Matt Archer: Omnibus (Books 1-3)

By Kendra C. Highley

The MATT ARCHER SERIES Omnibus includes Matt Archer: Monster Hunter (MA1), Matt Archer: Monster Summer (Novella, MA1.5), Matt Archer: Blade's Edge (MA2), and Matt Archer: Legend (MA3), along with exclusive, brand new short stories, and interviews with the author and characters.

About the MATT ARCHER series:

Fourteen-year-old Matt Archer spends his days studying algebra, hanging out with his best friend and crushing on the Goddess of Greenhill High. To be honest, he thinks his life is pretty lame until he discovers something terrifying on a weekend camping trip at the local state park.

Monsters are real...and he’s been chosen to hunt them.

So begins Matt’s new life as a monster hunter. Serving with a top-secret paranormal military unit, and armed with a sentient, spirit-inhabited knife, Matt suddenly has a lot more to worry about than pop quizzes and hoping Ella Mitchell will notice him.

The series follows Matt as he grows—in some cases, literally—into the monster hunter, the soldier and the man he’s destined to become.

Join the hunt!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kendra C. Highley
• Release date: Sep 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311532367

Kendra C. Highley

Kendra C. Highley lives in north Texas with her husband and two children. She also serves as staff to two self-important and high-powered cats. This, according to the cats, is her most important job. She believes chocolate is a basic human right, running a 10k is harder than it sounds, and that everyone should learn to drive a stickshift. She loves monsters, vacations, baking and listening to bad electronica. If she's not writing, she's reading. If she's not writing or reading, she's likely a little cranky.

Book preview

MATT ARCHER: OMNIBUS

Books One – Three

BY: KENDRA C. HIGHLEY

Matt Archer: Monster Hunter (Book 1)

Matt Archer: Monster Summer (Novella, Book 1.5)

Matt Archer: Blade’s Edge (Book 2)

Matt Archer: Legend (Book 3)

Exclusive: New Short Stories

Interviews

Other Books by Kendra C. Highley

About the Author

First Smashwords Edition: October 2014

Editor: Cassandra Marshall

Cover Design: Streetlight Graphics, http://www.streetlightgraphics.com/

LICENSE NOTES

All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

DISCLAIMER

The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

MATT ARCHER: MONSTER HUNTER

By: Kendra C. Highley

Copyright © 2012 by Kendra C. Highley. All rights reserved.

Second Smashwords Edition: March 2014

Editor: Cassandra Marshall

Cover Design: Streetlight Graphics, http://www.streetlightgraphics.com/

LICENSE NOTES

All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

DISCLAIMER

The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Dedication

For Ryan

Chapter One

When I was fourteen years old, I was forced to make my first kill. Now I’m fifteen and I bagged two more just last week.

My name is Matt Archer. And I hunt monsters.

* * *

Four Months Ago

Matt! Uncle Mike’s here. Get a move on!

Mom was always in a hurry. Her job as a lawyer kept food on the table, as she liked to remind us. But it also kept her in motion, saying stuff like time is money. My question was, if time was money, then why weren’t we all rich? Smartass comments like that got me grounded though, so I kept my mouth shut and ran down the stairs.

After dumping my backpack and sleeping bag by the front door, I rounded the corner to the living room to greet Uncle Mike.

He rose from the sofa, towering over me, and stretched. The muscles on his arms, neck and shoulders flexed like a pro-wrestler’s. Uncle Mike was a Green Beret, and it showed. Hey, soldier, what’s up?

Nothing, Major.

Like I’ve never heard that one before, Mike said when I laughed at my own joke. Ready to deploy?

Yeah. I decided to wear my camo this time, go in stealth mode.

Uncle Mike looked down at his own clothes. He was wearing old jeans, a bright red flannel shirt, and a Colorado Rockies cap crammed down over his light-brown hair. Nice idea, he said, but I’m not sure the bears and deer will care much about your camo. Let’s move out.

The evening sky was streaked with gold and pink, but still light enough for us to make it to the campgrounds before nightfall. One of the advantages of living in Montana—good camping was only thirty minutes from anywhere. I piled my gear into the back of Mike’s Jeep. The car smelled awesome: cigars and gasoline. Mom nagged him to quit with the cigars, but I thought it was cool. Just like Wolverine.

Hey, can we have the top down? I asked.

