A Walk in the Park

A Walk in the Park

A Slayer of Evil (Prices Negotiable) Story

By

Andrew E. Moczulski

Copyright 2012, Andrew E. Moczulski

Smashwords Edition

*****

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

The woods smelled like blood, even to my nose.

Lydia? I whispered. Do you...

Do not speak out loud, came the soft woman's voice in my mind. The creature is close, and its ears are very good.

Then give me a direction, if you can, I replied.

Behind you, she sent. No matter which way you face, it always moves to be behind you.

So it's not just close. It's watching me. Good thing I brought the rifle, eh?

Eric, that weapon is rather unwieldy; I doubt that you will be able to react in time...

Well, I don't have a lot of choice, I thought. Behind me, in the blackness of the woods, something made a light cracking noise. I wouldn't even have heard it if all my senses hadn't been on high alert, straining for exactly that sort of stimulus. It's here. That was fast.

Behind you.

Yeah, I got that part, I replied, keeping the weapon loose with one hand, and reaching the other into my pocket.

I glanced over my shoulder, and saw, just barely in the night, the light reflecting off a pair of yellow, lupine eyes. I knew quite well what that meant. At night? In the forest? The only reason I would see the beast before it charged is if it wanted to be seen. It wasn't a natural animal, of course. It had enough intellect to be cruel, and more than enough to know that it was too close for me to line up the kill shot before it got its fangs into my neck. Combine these two facts, and it wasn't hard to work out that it was allowing itself to be seen as a taunt. It knew it was going to kill me, and it was going to kill me in the next five seconds. And it was just mean enough to make me know that too.

I didn't quite smile. There you are. Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

That Morning...

Mr. Stevens, thank you for coming, the old man said, his voice unusually calm for one of my clients. Normally they're on the 'extremely jittery' side at best. Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee...

Coffee. Fifteen sugars, I said cheerfully. It was my usual order.

... Fifteen?

I like the rush, I said by way of explanation. Keeps me on my toes.

He shrugged. Well, given the website, I really shouldn't have expected normal from you. Coffeepot's already on, I'll just... pour the whole sugar bowl in.

You are a wonderful man, I said sincerely. Caffeine + Sugar = Fun! That's just the joy of basic math. Now, while we wait for the joy of energy-bringing awesome drinks, why don't we discuss why you invited me here? California is a bit out of the way for me; I'm not gonna turn down the work, but in general if you know how to find me, you know how to find someone a little closer.

The old man shrugged. "You have a very good reputation. More particularly, you have several good reputations. I'm gonna bet that 'Jacob Stevens' is not your real name, for one thing."

It was not. My real name was Eric Margrave; I just never, if at all possible, do business under it. If you're going to be wanted for crimes (not that I have ever committed any, of course; it's just that certain government agencies are under the impression I have), you might as well be wanted under a name that isn't yours. That may or may not be a good bet, I said diplomatically. I've always felt that deep down, we all have many names. I just tend to be more active about using them than some people.

Currently, I had joined my newest client in his small but cozy home on the outskirts of Arcata, California. It was a nice place; big cushy chairs, nice paintings on the wall, one of those big old TV sets with an antenna instead of cable that really just add in an indefinable layer of old-timey that any old house really needs. I should get one for my own house... it was probably older than this one, but it didn't have the same lived-in feel given how much time I spent traveling for my job. Which, of course, is what had brought me here.

Long story short? There are monsters. Sometimes, people need them dealt with. And if you can meet my prices (Full list available by request; no demons, dragons, liches, demon-dragons, dragon-liches, demon-dragon-liches, or any sort of sentient bread), I'm pretty damn good at that.

The old man took a seat in the chair across from me, setting his heavy cane aside. The chair made a squeaky noise that, again... really very cozy. Old-timey awesomeness! Well, good. I don't want to know your real name. The less I know about what's going on the better. The less anyone knows, the better, he said. This is something I want handled quick and I want handled subtle. Can you do that?

Subtle is my middle name! I said cheerfully.

Oh, come now. I have encountered bull moose with a more refined touch than you, said the third inhabitant of the room, a small-built brunette woman in a very nice, if somewhat old-fashioned, peach colored dress.

This was already kind of rude, but it was complicated somewhat by the fact that there had been, three seconds earlier, only two people in the room. The lovely young lady had just appeared out of thin air.

The old man blinked a few times. Oh. Well. I guess this erases any doubts that you're the real deal.

Lyd, what did I tell you about projecting when I am trying to talk to the clients? If they have a heart attack, we get in real trouble, I chastised her.

"You were deceiving this fine gentleman, Lydia, my preferred business partner and kinda-ghost, said. I could not allow the poor man to think that he was actually hiring anyone with a tiny shred of subtlety."

How subtle I am depends entirely on your definition of 'subtlety,' I pointed out. Our friend here does not want me to knit him a magnificent quilt from delicate spider webs, he wants something killed. A certain level of bluntness is always going to be required.

Well, I suppose that has a certain logic to it, but...

Miss, I appreciate the concern, but your friend here has the right of it, the client said warmly. I need someone who can do un-subtle things, subtly enough to not get caught for it. Don't need this getting on the evening news.

Lydia sniffed in the way that only real aristocrats (And she had been one, when she was, y'know, alive) could manage, but this seemed to satisfy her. Well, I suppose if you are happy with this, sir.

Sir? Pretty lady like you can call me Victor, the old man said with a wink. Victor Greenfield, always very much at the lady's service.

"I am married, sir, she said, but she didn't look displeased with the attention despite this. I'm quite certain such familiarity is inappropriate."

Shoulda known a lady so lovely'd be taken. Hope your man doesn't object to Mr. Stevens here dragging you along on work?

It's okay, I said cheerfully. She's dead. And so is he.

"Just because I am not what you would technically define as 'living' does not mean my vows of marriage are any less valid! Lydia said primly. But this is beside the point. I believe the fine gentleman, whom you could take some lessons from, had a work request for us."

Greenfield chuckled. It's quite all right, miss. It's good to know that general... oddness... doesn't upset the hired hands. After all, he's dead-on right that I hired him for some dirty business. Sure didn't call him out here to give the wolf a doily.

I blinked at that. The wolf?

You know that the outer boundary of Redwood National park is about a half-hour's drive north of here, right?

And I know that the park doesn't have a native wolf population, too, I said, a questioning eyebrow raised.

Ah, well, there's wolves, and then there's wolves, Victor said smoothly. Not all wolves let themselves be seen, and not all of them look like wolves all the time, if you get my meaning.

I blinked a few times. "You think there are werewolves in Redwood National Park? What gave you that impression, if you don't mind my asking? "

They don't live there, no. They're people, right? Have jobs and such. Live in towns near the park. But a werewolf can't be just a person. Needs to have room to run, needs some time and space to be the wolf, too. So when the moon gets full and the need to change gets too much, they meet there, in the park. To run free under the moon, hunt some critters... just, time to be the wolf, Victor said, very calmly. Oddly calmly.

I tilted my head to one side. You know that from experience, don't you, I said, the tone of my voice making it as clear as I could that this was not a question.

Used to be a hunter, when I was a younger man. Was up in Alaska, hunting wolves, back when it was still legal to do it, and found a big old gray alpha. Biggest damn wolf I ever saw, which was a surprise given how rare they were getting, Victor said.

Right, because everyone kept killing them all the time for no reason, I agreed.

... Well. That's a bit of a harsh way to put it. It was a different time, and there were different rules, Victor said a touch indignantly. I resisted the urge to flick him off; he was a client and I should be trying to stay on his good side. It was just that, well,