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  “Leann’s right. Anytime y’all are out this way, you can park your big blue bus on our land and stay as long as ya like,” Mr. Durand agreed.

  Mack nodded. He had the compound bow in its case in his hand and tried to give it to Mr. Durand.

  “No, you keep it.”

  “What about the ex-son-in-law? It’s his property.”

  “Nope. He gave it to me, and I’m givin’ to you, Marine. Consider it a bonus, oorah?”

  “Oorah, sir,” Mack grinned as he shook Mr. Durand’s hand.

  “That reminds me, Leann, I have a gift for you,” KC declared. She disappeared into Busster and returned a moment later with a hardcover book, which she presented to Mrs. Durand.

  “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. “This is the newest Zoe Kenneth book! It’s not even out yet! How... how did you get it?” Mrs. Durand’s eyes grew wide. “Oh goodness, KC... are you Montana Llewellyn?”

  KC laughed. “No, but I am her accountant, and I also run her social media for her. Sometimes, I even have sex with her.”

  Mrs. Durand blushed first, then she frowned. “Wait, wouldn’t your husband have a problem with that?”

  Mack flushed slightly, looked down, and rubbed the back of his head while kicking a toe into the dirt. “Uh, well, I would, but since I’m Montana Llewellyn, I don’t?”

  “You’re Montana Llewellyn?” Mrs. Durand looked faint.

  “Steady on there, Leann.” The farmer grinned. “I always had a feelin’ Monty Llewellyn was a fella. Don’t think women-folk could write action like that if ya get my drift?”

  “Don’t tell my wife or her mother that,” Mack sighed. “Here, Mrs. Durand, let me personalize an autograph for you.”

  Mrs. Durand almost did faint then.

  MOUNT JACKSON, VIRGINIA

  Thursday, November 1, 2018

  A THREE-HOUR DRIVE brought KC and Mack to the Denny’s in Mount Jackson, Virginia. The small town was located a little over two hours due west of Washington, DC. The location had been chosen by the agent who’d answered their Cassandra Protocol bounty claim request.

  The day before, after discovering that Mack was actually her favorite romance novelist, Mrs. Durand had insisted on cooking them a big lunch and wanted all of her questions about the Zoe Kenneth Chronicles answered. Then, Busster had refused to crank. Mack had spent the rest of the afternoon tinkering with the big diesel engine in the back of the bus and comparing boot camp experiences with Mr. Durand while KC and Mrs. Durand had gone to town to do some last-minute shopping to restock Busster’s pantry.

  Once Busster was fixed, Mr. Durand suggested they stay one more night and get a fresh start in the morning, which they had done. To keep from putting too much of a burden on Busster’s engine, Mack had left the pickup unhooked from the tow rig, and KC had driven it behind him. Although Mt. Jackson didn’t have an auto parts store, several were located along the route there, and Mack had stopped at a couple looking for the particular engine part that needed to be replaced before his jury-rigged repair gave out.

  The Denny’s was a part of a truck stop center, so Mack didn’t have any trouble finding a place to park that was out of the way and would allow him to finally fix the engine. First, though, he was ready to eat.

  Mack was enjoying a T-bone steak with a side of onion rings and a house salad, and KC was tucking into a French Toast Slam, when a young Asian man sat down at their table with them, next to KC.

  “Please don’t let me interrupt your meal,” he said as he laid a leather ID folder down on the table between Mack and KC. The ID claimed he was an FBI agent. “I’m Agent Zane Sauvage, and I’m here to collect your claim forms and the necessary bona fides, but I am dog tired and could use coffee and steak and eggs in that order.”

  “Nice to meet you, Agent Sauvage. I’m Mack MacDuff; my wife, KC MacMurray.”

  “Yes, Mac & Mac Enterprises, LLC,” the Program agent confirmed as he waved to a waitress. “Hi, I need a cup of coffee and a steak and eggs plate, please.”

  “Is this on the same ticket?” the waitress asked.

  “Yes,” Sauvage blurted before Mack or KC could say anything, “and I’ll be paying.” Once the waitress had gone to turn her order in, Sauvage explained, “I’m on an expense account, and buying you guys a meal is just good customer service, right?”