Mike shrugged. If you don’t mind that the wind chill will be forty degrees, doesn’t bother me.

We pulled the soft cover off the Jeep and packed it over the camping equipment in the back. The air was scented with pine; our trees were getting their fall coats, as Mom put it, and the needles smelled like Christmas. This was my favorite time of year, before winter set in like an unwanted houseguest.

Hard to believe it’s October. We’ll have to brace for a big snow soon. Mike put the Jeep in gear and backed out. Means this is the last jaunt of the year, Chief.

I nodded, hoping the ache I felt in my chest didn’t show on my face. Camping with Mike was the only special thing I had that my older sibs didn’t. My sister, Mamie-the-brain, was too much of a bookworm to go with us and my brother, Brent-the-football-hero, had his social engagements. What it really meant was that I was neither a brainiac, nor popular enough to have other plans on the weekends, so Mike took me camping. Honestly, I loved it, even if it branded me a dweeb with no social life.

Mike glanced at me, a sad smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Heard from your Dad?

He tried to keep the anger out of his voice, but I still heard it, like sandpaper rubbing an old scab. Brent got a birthday card when he turned seventeen.

That was April, man.

Yeah, well, that was our summer greeting, I guess, I said. "You know what he sent Brent for his birthday? A Hooters calendar. Mom had a total fit."

Maybe he’d send me one, too. Not likely I’d get anything though. Since Dad ditched us while Mom was pregnant with me, I was an afterthought. It seemed like Dad would rather spend what little time he had to give on my popular-athletic-jerk of a brother. Not that I was bitter or anything. Well, not entirely bitter.

At least he knows what Brent likes, Mike said, a soft thread of laughter floating through his voice. Although, I can see how Dan-Dan would be pissed about it.

Don’t let Mom hear you calling her ‘Dan-Dan,’ I said, grinning.

Not my fault I couldn’t say Danielle when I was two.

Mike was the only person who could get away with calling my mom anything other than Danielle or Counselor Archer. Mom had a real weak spot for her baby brother—and she still called him that, even though he was thirty-eight. He’d stepped in for Dad after he switched from active duty to the reserves. Mike made sure I did Boy Scouts and taught Brent how to throw and catch a perfect spiral. He had even helped Mamie practice dancing with a partner for the sophomore homecoming dance, even though she nearly broke his toes.

He was more family to us than Dad would ever be.

Not that I was bitter or anything.

So, Uncle Mike, any girlfriends we need to know about? I asked. That last one was, um, interesting.

"Candy was a trip, wasn’t she? Looked great in a bikini, but she was so boring. I should’ve known not to hook up with a woman whose idea of fun is museum hopping, he said. Nope, I’m single again, Chief. Good thing."

Mike paused and shifted in his seat. He had some bad news—I could tell. A hard rock of fear lodged itself in my stomach. I tried to swallow, but the rock in my gut kept the spit in my mouth. Because I knew what was coming. This wouldn’t be the first time we’d had this sucky conversation, and I was really tired of it.

I’ve been called up.

I hated it when I was right. Where? When?

Going to Afghanistan for a year. I leave for training in six weeks and deploy in January. Mike managed another small smile. So much for ‘reservist’ status, huh?

I took a shaky breath. No Uncle Mike for a year? You’ve been on three assignments in the last three years. You should be done by now. Can’t you tell them no or something?

Mike glanced at me, looking serious. The military isn’t a ‘pick and choose’ kind of operation. Orders are, well, orders. I have to go, Matt. I’m sorry.

I stared out my window, trying not to cry like a little kid, but my chin was already shaking. That pissed me off; I was too old to have a little-girl-hissy-fit. What’ll we do without you here? I turned back to glare at him, wondering why I was angry with Mike rather than the Army. We need you more than they do.

Mike sighed. We’ll be fine, okay? I’ll be able to email you and call sometimes, and we can even do video conferences. It’s not like we’ll be out of touch for a whole year. He squeezed my shoulder. You’ll see. It’ll be fine.

His voice trailed off at the end. Neither of us said what we were thinking—that maybe it wouldn’t.

We got to the campgrounds at six and Mike put me to work unloading the Jeep before my feet hit the dirt. We only had thirty minutes to set up the tent and start a fire before the sun set, so he was in a rush, ordering me around like we were deploying a military installation. I worked fast, but Mike’s news pressed down on my chest worse than when Brent sat on me.

