Ollie drove along the 101, catching glimpses of the Pacific Ocean between the colorful, yet downtrodden markets and strip malls lining the highway. The sun glistened off the water, luring him with rippling waves and the smell of salt in the air. Hundreds of birds perched on rooftops or piers along the shore, patiently watching the water for signs of fish, while fisherman similarly perched next to their reels, waiting for a catch.
He was an East Coast guy. He’d spent most of his life never being more than a few hours away from the Atlantic. At least until three years ago, when he’d started his journey toward Anywhere-But-Home. Seeing the ocean again awakened some long-dormant parts of his brain, memories of racing bikes as a kid, or whiling away what little time he could get with his high school girlfriend, a wild, brown-haired vixen named Olivia. He smiled as he remembered the night they went skinny dipping on Sandbridge Beach, near her uncle’s house, only to narrowly miss a jellyfish bloom. And then awkwardly covering themselves with handfuls of clothes while running across the sand away from the sudden appearance of drunken beachgoers. That might have been one of the last times he’d really and truly laughed.
He’d tried to forget about home in New Orleans. The memories of his family’s implosion had been too fresh, the emotions too raw, so he’d buried everything he loved about his youth in some deep chasm of his mind, focusing only on the work, and what was directly in front of him. But here, the nostalgia was warm and inviting, a siren beckoning him to lower the defenses he’d kept in place for years. If he was lucky, he might even enjoy himself for the next few days. At least until he got around to his real reason for being in California.
The Humboldt County Library stood like a beacon of knowledge at the north end of Eureka, its modern architecture a stark contrast to the weathered buildings surrounding it. The front of the library was constructed of cream-colored concrete and dark brown wood that reeked of newness and style in a town that didn’t have much of either.
Ollie pulled his Chief into the parking lot and found a spot near the back, where the vehicle wouldn’t attract a ridiculous number of stares. He kept it in good condition – well, the best condition he could afford – but the scarcity of the vehicle itself made it noticeable, especially with its big, boxy frame and drab green paint. It looked like an overgrown reject from an Army base. And he loved it. He’d had this monster since turning sixteen, and he’d babied it ever since. The Chief wasn’t practical, or subtle, or even pretty. But it was his home, now more than ever.
He walked through the front doors to find a well-organized, spacious, tidy interior, a far cry from some of the ramshackle libraries he’d seen over the last few years. A plump, brown haired, college-aged girl sat behind the information counter to his left, squinting through her glasses at a frayed math textbook. An elderly couple had taken over two cushioned chairs in the middle of the floor, reading magazines. A middle-aged man and two younger women, none of them together, sat at various tables to his right, hunched over books or notepads or magazines. A Hispanic woman with two boys in tow had perched herself in front of a computer terminal, searching the internet while her boys read comic books next to her.
He found a table comfortably away from everyone else and pulled out his old, well-worn laptop. He powered it on and rubbed his bloodshot eyes as it booted up, glancing over at the woman and her kids as he did. They kicked their feet out rhythmically while reading on the chairs next to her, lost in the fantasy of their stories, while the mom stared at the screen in front of her with a scowl. Kids made him anxious. He knew all too well the dangers that lurked in the darkness, and how powerless most people were to protect themselves, much less their kids. Children were a liability in his world.
The laptop beeped as it finished its stone-age-era loading process and he quickly connected to the free Wi-Fi, a foreign concept at most of the motels he stayed in. He opened a browser window and checked his email, finding only one legitimate new message buried in a pile of spam.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
CC:
Subject: She’s awake!
Ollie,
Had a few minutes and wanted to let you know what’s up. Gemma woke up from her ‘nap’ and spilled everything. And by ‘everything’ I mean everything that the cops would believe. The NOPD still want to chat with you, especially Bantam, but you’re at least off the hook for that thing that happened in that place. ;)
You may want to wait a few more weeks for things to cool down, but it should be okay after that for you to head on back as soon as you’re up to it. I know you wanted to get away and get your head straight, but we could use you out here, especially with the uptick in bumps in the night. Gemma needs time to get back to one hundo, and I can’t do this all on my own. So don’t get too comfortable on your vacation.
Also, Dottie says she needs to talk to you. She’s still afraid of email because of all the ‘electrical spirits’ so you need to find a phone and give that woman a call before she cuts us both off. She’s getting persistent, and you know how I need the money.
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Roy
He let out a small sigh of relief. Both for Gemma, and for the fact that he wasn’t a wanted man anymore. He’d operated in Louisiana under a fake name, but the cops still had a decent enough picture of him, and likely some DNA evidence. They could track him down if they wanted to. Especially Bantam. That guy didn’t let up.
His mouse pointer hovered over the reply button, but he hesitated before clicking it. He decided to pretend he hadn’t seen it yet, at least for a few more days. At least until he was done out here.
