Halloween Jack and the Curse of Frost: Halloween Jack, #2

By M Todd Gallowglas

"Curse of Frost is easily as much fun as the original." Chrstopher Kellen

Seven years after defeating the Devil and his minions with their steam-powered automatons, the Devil strikes again. Once again, the darkest and vilest creature in all creation seeks to open the Devil's Gate once and for all, allowing for all the legions of the dark realm free to roam any night of the year they wish.

What is the Curse of Frost, and what does it have to do with the family line of Jack of the Lantern. Halloween Jack and his cousins must learn what this means and how to stop the Devil before the sun sets on Christmas Eve, or mankind may lose just enough hope to give the Dark One enough power to escape his Dark Realm forever.

The Halloween Jack books are part swashbuckling adventure, part steampunk fantasy... with more than a dash of Irish Mythology mixed in, just to make things interesting. If you enjoy stories with clever and cunning heroes, Halloween Jack is a hero for you!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Gallowglas
• Release date: Jan 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781497726598

Book preview

By:

M. Todd Gallowglas

Halloween Jack and the Curse of Frost

Copyright © 2013 Michael Todd Gallowglas

Cover art by Keliana Tayler

Cover design Cody Parcell

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between real names, characters, places, and incidents is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any manner without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations for critical articles and reviews. All rights are reserved.

7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0 9 8

For Keliana

First impressions are everything, and you make mine pretty darn good.

Acknowledgments

Unlike the first Halloween Jack book, which almost wrote itself, this one was like pulling teeth. It was rough.

For that, I first have to thank my family, Robin, Robert, and Mathew for putting up with me as I agonized on this one.

Ash for asking the right questions for me to sort out that last little twist.

Again, Alex Jimenez, for introducing me to the original Jack of the Lantern legend. I had no idea when I learned that tale twenty or so years ago how far it would take me.

Jodi, Henry, Simon, and all the folks at De Vere’s pub in Sacramento and Davis for always giving me a quiet corner to write and a warm smile at exactly the moment I need them.

Table of Contents:

Prologue - 1

One - 3

Two - 23

Three - 35

Four - 49

Interlude- 63

Five - 65

Six - 87

Seven - 99

Eight - 111

Nine - 125

Ten - 143

Eleven - 155

Twelve - 171

Prologue

It started with a glance, as tales of true love often do.

This glance happened to be in the reflection of a glass window in the chill of a winter morning. A young lady wrapped in layers of wool and fur was busy scraping his artwork, his masterpiece – as each work was a masterpiece – from a window so her mother could view the rising sun as she made porridge that morning.

Being a bit behind this morning, he saw the young lady destroying his work on the window. He was not overly attached to his works – each one was a transitory thing by nature: the sun always came, and his work always died.

He was, however, overly attached to mischief.

Flittering on the winter wind, he snuck up behind the young lady and blew on the window after she wiped the frost from the glass. He bit his lip to stifle his snickering and waited for the gasp of surprise that usually came when he did this. The young lady didn’t gasp. She just wiped the new frost away from the window. It happened so fast that he didn’t have time to hide himself as his kind usually did in the presence of mortals.

She stared at his eyes from the reflection in the glass. He wanted to run, to hide, knew he should, but could not. Her eyes seemed to trap him, hold him, and keep him from wanting anything other than to look into her eyes forever.

And so he made a choice, and they were happy for a time. However, as it is with the tales of love between the human world and the hidden world of secret things, it could not last.

He was forced to make another choice, a tragic choice.

Now, he’s lost himself in his art. And, in those few times he indulges in his mischief, it has become cruel and painful. This is exactly how the Dark One, sitting on his dark throne deep in the bowels of his dark realm, wants it. For the Devil and his kin, cunning and crafty one and all, have not forgotten the secret pacts and have had nothing but time to plot and scheme on how they can exploit those ancient pacts to exact their revenge.

One

Lieutenant Samuel Dalton – though he always insisted on being Sam with his friends – moved about serving the demons and dark beasties that milled about the cottage waiting for Halloween to end. Over by the door, his wife Moira kept a close eye on the creatures that filed through their home, checking them off her list. As Sam and Moira worked, they kept a close eye on their six-year-old daughter. With the face of a freckly angel and hair deeper red than any demon’s wrath, little Fiona carried her small tray steady, offering tea and coffee to any of the demons who wished such. Sam wove his way through the throngs, offering beer, ale, and mead. Though he rarely put his foot down, Sam refused to allow little Fiona to serve the demons spirits. She can get into enough trouble with just coffee and tea, Sam had said. Moira hadn’t argued with him. She rarely did, for which Sam thanked God and Saint Peter on a regular basis.