The wind whispered through the pines and aspen trees lining the back of our campsite. The leaves kept saying, shush, shush, shush, like they knew how messed up I felt. It didn’t make me hurt any less, but I did feel calmer about things. Maybe I could get through the weekend without a meltdown.

After the fire was blazing, Uncle Mike tried to pretend nothing had changed in the last hour. All right! Hot dogs…whoever can catch his on fire first wins!

I played along and got flameage faster than he did; I was good at burning hot dogs. It tasted like crap that way, though. When I chucked the half-eaten frank into the bushes, Mike’s sly smile told me I’d been punked. Yet again. You just like to see me try to eat ashes, is that it?

He raised his eyebrows before going back to his perfectly roasted dinner. Just to spite him, I made two more hotdogs and scarfed down all the chips, too.

Before I had a chance to dig out some marshmallows for s’mores, the air turned sharp and the wind gusted cold into the campfire, sending up sparks. Uncle Mike rose to his feet, with an intense, alert expression I’d never seen before—like he could eat a brick and enjoy the crunch.

Without looking at me, he said, Weather’s changing; best to get inside the tent, where it’s warmer.

With nothing else to do, we packed it in for the night. Mike didn’t allow me to bring a cell phone or anything else electronic on our trips. I could’ve played cards or something, but being outside always made me tired and I went to sleep early because, yes, I’m just that exciting. On the plus side, I had the craziest dream: Ella Mitchell ditched her boyfriend for me. That wasn’t weird—that was plain, old wishful thinking. The weird part was that she hopped up on stage during assembly and stole the microphone from Principal Stevens to do it. Then I ran down the aisle to thunderous applause, swept her in my arms and….

Get back! Mike yelled.

I sat up in surprise to see shadows moving across the tent’s walls. One shadow was Mike’s, distorted in the bright moonlight. The other…heck if I knew what it was. Bulky, taller than Mike by a long shot, it grunted and snorted like an angry pig. Was it a bear? I rubbed my eyes and squinted. No, definitely not a bear. The thing was much too big and shuffled along on two legs.

When it roared, it didn’t sound like any animal I’d ever heard, but more like a bulldozer’s engine. Every hair on my scalp stood up. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t natural.

The two shadows circled one another, then the beast swiped at Mike’s head and he went down hard. The creature dropped on all fours, snuffling at my uncle. Even in shadowed outline, I could see claws to rival a velociraptor’s as it raised a paw over Mike’s chest.

I clambered to my knees, yanking open the zipper to my sleeping bag. No!

It paused and lowered its paw, turning its body toward the tent. Oh crap—now it knew I was here.

I watched the creature’s shadow get bigger and bigger as it headed my way. It didn’t creep. It didn’t barrel toward me. It strolled, like it wasn’t the least bit worried about what it would find inside the tent. Terrified or not, something about its arrogance filled me with cold fury. My muscles burned and my heart beat double-time; I probably didn’t have a prayer, but I wasn’t going down without a fight. I sure as hell wasn’t going to sit by and let this thing kill my uncle.

Uncle Mike usually brought a rifle with him, just in case we met a bear, and he’d made sure I could use it. I dug around in our bags, throwing clothes everywhere, but the rifle wasn’t in the tent. The only thing I came up with was a wicked-looking knife with a smooth bone handle. I pulled it out of the leather sheath, shocked by its weight. It was much heavier than it looked and my fingers buzzed, like the knife was vibrating in my hand. I must’ve been shaking really hard.

I gripped the handle of the knife, hoping I didn’t end up stabbing myself by accident. The blade was longer than most hunting-knives I’d ever used—maybe eight or nine inches—and honed to a sharp edge. I had no idea where Mike would buy something like this, but one thing was for sure: no one would want to be on the receiving end of this weapon. It looked like it could gut a buffalo.

The creature walked the perimeter of the tent, brushing up against the nylon, and a rancid scent wafted through the walls. I gagged and threw up a little in my mouth. The stench reminded me of how the vent in my room smelled after my guinea pig got loose and bought the farm in the air duct. Seriously freaked out, I held still, clutching the knife so hard my knuckles ached. I was planning to let the beast stalk around outside as long as it wanted. One thing Mike taught me during paintball was to make your target do the work. If you could be patient, you’d get the better strike, and I’d only have one shot.

