The wrath of monsters, p.1
The Wrath of Monsters, page 1
Table of Contents
The Wrath of Monsters
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing
The Wrath of Monsters
by
Dan Rice
The Allison Lee Chronicles, Book 3
Copyright Notice
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Wrath of Monsters
COPYRIGHT © 2023 by Dan Rice
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Debbie Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Edition, 2024
Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-5467-5
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-5468-2
The Allison Lee Chronicles, Book 3
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
Dedicated to Frank Lambirth and The Puget Sound Writers’ Guild for all the invaluable critiques.
Chapter 1
Remote school is deadly…for my mental health. So is being locked up in my room. Of course, I choose to be locked up in my bedroom, but still. I never chose to have security agents, some of them actual magicians, stalking me through the house twenty-four by seven. I never asked for any of it, but here I am, staring at my laptop’s screen, trying to do pre-calculus homework. The problem is I can’t make heads or tails out of linear equations and logarithmic functions.
My hand strays from my wireless mouse to my camera on the study table beside the laptop. My fingers brush against the device’s cool metallic and rubberized body. I’d love to go outside to take pictures, but I need permission to leave the house from Agent-in-charge Leroy McAllister. Sometimes I wish that man had his neck twisted like fusilli, I really do, but then I remember Agent Deveraux’s neck misshapen like that, and acid rises up my throat. My hand goes to my chest. My throat and back of my mouth burn.
I stand and reach for the laptop to close it but stop myself. Dalia promised to help me with my math homework. She might video call or message me any time now. Instead, I wrap my fingers around the camera’s grip and enjoy the tactile nature of the rubber. My go-to photographic subject is a precarious stack of dirty dishes on the tabletop behind the computer. The acid on my tongue turns me off from photographing anything remotely related to food.
I try to take all my meals in my room; it’s the only place I won’t have an agent watching my every move. I glance around the bedroom, eyeballing every corner. Presumably, they don’t watch me while I’m here. I wouldn’t believe them, except I’ve scoured every nook and cranny of the room with my prosthetic eyes, zooming in and out, and searching for heat signatures or the lack thereof in IR mode. Never found anything. I wouldn’t put it past the magicians from the UN Draconic Task Force to surreptitiously observe me by magical means, but my father, who is the last remaining archmagus, ensures me they aren’t watching. If I can believe him after sixteen-plus years of lies.
Sighing, I pick up my camera and cross the room, stepping on dirty and clean clothes to the head of my unmade bed. Next to the pillow, a giant kitty cat stuffy stares at me with unblinking eyes. I flip the cat around, so it stares at the wall. I pull up the blind shading the window on the wall behind the head of the bed and am greeted by another day of March gloom: endless gray clouds and drizzle. Nothing inspiring to photograph, but at least the crowd I hear from the street in front of the house protesting my existence probably numbers less than twenty instead of closer to one hundred. The increased security since I was kidnapped by a team of magician commandos led by none other than my nemesis Gore, a drug-crazed magic-wielding assassin, has the wonderful silver lining of keeping most of my detractors and fans at bay.
The room is stuffy, so I open the window. The cold outside air caresses my cheeks, bringing with it the scent of rain and automobile exhaust from the main drag a quarter mile up the street. Nose crinkling, I slam the window shut.
A sharp rap comes from the door. “Is everything okay in there?”
I wince at the high-pitched voice of Valentina Lopez, Draconic Task Force agent and a magician of unknown ability. As long as she keeps her magic to herself and her mouth shut, Valentina is tolerable. But whenever I hear her overly feminine voice, I wish she was sucked down the kaleidoscopic black hole displayed on the poster adorning my door.
“Just airing out the room.”
I cross the room and flop down in my chair. Placing my elbows on the desk, I massage my temples and stare at the linear equations on the screen. My eyes lose focus, the numbers, letters, and mathematical symbols slithering into pen and ink faeries, dragons, and skaags. The creatures whorl into a true monster, a doctor with her face hidden behind a mask. Gasping, I slam the laptop shut. The sleeper ripples inside me, making my skin feel like it crawls from the inside out. The beast wants out to rend flesh from bones, but I can’t allow that. My half-skaag form, a cross between a super-sized alligator and a gargantuan eel, is small compared to a full-blooded skaag, but it is still large enough to destroy my room and probably bring the entire house down in the process.
No! I can’t do that. I can’t transform. She’s dead.
The sleeper’s deadly desires still ooze through my mind, making my heart race and mouth water—ewww—but my bestial side settles itself.
“She’s dead,” I say out loud for both sides of me to hear, the human and the skaag. “She can’t dissect you. She’s dead.”