Sam scanned the room for trouble after each and every drink he placed in front of a demon.

According to Moira, they needed to be even more on their guard this Halloween night than they normally were. Tonight marked the seventh year since Moira’s cousin, Halloween Jack, had tricked the Devil and his kin back to the other side of the Devil’s Gate. While Jack kept claiming that sometimes things didn’t happen in threes – or, in this case, sevens – Moira reminded Sam that the creatures that filled their home were not as free to flaunt the old traditions. Because of their nature, they might not be able to help themselves. She had even whispered as they passed that many of the demons present tonight had also been present the night they’d captured Jack of the Lantern and brought the Devil’s Gate down with the help of their steam-powered automatons.

Mixxplik! Moira cried.

An ear-piercing shriek of pain and surprise filled the cottage. Speaking of not being able to help themselves...

Sam spun around, hand going to the butt of the pistol at his hip, ready to draw and throw down. One of the short, sickly-green-skinned, stubby-limbed goblins cradled its left forearm against its chest while sucking on a knuckle.

No need to worry, Mother and Father, Fiona said, waving a switch at Mixxplik that she’d pulled from under her apron. Uncle Jack taught me how to deal with goblins last year. We whipped a pack of them all the way back to the Gate. The little girl set the tray down and proudly held up the switch. Uncle Jack gave me this.

The switch was a long thing, crafted of some strange wood. Sam recalled Jack speaking about it last year. He’d called it bamboo. The switch had tiny silver and iron crosses embedded in it.

Fine then, Moira said. Now that he’s behaving again, you can put it away.

Fiona’s face scrunched up as she always did prior to a defiant outburst. Moira raised her eyebrow at her daughter. Sam loved it when Moira did that, even when she directed the expression at him. Fiona harrumphed with as much indignation as a six-year-old could manage, but she did not protest. Sam fought to keep his face smooth. On any other night, Fiona probably would have argued, but both Moira and Sam had laid it out in no uncertain terms that she was not to argue with them even the slightest bit on this night. It had been that way when Moira had been a child. She’d told both Fiona and Sam of making that mistake once, and only once, but did not speak of how her grandmother ensured that she never did so again Fiona stuffed the switch under her little apron and went back to serving tea and coffee.

Mixxplik, Sam said.

The little goblin squeaked and started in his seat. Several of the other goblins in his pack snickered quietly but otherwise said nothing.

Yes, sir? Mixxplik said and leaped up to stand on his chair. Even then, he only stood a few inches higher than Moira’s waist.

Whatever you tried, please don’t do it again. Sam kept his tone even, with no hint of malice.

However, he did tap the strange gun holstered on his thigh. The weapon was just one in a collection of pistols that Moira’s other cousin, Daniel McRory, had crafted. He designed and built them in his strange workspace at the cottage and smithy where all their family’s troubles with the Devil and his kin had started so many years ago. None of the guns that Daniel made were designed to kill, which was all right – demons couldn’t die. Daniel’s guns did make them uncomfortable, and more to the point, embarrassed them in all sorts of creative ways. Moira and Jack explained that demons hated to be embarrassed even more than humans. The best way to curb a demon’s behavior was to threaten its pride.

Yes sir, Mixxplik said. Apologies. Won’t happen again.

And? Sam said.

And what? Mixxplik blinked at him and shrugged, palms facing up to the ceiling.

Sam gestured toward Fiona with his chin.

Mixxplik glanced over, and revelation showed on his face.

My apologies Young Miss Fiona, Mixxplik said, bowing in the chair, nearly toppling the thing over. I was out of line.

Fiona’s mouth split into a wide grin. She made that expression more and more often when she was getting into mischief, and it concerned Sam how much that grin made her look like her Uncle Jack.

It’s quite all right, Mister Mixxplik. I’ve wanted to try the switch all night. Fiona said. Then, her smile collapsed, and her expression became hard and cold as ice. But if you try it again, you’ll be heading back through the Devil’s Gate with your face burned with crosses.