The beast paused and I took a gulp of cold air, knowing I wouldn’t have to wait much longer. With a blur of claws, dark fur and sharp teeth, the thing crashed into the tent, ripping the nylon with one slash. I didn’t have time to think or even get a good look at it. When it pounced on top of me, I thrust the blade into its stomach and twisted. The handle burned in my hand, glowing a faint green.

The beast howled and struggled against me, until I thought I’d drown in the reek of its fur. Somehow, I squirmed out from underneath it just before it collapsed on the floor of the tent. Once it was down, I stabbed it in the back, over and over, swearing at the top of my lungs. Some kind of red-rage took control, and I didn’t stop until the thing shuddered and was still.

In the quiet, I fell to my knees, shaking all over.

When I could finally breathe without wheezing, I gathered up the last shreds of my courage and found our lantern in the wreckage. Scared pissless or not, I wanted to see what attacked me. Squaring my shoulders, I turned on the light.

Then bit my own tongue trying to hold back a scream.

The creature was misshapen, with a huge head, pointy ears and narrow snout, and it had to be at least eight feet tall. Teeth like tusks protruded from its lower jaw. It had brown fur like a grizzly’s and its paws looked like a bear’s too, except bigger, with those brutal, velociraptor claws. If that wasn’t weird enough, the thing’s arms and legs were long, like a man’s. It was like some mad scientist threw a bunch of DNA into a blender and this is what came out.

What the heck could it be? Was it some kind of alien? A scientific experiment gone horribly wrong? Did we have a Dr. Frankenstein living in Billings? Seriously, the creature looked like a resurrected Wookiee made from spare parts.

Utterly creeped out, I pulled the knife out of the beast’s back and dropped it on the ground. My hands had blood on them, dark stains glistening in the moonlight, and now that I wasn’t fighting for my life, I shivered, half-freezing and clueless about what to do next.

Someone groaned outside.

I scrambled out of the tent, fighting my way free of the shredded nylon to find Mike. He lay crumpled in a heap just past the fire ring. Shallow claw marks had ripped through his flannel shirt, but not his undershirt or skin, and his forehead had only a small gash at the hairline. We’d been lucky.

Uncle Mike, wake up! I shook him. Fear thudded in my chest at a random thought. What if there were more creatures out here? Come on, wake up!

Mike groaned again and rolled onto his side. I’ll take a quad Venti Latte.

I shook him again, hoping his brains hadn’t been scrambled by that punch to the head. He blinked, looked around, then sat up and grabbed my arm in a vice grip. Where is it, Matt? Did it hurt you? How’d you get away?

It’s dead, in what’s left of the tent. I swallowed hard, realizing what I’d just said. I killed it.

Mike didn’t freak out; he didn’t even act surprised. How?

I found a knife in your bag, I said. I-I stabbed it.

And with that, I jumped up and ran to the bushes to throw up. Oh, my God…I killed something. I’d never killed anything, except flies, and those don’t count. Holy crap, what was happening out here? What were those things? I heaved again, unable to stop my mind from replaying the scene over and over and over.

When I was done puking, Mike put his hands on my shoulders and steered me toward the Jeep. Get in; we’re leaving. Be right back.

I climbed into my seat, staring straight ahead, seeing nothing but the underside of the beast and my hand thrusting the knife into its gut. Flashes of light danced in front of my eyes and I broke out in a cold sweat. Having never fainted, I wasn’t sure if I was about to or not. Either way, better safe than sorry, so I put my head between my knees. I caught a whiff of the creature—its smell was all over my clothes—and I had to pop the door and barf again.

Mike ran to the Jeep and got in. All he had was our backpacks, his GPS and the white-handled knife.

What about the tent and our gear? I croaked while wiping puke off my chin with a trembling hand.

We don’t need anything else, and we’ve got to get out of here. I rolled the carcass down a ravine and threw some dead brush on top of it. He slammed the Jeep in reverse and laid tread, peeling out from the parking slot. Hopefully no one will find it before...

Before what? I asked.

Mike shook his head. He drove a few miles, not saying anything, then pulled over at a rest stop. By then, black spots were dancing in front of my eyes again and my skull felt too heavy for my neck. When he parked, Mike reached over and slapped me pretty hard. My head hit the headrest and I brought my hand up to my cheek in a daze.

Matt! Stay with me. We’ve got a lot to cover and I need you to focus, he said. He blew out a harsh breath. I can’t believe the knife let you wield it.