  “If you say so,” Mack chuckled.

  “Have you seen the news this morning?” KC asked.

  Sauvage nodded. “They’re already calling yesterday ‘Helloween-18’. That’s one reason why I suggested this Denny’s to meet. Yours is not the only claim I have to process today. Every teleporter on the Program’s payroll is working today just to keep up with the Cassandra Protocol alerts and claims.” Sauvage’s phone rang. “I have to take this if you don’t mind?”

  Mack made a go-ahead motion. Sauvage answered. “Hey, Levi, where you at? Boston? No, I’m at the Denny’s in Mount Jackson, Virginia. Yeah, I’m sitting here with Mac & Mac right now.” Sauvage listened for a moment. “Okay, Agent Carmichael, my supervisory agent, wants to know what you managed to save of the lich’s belongings. You know, besides his head?”

  “A passport, the melted remains of his phylactery, and a backpack with assorted camping gear, clothes, and some magical paraphernalia,” Mack reported.

  “You catch that, Levi?” Sauvage nodded, listening. “Yeah, I’m gonna eat lunch, get the stuff, and port back to DC. I need a break, man. Got it, boss. Hey, tell Raven I said ‘hello’ when you see her.” He ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket. “The Director General was personally intrigued by your report, so the big boss was breathing down my boss’s neck, which means my boss is breathing down my neck, but really, having a guy who’s ten times nerdier than I am breathing down my neck is not as bad as the big boss breathing down your neck... I’m rambling. Sorry. I teleported here from Pittsburgh. Spent the morning there dealing with an account rep from Barker Security Specialists. You know the Barkers?”

  “Haven’t had the displeasure, but their reputation precedes them,” KC replied. “My mom worked with them once before I was born, and she has never had a good thing to say about them since.”

  “Yeah, they’re all assholes,” Sauvage agreed, “but they’re efficient, effective assholes who managed to put down an Unseelie Wild Hunt before it got started.”

  “Impressive,” Mack nodded.

  Sauvage’s coffee and meal arrived.

  Conversation turned from work related to informal topics. Sauvage was within Mack and KC’s age range and had many similar recreational interests. He suggested a few interesting camping ideas out west that Mack and KC found exciting to contemplate. Then, once Sauvage paid for the meal, the three of them went out to Busster. Mack and KC turned over the first rougarou’s heart and brain, still in a mason jar and coffee can respectively, the second rougarou’s heart and brain stuffed into Glad disposable storage bowls donated by Mrs. Durand, and the backpack containing the lich’s belongings and its Saran wrapped head.

  Sauvage used his phone to scan and log in each item. “Okay, Mac & Mac, you will find that a provisional down payment has been forwarded to your account of record with the remainder in escrow pending confirmation, and I am emailing you a receipt right now.”

  “Got it,” KC confirmed, checking her phone.

  “Love the skoolie, by the way,” Sauvage praised.

  “I’m right proud of Busster, even when he’s acting up,” Mack chuckled. “Gotta replace a worn part while we’re sitting here.”

  “Look, do you guys mind if I stay in contact? Honestly, I don’t have a lot of friends outside of the Program...”

  “Sure, you know, we’re both on Instagram, and you’ve got our email addresses and phone numbers on the forms,” Mack said.

  “Awesome. I’d love to hang out with you guys on a for-real camping trip sometime,” Sauvage gushed.

  “And it doesn’t hurt us having a friendly Program agent either,” KC chuckled.

  “I ca
n’t wait to abuse my limited power in order to make friends,” Sauvage snickered. “Well, Mack and KC, it has been a pleasure befriending you, but I’ve gotta jet.”

  “Take care, brother,” Mack said, shaking the agent’s hand.

  Sauvage gathered everything into a large duffle bag he’d brought with him. He gave the two hunters a jaunty salute and disappeared with a pop of in-rushing air.

  “He’s nice. I like him,” KC declared.