Mixxplik bowed one more time and returned to his tea. One of the other goblins at the table whispered something to Mixxplik, to which Mixxplik replied by pinning the other goblin’s hand to the table with a fork. The offending goblin’s screams were drowned out by the cackles of laughter erupting from the other demons throughout the cottage.

Sam even allowed himself a brief snicker before returning to serving the demons. As much as he loved his wife and new family, Sam Dalton would never get used to serving their enemies as if they were honored guests. The Irish were certainly a strange lot, but as he was the newcomer here, he’d abide by their traditions.

In the span of a single heartbeat, all the demons went silent, even the goblin stopped whimpering as it pulled the fork out of its hand. It wasn’t that they’d just stopped laughing...they’d stopped moving, seemingly frozen in place, not even breathing. Sam had often wondered why demons breathed when they didn’t need to, as, being demons, they were not really alive in any sense of the word. His hand went to his gun, because, while he didn’t know for sure, Sam was fairly certain only one thing could make that many demons freeze in fear and awe and terror all at the same time.

By God and Saint Peter, Sam hear Moira pray under her breath, please Jack, don’t be late. Even before the final words escaped her mouth, three solid knocks echoed on the back door, the door that faced toward the Devil’s Gate.

I’ll get it, Fiona called out and scurried between the demons.

No! Moira and Sam yelled.

Fiona stopped mid-step, one foot suspended in the air. Her mouth hung open in a surprised o shape.

Come away from the door, dear, Moira said, and go stand with your father... Now, dear.

Yes, Mother.

Fiona crossed the room to Samuel. When she reached him, Sam maneuvered his daughter so that she was between him and the wall, right next to the hidden weapons cabinet. His hand went to his pistol, the one with the glowing ball of energy at the tip, with wires that wrapped around the barrel and attached to the trigger. He called it the push gun, because it pushed things away with a wave of yellowish energy.

Sam nodded to Moira.

Moira buttoned the ratty and worn coat she wore all the way up to her neck. The coat had been made many centuries upon centuries before for her penultimate grandfather, and he had been taller than Moira, so the coat covered her from nearly neck to ankle. While the coat itself did not offer her complete protection, its reputation caused the demons and dark creatures to give Moira a wide, wide berth.

Moira made her way to the back door, and the demons parted for her without argument. Sam struggled to keep from saying anything about how this was taking the sense of Irish hospitality a bit too far. But...Sam knew what he was getting into when he married into this family.

When Moira reached the door, she raised her voice, and called out, Are you going to behave?

In response came a muffled, Why bother answering at all when you won’t believe me no matter what I tell you?

Moira opened the door and looked the Devil right in the face. The vilest, cruelest, and evilest creature that had ever been was just as handsome as ever, with his dark hair and perfectly trimmed mustache and beard. His lips curved up into that knowing smirk, the one that made you wonder how much the Dark One knew that you didn’t. Seeing the mischievous twinkle in the Devil’s eyes let Sam start breathing again; the Devil had only two emotions in his eyes that Sam had ever seen: mischievous and murderous. Not that Sam had very many dealings with the embodiment of evil. Tonight his clothes were all black, accented by red cording and trim. A tomahawk hung from the Devil’s belt. That weapon, with its stone head, had ruined the Devil’s schemes seven years ago, though not in a manner any of them had predicted.

Good evening, Miss O’Neil, the Devil said, his voice sweet and charming.

Dalton, Moira corrected.

Excuse me? the Devil asked.

It’s Missus Dalton now.

Moira held up her left hand to show off her ring. Sam stood a bit straighter.

Ah, yes, the Devil said. I’d heard.

I’m sure you did, Moira said. Then she craned her neck to look past the Devil to the soldiers. Thank you, gentlemen. It’ll be all right.

Miss Dalton, Sam heard Captain Alistair Jameson say from outside.

Captain Jameson led the soldiers who had once fought in the War of Northern Aggression. Once the war was over, they had agreed to help Halloween Jack and his family defend the world from the creatures of Darkness. Sam was one of them.

Moira turned her attention back to the Devil. To answer your first question, I honestly didn’t expect a straight answer. Just wanted to know if it was really you. Moira stepped back out of the door. Would you like to come in? Have a seat? No need to worry, I’ve already got my coat.

The Devil’s eyes closed to mere slits. For half a moment, Sam feared Moira had gone too far. His heart sped up,

Reviews for Halloween Jack and the Curse of Frost

[mrkleve · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Awesome! A great follow-up to Halloween Jack and the Devil's Gate.