I lose track of how many times I’ve repeated this to myself when my ancient flip phone vibrates, rattling across the desk. I pick up the phone and flip it open. A text from Dalia.
—Tried video calling you…ready to hit pre-calc?—
I chicken peck out a response with my index finger, cursing my dad the entire time for not allowing me a proper phone. ––No, but I need your help, or I’m going to flunk—
Dalia responds instantaneously. I can imagine her thumbs flying over her phone’s pop-up keyboard. —Call me. I’m online.—
I open the laptop and start up the video chat app, placing the call by clicking on an icon that is a close-up of Dalia’s face with pink bangs and a golden hoop nose ring prominently displayed. My BFF picks up after the first ring.
“Sorry I’m late. Track tryouts went a little long,” Dalia says, smiling and bubbly and apologetic all the same time.
“How did you do?” Before The Incident, we ran cross country together, and Dalia was always the faster runner. Now, with my half-skaag prowess at my disposal, I can set world records at any distance.
“Pretty good. I don’t know.” Dalia flashes an uncertain smile. “I finished second in the two-mile after Leslie. She’s so fast. I didn’t do as well at the other distances. Hopefully it’s enough to make varsity.”
“I’m sure you’ll make varsity.” I stifle a pang of jealousy. She has nothing to complain or worry about. At least she’s allowed to attend school live and in person. Meanwhile, I’m told by my innumerable government minders I should count myself lucky I’m not locked away on a military base or a secret supermax prison.
“I hope so. I’ll die if I don’t make varsity.” A sound comes from offscreen. Dalia looks toward the noise. “Would you leave? I’m doing homework.” She moves off-screen, expression harried.
From the laptop’s speakers comes the sound of a door being slammed super hard. Dalia reappears on screen, sighing as she sits. “Sometimes I can’t wait to move out.”
“At least you can head to the bathroom without Valentina watching you,” I say.
“Oh geez, I know, you have it so much worse.”
I inwardly scold myself for being waspish. “I haven’t been sleeping well and being cooped up all day…”
“More nightmares?” Dalia whispers.
My eyes go wide, and I give Dalia a meaningful glare. Yes, I’ve had more dreams, but I don’t want to talk about them using laptops we both know are monitored by the government. To be honest, I don’t want to talk about my dreams with anyone, ever. I just want them to stop.
“Is Leslie still pissed at Jason?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.
Light glimmers on the edge of Dalia’s nose ring. “That’s putting it mildly.”
Dalia fills me in on what's happening at school for thirty minutes or more before we move on to tackling our math homework. With my friend guiding me through the problems, I don’t know if I understand the mathematics better, but at least the numbers and symbols aren’t morphing into monsters.
Dalia is in the middle of explaining a particularly gnarly problem when an explosion shakes the house.
“What the…” I mumble and twist in the chair to stare out the window. I don’t see any sign of the explosion. Outside in the hallway I hear Valentina talking. With my preternatural hearing, I should be able to eavesdrop on the conversation, but the words are muffled. I wonder if the agent is using magic to prevent me from listening in.
“Allison, what was that? I heard a loud boom.”
I turn back to the laptop. Dalia stares, nervously chewing on the tip of her thumb. “Explosion maybe? I’m going to check it out,” I say.
“Be careful. Text me,” Dalia says.
“I will.” I close the video app and shut my laptop.
Standing, I grab my phone, stuffing it into my front pocket, and swing my camera over my shoulder by the strap. I march to the door and throw it open.
Valentina blocks my path. “Stay in your room.”
Her voice is like fingernails scratching a chalkboard, but I manage not to cringe.
“I’m going to photograph the aftermath of the explosion or whatever.” I heft my camera.
Agent Lopez gives me her best condescending smile. At least we’re about the same height, so she doesn’t look down her nose at me while she does it. “No leaving the house without McAllister’s approval. You know the rules, Allison.”
“Your rules, not mine.” I barge past her, shouldering her aside, gently, of course.
“Agent McAllister and Dr. Radcliffe will hear about this, young lady!”
“Don’t I know,” I call as I head downstairs for the entryway. I hear Valentina following, but she doesn’t try to stop me.
In the entryway, Agent Haskell guards the front door. He stands well over six feet and is about as wide as a silverback gorilla, so he looks down his nose when speaking to me. “Allison, you don’t want to go out there. Believe me.” He placatingly spreads out his arms. “Honest, you’ll find it upsetting.”
I look the giant up and down. “Is that a new suit? It’d be a shame if you got blood on it.”
Haskell steps aside, giving me access to the door. He whispers as I grab my raincoat from a hook beside the entrance. “Be careful. Valentina will report you for threatening me.”
