go in a big blaze of glory than to fade away. We lived hard, and it seemed like we should die loud, a shout of defiance against the dark forces in this world and the next.

  As I walked up to the bed I could see that he was breathing, his chest rising and falling, but he was so still. I put my hand over his. It was cold. Not cold like he was dead, but cool, like his circulation was failing. When I leaned forward and kissed his cheek, he opened his eye and looked at me.

  “Julie.” His voice was low, as though dampened. The doctors had said something about his damaged lungs making it difficult for him to have enough breath to speak. “Any contact with the mission?”

  I loved how he got right down to business. “Nothing in the last twenty-four hours, but don’t worry. A really big snowstorm is covering the island so comms are probably just down. I’m sure they’re fine.”

  He looked at Ray and smiled. “Hey, you brought Little Bubba.”

  “Now, Grandpa,” I said with mock severity, sitting on the side of the bed. There had been a video call shortly after Ray’s birth, to introduce him to the Hunters who were away, and Earl had insisted on referring to him as Little Bubba. I really didn’t want that nickname to stick.

  Grandpa laughed, a low chuckle that edged into cough. “Well. Dad—Earl says little Ray reminds him of Bubba Shackleford. He’s got a very dignified bearing.”

  “Oh, that’s just Earl being Earl.”

  “I don’t think it is,” he said slowly, as though he’d taken a long time considering it. “I think Earl really thinks that Li
ttle Bubba looks like Bubba. And it makes me feel good in a way, you know? If this little fella could remember me later, he’d just remember old.”

  “Come on. You’re going to get better and live ten years more, and get to teach Little Bub—now you’ve got me doing it—little Ray how to shoot and fight and all the same tricks you taught me.”

  He patted my hand. His skin was like paper and I could feel his finger bones beneath. “Honey, you know that ain’t gonna happen. A body should know when he’s dying. Lord knows I dodged it enough for a real long time. Little Bubba won’t remember me at all. That’s fine. I’ve lived a long, full life. I built something to be proud of. I can’t ask for more. It’s only decent to move off the stage.” He had a faraway look and his jaw worked. “If only…”

  “Earl was here?” I asked.

  Grandpa laughed. It was a dry, raspy laugh, and he started coughing again. He took his hand away from mine and fumbled on the bedside table with a little package. I got hold of it. It was maple-flavored hard candy. The nurse had told me earlier that hard candy worked just as well as cough drops, and Grandpa liked the maple flavor. He sucked on it until the cough subsided, but there was still laughter on his face as he looked at me. “I wish he was here, but he’d probably hate it. His curse is its own punishment and its own reward.”

  “If you start telling me of the pain of outliving everyone else, like some teenage vampire groupie, I’m going to be very upset.”

  He smiled. “Oh, hell no. Besides, Earl don’t sparkle. No, but there’s something in it. I know my daddy loves me, as much as ever, but there is…ah. There’s a distance between us, because this isn’t supposed to happen. No father should have to see his son die. But no father really should have to see his son die of old age.” He was silent a moment. “No father should see a son die,” he repeated. “And I sit here, you know, and I can’t sleep, or else I’m between sleep and waking much of the time, and I wish—how I wish—that I could go back in time just a few moments and tell my younger self to watch out for my boy, for your father. To watch out for him, and to keep Susan safe. But I can’t now, and I couldn’t then.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Grandpa.” And it wasn’t. My mom had been lost on a mission, and the grief had driven my dad to do some desperate and crazy things. Now he was dead and my mother was a powerful vampire whose goal in unlife was to turn the rest of her family so we could be together forever. The evil thing that had replaced my mother was a real piece of work, and as far as I knew she was out there somewhere, plotting.

  “You did what you could. Dad made his own bad decisions.”

  Grandpa shook his head. “I know that. Don’t make it any easier.”

  Little Ray had finished eating and was lying there in the sling, holding the empty bottle. His head was drooping sleepily. Grandpa ran a finger down the chubby cheek, producing no more than an eyelid flutter. Then he turned his gaze towards me, very serious. “It’s being a parent, you see. I know my son made his own decisions. I know there was only so much I could do with him. He was what he was. We’re not born blank slates; we’re born with capacities, inclinations, ways of behaving. Ray was always insecure. Smart, mind you, honey, I’m not putting your daddy down. He was damned smart, and a good family man, and a good Hunter. He wasn’t a coward, but he always needed an anchor, and that was Susan. When your mother was lost… Well, he made his own decisions, but being a parent makes you want to fix things for them forever.” He looked at me and sighed. “You’ll learn. Even when this little one is bigger and taller than you—probably by five or so the way he’s growing—you’ll still want to protect him from everything. And if something happens to him, you’ll never forgive yourself, even if it’s not your fault.”

  Grandpa was going to be stubborn to the end. That was just the Shackleford family way. He inclined his head a little, then sighed again. “At least I’m leaving MHI in good hands. Shackleford women have always been pretty as flowers, but made of steel and determination. You’ll do fine.”