He scrolled down through his email, searching for the one that had brought him to California in the first place. He found it on page three, his last reply going out a full two weeks ago.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
CC:
Subject: Fwd: Job alert – Ferndale, CA
Hey kiddo. Hope this is still a good way to reach you. I sent this out to your pop a couple months ago and haven’t heard anything back. So I thought I’d run it by you and either let you get word to him, or take the job yourself. The details are in the forwarded message below, but the gist is this – someone in the Ferndale, CA area is reaching out for help taking care of an ‘issue’ that popped up recently. After doing a little digging, it looks legit. There’s a couple of dead people two years ago from an animal attack, and on top of that, there’s an occult store robbery in a nearby town that looks suspicious. I’ve vetted this out as much as I can, and I think it’s worthwhile. Payment is different on this one. No buyer. Client is offering 3,500 directly, minus my 10%.
One caveat… this stuff is all over CoN. So expect some noise in the area.
Canary
He skipped over his response, clicking on a link Canary provided in the original message for the Creatures of the Nite website. CoN was run by an anonymous blogger who called himself The Goblin King. The King spent an inordinate amount of time researching and posting about goblins, fairies, and other mythical beasts, all in an attempt to, as he called it, ‘shine a light on the dark corners of our world.’ Canary did his job discreetly, spreading his tendrils far and wide to glean little bits of information that he passed on to reputable hunters and the brokers who financed them. This Goblin King was something different, though. He’d come across information that even Google shouldn’t know. And the site he’d created had become a loud, showy, crowd-sourced version of Canary.
The site sprang up three or four years ago but only became popular in the last year after a deluge of articles showed up documenting suspected animal attacks all over the world, each one unresolved and difficult to explain. That led to a glut of amateur hunters speculating on which supernatural creatures were running rampant in their area. Website regulars had taken to referring to themselves as CoNers. The especially fanatical were Servants of the King. Ollie was neither, but as much as the site annoyed him, he did make a point to check it on occasion, mostly to see if anyone he knew had been plastered on its front page. CoN had a habit of outing real hunters, all in the guise of profiling them as mentors to the younger, less-disciplined crowd. A few took to the fame and dispensed their version of wisdom. The rest did their best to disappear for a while. Ollie, fortunately, had never been tagged.
CoN had nothing new on the main page so he searched through the archives and found one of the articles that Canary had linked. Titled Occult Store Robbery Confounds Police… But Not CoNers!, the post told of an occult store robbery in Arcata, a town north of Eureka. Only two items had been stolen, and the CoN contributor suspected wiccans, since the items could be used in spells. Ollie guessed she was on the right track but had the wrong suspects. He checked the comments, looking for anything new or revealing about the crime, but other than some spirited back-and-forth about the physics of ghosts robbing banks, he found nothing worthwhile.
He pulled up the second article, this one more serious in nature. Ferndale residents Annabelle, 53, and Rob Haron, 57, died just outside of town from a vicious animal attack over two years ago. Their bodies were found in the woods about two miles south of the scenic little town, mangled and disfigured. The severity of the attacks prompted a large-scale, and ultimately futile, search for a pack of savage bears or mountain lions. Unlike the other articles, though, the comments section on this one was locked.
Weird. He’d have thought CoNers would be all over something like this. He followed some links to local news websites, hunting for more information. Official comments said that the bears or lions had already left or been driven off – there was some confusion in that regard – and that the forests were now clear of savage, man-eating animals. But Canary’s client had good instincts. This attack had all the earmarks of something far more sinister. Ferndale was maybe a fifteen-minute drive from here. It would be easy to get a firsthand account of what had happened. And besides, when compared to brutal animal attacks, the occult store robbery became less interesting.
Canary had already given him the Harons’ address, along with the name of their niece, Kimberly, the actual client. But he wasn’t quite ready to meet her. He closed the browser and logged off the computer. Internet searches only showed part of the story. He needed to do some finger walking for the rest. He approached the college girl at the counter, who only barely glanced up from her book.
“You got any articles on animal attacks in the area? I’m doing some research.”
“You and everyone else,” she mumbled, writing some equations on a notepad.
Ollie leaned closer. “Huh?”
“Those articles have been popular. Must be a night class project going on.”
“Oh.” He stiffened. Of course other hunters were in town. Canary had said as much. “How many people have been asking about it?”
He tried to sound conversational. The librarian squinted at her book, oblivious to his sudden unease.
“At least three, that I know of.”
“Yeah,” Ollie forced a smile, “must be the rest of my class.”
She reached down and pulled out a stack of newspapers and journals from a shelf behind the desk. She dumped them on the counter with a whump.
“These are the same papers a couple guys looked through yesterday. Lucky for you, no one’s put them back, yet.”
Ollie gathered the papers under his arm.
“Yeah,” he said, retreating to his table. “Lucky me.”