I open the door and step outside into the cold, damp afternoon to a flurry of activity. Security agents and soldiers have corralled and silenced the protesters on the sidewalk. People speak on their cell phones or walkie-talkies, and some snap photos. Most everyone stares at a dark cloud rising over the houses a few blocks away in the direction of the home of the first boy I ever kissed and one of my best friends in the whole world.
“Oh my God!” I gasp. “Haji.”
Chapter 2
Pulling on my raincoat, I step out into the wet and blustery evening. I do my damnedest to ignore the agents and the protesters, who start screaming vitriol when they spot me. I’m pretty good at it because I have tons of practice.
It’s only a little past five, but already the city is dark under the ominous clouds, promising a night of rain pounding against rooftops. My fire engine red hair is matted down before I manage to pull up my hood. I wrap my jacket around my camera to keep the device from getting soaked. It’s water resistant, but I don’t need to test that out.
Agent Haskell follows me down the crack-riddled concrete path through the front yard toward the street. The branches of the cherry tree sway in the wind and creak as we pass beneath them. In the vicinity of my friend’s house, dark smoke continues to billow.
“Sir, she’s leaving the house.”
Haskell speaks into his phone behind me. Getting permission from McAllister, evidently.
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
Gnawing on my lower lip, I pull out my ancient flip phone and dial Haji’s number. The call goes immediately to voicemail.
“Haji, why is your phone off?” I whisper as I hit the speed dial for Dalia.
She answers on the second ring. “What happened?”
“An explosion. I think it might be Haji’s house.”
“I’ll be right over,” Dalia says.
“No. Stay put for now. Try to contact Haji. I called him, but he won’t pick up.”
“I’m on it. Call me if you find out anything.”
“I will.” I end the call, closing the moisture-slickened device and thrusting it into my pants pocket.
“Allison, let me drive you.” Haskell nearly shouts to be heard over the howling wind. He doesn’t need to. He could whisper, and I’d probably hear him despite the noise.
“I can get there faster on foot.” I need to run. I need to know what happened and to make sure Haji is safe. I must because if anything bad happened to him, anything at all, it’s more than likely my fault.
“Hear me out, Allison,” Haskell says, a pleading edge to his voice.
Clenching my jaw, I slow my pace. I don’t want to hear anything Haskell has to say. He’s part of the government protection detail I don’t need or want that makes my life miserable, but I owe him. I hate feeling like I owe him, but I do. He took a bullet to the chest trying to rescue my friends and me from Gore and his cadre of super magicians. The agent’s bulletproof vest stopped the bullet but hadn’t kept him from bonking his head so hard he lost consciousness. That had saved his life, I have no doubt. Bullets and magic had slaughtered every other agent who tried to help me.
“What?” I snap.
“McAllister doesn’t want you going anywhere, but he knows we can’t stop you. He’s giving me permission to drive you over to the site as long as we take Valentina along.”
“Does she have to come?”
Haskell rolls his eyes. “This is how we both stay out of trouble. Plus, your camera won’t get any more wet than it already is.” Haskell fishes a key fob out of the pocket of his damp sports jacket and dangles it before my face. “It’s an electric.”
The vehicle being electric convinces me. I don’t think I could stand riding in one of the oversized gas-guzzling SUVs the agents typically drive. “Fine. Let’s go.”
****
Emergency vehicles with their lights flaring line the street in front of the remains of the Patel house. Half the house is smoldering wreckage being doused with water by firefighters. Haskell pulls up behind a small crowd gathered at the edge of a security cordon.
“Stop so I can get out,” I say.
“Settle down,” Haskell says, pointing toward the crowd. “I think I see the Patels.”
“Do you see Haji?” My chest erupts with tension. Inside me, the sleeper stirs, eager for release to sate its savage desires. My prosthetics zoom in on the crowd where the agent points. I spot the crying, rain-soaked Mrs. Patel being comforted by her husband, but no sign of my friend. “Let me out.”
Haskell pulls in behind a police cruiser. I burst from the car, heading for the gathering crowd. Valentina exits the front of the vehicle with an umbrella in hand.
“Don’t cause any trouble,” the magician calls after me.
Weaving my way through the crowd toward the Patels, I call Dalia.
She picks up on the first ring. “Are you there?”
“Oh, damn,” I snarl under my breath as I veer away from the scene toward the road, hoping the entire time the reporters setting up their equipment near the Patels didn’t see me.
“What?” Dalia asks, voice taut. “Are you at his house? Do you see Haji?”
“One sec. Reporters are staking out the scene.” I pull my hood over my damp red mop. There’s no longer a deluge, but it’s sprinkling so I won’t attract attention with the hood up.