  “I don’t want to do fine. I’d rather do just okay and keep you around longer to make sure I’m doing it right. It’s all so new, this mom thing.” The next thing I said was really dark, but we were a monster hunting family, so we didn’t tend to dance around ugliness. “If the mission fails and no one comes back, the company’s gutted. I’d have to rebuild from scratch. I can’t do that.”

  He laughed again, then sucked hard on his candy. “No one is ever ready. I sure wasn’t. There’s tough times, lean times. But we survived those, and you’re at least as tough as I was. Maybe more, and certainly better trained. You’ll do fine.” He lifted his hand again. My son was now fully asleep and didn’t stir as Grandpa smoothed the fine, silky hair on his head. “And Little Bubba will be fine. We’re Shacklefords—even if his name is Pitt, still counts—and we do what we have to do.”

  That made my lip quiver, but I wasn’t about to let Grandpa see me being sad.

  “You take care of Little Bubba. Not too much care. You don’t want to protect him too much, makes ’em soft. Someday, many years from now, he’ll be ready to take over MHI. And then…” Grandpa’s voice seemed to fade. “His kids, and his kids after him. It’s what we are. It’s what we do. We live, we die, but the hunt goes on.”

  He didn’t so much fall silent, as his voice faded out completely as he nodded off. His chest rose and fell slowly. And I realized that my cheeks were moist. I didn’t remember crying. I wiped my face impatiently with the back of my hand. I’d make him proud, no matter what the world threw at me.

  Supporting little Ray’s sling, I stood up and stooped to kiss grandpa. When I did, his lips moved, but I couldn’t tell what he was saying, if anything.

  I got out of the room and found Ms. Fuesting hovering. Nurses do that. “I’m afraid I tired him out a bit.”

  She shook her head. “No such thing. It’s good for him, and good for you too. The more time together you have, the more you talk. It eases the transition.”

  “Yeah,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. When she used words like transition, it made it sound like he was just going on a trip. And maybe in a way it was just that, as Grandpa said, this was the way things were supposed to happen.

  The problem was that for the Shacklefords nothing ever happened like it was supposed to. Great-granddad was a werewolf. My parents had turned into vampires. And I—I lifted my hand and touched the dark mark on my neck—well, I wasn’t sure what was happening to me.

  I’d been terrified the mark of the Guardian would taint little Ray, like I might pass that curse onto him. It didn’t seem to have. He seemed about as normal and happy a baby as you could get.

  Thing was, in this family, you never knew.

  Grandpa was slowly dying, but that was lucky. He was the only normal one among all of us. What was it they said about those who fight monsters having to be careful lest they become one? Well, we’d been careful, but it hadn’t mattered. Some of us fell by the wayside, and some of us became something else.

  I couldn’t protect little Ray from things like that forever either. One day I would have to let him face monsters on his own. But not yet. No. Not for a long time yet. My cheeks were unaccountably wet again. I wiped my eyes, got my car keys, strapped little Ray into his car seat, and went to work.

  CHAPTER 3

  MHI company headquarters was usually described as a compound, which was fine by us, because images of crazy militia rednecks out in the Alabama woods kept the riffraff out.

  The whole place was fenced in. There was one main building, which was sprawling since bits got added to it when needed, without any regard for how it looked. It was built of heavy brick and steel. Though it was technically an office building, it had served as a fort, and we’d successfully defended it from attacks before. Most workplaces don’t have a portcullis.

  The parking lot was nearly empty. The compound was usually a busy place, but most of our regular people were on the mission, and we were between Newbie clas
ses. It kind of had an empty vibe that made me feel a little lonely.

  I went straight into the office with little Ray in his sling. The first thing I checked was to see if there had been any contact with the mission, but still nothing since they’d been hit by the latest storm. There wasn’t cause to worry yet. They were on a crappy island north of the Arctic Circle in winter. We lost contact every time the weather turned bad. These sorts of things happened. They were probably fine. Probably.

  So rather than fret uselessly, I got to work. I’ve always been the person who did general planning and contracts for MHI, because most Hunters have all the business acumen of a baby opossum. No, seriously. You get all these tough guys and gals who risk their lives in really scary ways, but not too many of them could make a budget, and paperwork confused and frightened them.

  I think when my husband took over as MHI’s finance guy most of our team leads were handing in their receipts in a shoebox: weapons, ammunition, Big Macs, clothes to replace the ones shredded by a monster, parking fees, oil changes, and that one time they took their team out for ice cream—just in case, throw it all in the box. Then they’d dump these on Earl’s desk, which he’d ignore until they’d reached a height of three-to-five feet, then sweep them into a file cabinet where he’d continue to ignore them.

  Luckily that hadn’t been my problem. During those years, I’d stayed busy trying to book our gigs, negotiate our contracts, and generally keeping us in business. The tax side of it…well, I did the best I could, but there’s not much you can do with stacks of shoeboxes of unorganized receipts compiled by angry gorillas.

  Okay, I could have made a wonderful bonfire.

  But the IRS wasn’t likely to believe I’d accidentally burned all our records, just like the ATF tended not to believe us each time we told them we’d lost a machinegun in a tragic boating accident. But even the idea of a bonfire had often warmed my heart in those days before Owen.