  “You’re already trying to figure out which of the girls in your squad to fix him up with.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  Part Two:

  The Siege of Silver Dollar City

  Chapter One

  Twin Lakes, Colorado

  Tuesday, March 12, 2019

  THE SKY WAS CLOUDY, so the rather large raptor blended well with his surroundings as he soared in lazy circles on a thermal updraft. In shape, the bird could be identified scientifically as Aquila chrysaetos canadensis, the North American Golden Eagle. He had a wingspan of about seven feet and easily massed over ten pounds, putting him closer in size to one of his European cousins. What truly set this particular raptor apart from other Golden Eagles was that he wasn’t “golden” at all. Instead of the dark brown body and golden head feathers that gave the species its name, this eagle was all white, except for the yellow skin on his legs and his black beak and talons.

  Snow covered the ground below, accumulated over the intervening winter months since the first snowfall back the previous October. He’d not come to this territory until halfway through November, though, and when he’d arrived, he hadn’t flown in. No, he’d driven there in a big blue bus in the shape of a man, Mack MacDuff. Though all therianthropes were capable of the feat, very few mastered a second animal shape beyond their instinctive alternate form, their totem shape. Achieving a connection to a second animal totem usually involved a great deal of effort and meditation, Mack had first shifted into his eagle form within days of his First Change into his white wolf form. For some reason that they’d never really spoken about, neither of his foster parents had been overly surprised by his dual animal totem nature. They’d accepted it, and began training him on how to attune to other, similar totem forms.

  As he dropped from the high altitude that he’d attained drifting on the thermal, Mack’s eagle form altered slightly, his wings shortening and broadening slightly as he skimmed the tops of the forest he’d been flying over. Instead of a Golden Eagle, something more like a large Harpy Eagle entered the forest. Harpy Eagles were better adapted for maneuvering among trees than Golden Eagles, which were better adapted for soaring over open plains and across mountains and valleys.

  Mack settled himself onto a thick, sturdy branch some twenty feet above the ground and surveyed the scene below him for a moment. Two figures moved among the trees below him, one on two legs, the other on four.

  The two-legged figure appeared to be a young man, on the tall side of average, standing five-nine, five-ten at the most. His bronze skin, the shape of his eyes, and his wide cheekbones gave ample evidence that he was of Asian descent. However, there were subtle clues that he might have had mixed ancestry. His nose shape and size hinted more at European ancestry, and the wool-like curliness of his hair hinted at some African or possibly Middle Eastern ancestry. That hair was currently somewhat lengthy; what Mack jokingly thought of as “boy band hair.” A scruffy little goatee covered the man’s chin.

  The four-legged figure, at a casual glance, could be mistaken for a Husky or an Alaskan Sled Dog, but closer inspection would reveal to be a large black wolf. Mack, though, knew that this was actually a werewolf. As he observed, the wolf leaned back on its hind legs, its form blurring as it stood up becoming the werewolf’s hybrid battle form. Only, as battle forms went, this one was rather small, standing a mere six feet tall. Also, the humanoid shape clearly defined that this werewolf was a female of the species with all the right curves in all the right places.

  The two people below were looking out into a clearing. On the far side sat a blue Toyota Tacoma parked next to a tent. In front of the tent was a campfire, and beside the campfire was KC sitting in a camp chair, drinking coffee from a tumbler. The man readied a compact bow, and the werewolf crouched, ready to drop to all-fours and charge across the clearing.

  Mack spread his wings, launching himself into flight by the simple expedient of jumping off the limb. He glided almost to where the two others were preparing their attack, and shapeshifted into his battle form. He dropped through the air like a quarter ton of furry muscle and bone, slammed into the ground behind the two of them, and wrapped an arm around each, picking both of them up off the ground. He casually swung the two of them together, knocking their skulls against one another, not hard enough to kill but to stun. Tucking his prisoners under his arms, Mack skipped out of the woods and across the clearing to KC.

  She looked up as her husband made his merry way across the clearing. She shook her head and stood up. “You won, then?”

  Mack nodded his head.

  “He cheated. I’m sure he cheated,” the Asian man complained.

  “Of course, he cheated, Liam,” KC scolded. “That’s how you win!”

  As Mack arrived at the encampment, the black werewolf returned to her human form. “Put me down, pendejo!”

  “No,” Mack managed to growl out. “I... win.”

  “You know what you have to do, Pilar,” KC laughed as Mack stopped in front of her. “Say it.”

  “Say... it,” Mack repeated.

  Pilar sighed. “Mack’s werewolf kung-fu is stronger than my werewolf kung-fu, therefore I must accept him as my alpha.” Her voice was a monotone of defeat.

  Mack gently set Pilar down and licked her cheek. His tail was even wagging.

  KC laughed as she draped a thick, orange puffy jacket over Pilar’s shoulders, and the smaller woman shrugged it on. In her human form Pilar barely made it over five feet tall in her bare feet. She still had all the right curves in all the right places.

  Pilar Villalobos was a compact dynamo, built like a fitness model, blessed with dusky skin, long black hair, and big brown eyes. She was possibly KC’s best friend. KC had a lot of close friends, but Pilar was special to her. She offered her coffee tumbler to Pilar, and Pilar accepted it with a smile that revealed a small gap between her two front teeth.

  “Did you have to lick me?” Pilar complained.

  “No... lips... no... kiss...” He rubbed the knuckles of his free hand across the top of Liam’s head. “Your... turn...”

  “No, I’m not saying it,” Liam Wallace declared defiantly.

  “You know what he’s gonna do if you don’t say it,” KC grinned.

  “Another werewolf noogie?” Liam guessed.

  “No. Tickles,” Mack said.

  “You wouldn’t!” Liam gasped.

  “He will,” KC confirmed.

  Liam let his head hang. “Fine. I’m a Sissy Gundam.”

  Mack dropped Liam to the ground. Before the other man could regain his feet, Mack had him upright, holding him in the air by his shoulders. Then, Mack licked his cheeks.

  “Dude! That’s disgusting!”

  Mack reverted to human form, still holding Liam in the air. Steam hissed off Mack’s body as he changed. “Bro, you know you liked it.”

  Liam leaned as far as he could to get a good look at KC. “Could you tell your enormous naked white man to let go of me?”

  “Why?”

  “Um, because I think this maybe counts as sexual harassment?”

  “Does it make you feel uncomfortable or embarrassed?” KC asked.

  “Or is it making you feel uncomfortable because you’re kinda turned on by it?” Pilar teased

  Mack set Liam on the ground. “Don’t listen to them. They’re only jealous of our manly warrior bond.”

  “Seriously, dude, you need to cover that thing up. It’s freezing out here. How can you not be shriveled up?” Liam complained.

  “I’m sorry. Is my
manliness making you feel inadequate?”

  “Yeah, a little bit!”

  “Then, I’ll get dressed,” Mack guffawed.

  “Aw,” KC and Pilar whined in unison.

  “And, of course, both of the women are in love with you,” Liam grumbled.

  “What can I say, bro?” Mack shrugged as he moved toward the tent. “It’s the white man’s burden.”

  THE DAY BECAME INCREASINGLY cloudy, and the temperature never rose above forty-three degrees. In fact, the day rapidly got colder instead of warming up. The quartet broke camp after lunch to begin the trek back home to Silver Dollar City.

  Despite the name, Silver Dollar City was not a city and hadn’t been one since the last residents had abandoned the former mining town in the spring of 1890. The original town had taken its name from the Silver Dollar Mine, which had petered out of silver faster than the owner had expected. The ghost town had lain unwanted and unclaimed on a hidden plateau in the shadow of Mount Elbert not far from Twin Lakes for nearly sixty years. Then, a real estate developer had purchased the seven acres that encompassed the environs of Silver Dollar City with the intent of turning it into a tourist attraction.

  He’d failed due to a lack of investors and poor health. Eventually, the developer had succumbed to his poor health, leaving the ghost town to his son. The developer’s son didn’t need or want a ghost town that he had to pay property taxes on, so he’d sold the land off as soon as he could unload it. The property passed through a number of hands until it and an additional ten acres were purchased by a wealthy foreigner.

  “The Englishman,” as he was known to locals in the area, set about turning Silver Dollar City into a personal estate. Several of the town’s buildings were still structurally sound, especially the old Silver Dollar City Bank, which the Englishman converted into his personal residence. The former saloon and hotel were rebuilt with an eye toward maintaining their original, authentic appearance, and the old livery stable was converted into a private garage and workshop.