I blinked fast to clear my vision, not understanding a word he said. What?

You remember when I went on that short mission last year?

Mike’s voice had a steeliness to it. Freaked out or not, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like where this was headed. I gulped and cleared my throat; my mouth tasted all skanky. It was all I could do to keep from throwing up again, so I just nodded in answer.

I got sent to South America—to Peru—on a highly classified mission, he said. People started disappearing and the local government asked the U.S. to send some specialists down there to check it out. What we found was pretty surprising.

How this had anything to do with giant beasts in the woods of Montana was beyond me. What did you find?

Uncle Mike clamped his hands to the steering wheel. Turns out monsters are real.

Chapter Two

If a monster falls in the forest and someone hears it, does that make it real? I asked, my voice trembling.

Bad joke, Chief.

I drew a long, ragged breath and ran my hands over my head until my fingers slid into sticky spots in my hair. I shuddered and wiped my palms on my pants. So, if monsters are real, why’d you get weird about the knife? Seems like we have bigger problems than the fact I used whatever was handy to kill it.

Uncle Mike stared intently out the windshield. Let’s go back to my apartment. I feel exposed out here, like we’re being watched. I’ll tell you more when we get there.

I glanced around the woods surrounding the rest stop. The darkness seemed absolute. Not even the streetlights could penetrate it. Yeah. Good idea.

Mike pulled onto the highway. Instead of going to the suburbs, he took me to downtown Billings, where his loft was. His two-story apartment was all open except for the bathroom, with bare ceiling joists and a stained-concrete floor—a real guy’s place. What I loved most about it was that his bedroom was on a wooden-floored platform upstairs with rails around it, like he had a giant, floating bunk bed. Tonight, though, the dark corners gave me a chill and I wished I was more surrounded by walls.

Why don’t you get cleaned up. I’ll make some hot chocolate or something. Don’t think either of us is planning to sleep any time soon, Mike said, shoving me gently toward the bathroom.

I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, taking some time to breathe before I got in the shower. I’d killed something. With a knife. I stabbed it in the gut, gotten splattered with its blood, then stabbed it some more like I’d been sky-high on meth. What had gotten into me? I never even shot at birds with my BB gun, for God’s sake.

I felt myself starting to lose it, so I turned on the shower, willing myself to forget. But when I pulled my shirt over my head, the smell of monster filled the air and I hurled again. Hard to believe there was anything left in my stomach.

Mental note: no more tacos for lunch. Ever.

While I waited for the water to get hot, I brushed the dust out of my hair, which had turned the brown a dirty gray. Then there were the glistening patches of slippery goo. My jeans were streaked and stained with similar stuff and weird patches the color of dark mustard coated my hands.

It was monster-blood. And it wasn’t red.

Startled, I caught my eyes in the mirror. They were full of horror and something else, a hardness, like Uncle Mike’s eyes. They were still blue, though. After everything that had happened, I kinda thought they might’ve turned green. I stepped back from the mirror and almost fell into the bathtub.

That shocked me back into my senses. Freaking wouldn’t help. Time to get a grip before I hurt myself.

I stripped off the rest my clothes, thinking about throwing them out the window to get rid of the stink, but I wasn’t sure how I’d explain the missing outfit to Mom. Instead, I took a trash bag out of the cabinet and stuffed everything in. It didn’t help. Even after double-bagging everything, the odor still seeped through, so I gave it up.

Once in the shower, I scrubbed my hands raw, feeling like the blood would never come off. Tears ran down my face, but I pretended it was just the shower water. Monster-killers don’t cry.

Chief, you okay in there? Mike said, sounding worried. I have hot chocolate. Why don’t you come on out?

I dried off and dressed in clean sweats from my backpack. Finding no other way to delay what I was about to hear, I opened the door, heading for the two-person dining table at the far side of the loft. Mike had changed clothes, too, and he must’ve cleaned up at the kitchen sink because his hair was wet. It had grown out since his last deployment, curling up a little in the back. Too long for the Army…he’d have to buzz it down soon. That thought didn’t improve my mood.

I took my seat across from Mike and snorted a laugh. "Nice G.I. Joe Band-Aids, man."

Mike touched his forehead. I don’t have any grown-up Band-Aids. I bought these for you when you were nine, remember?

You haven’t bought Band-Aids in five years? I rolled my eyes. Uncle Mike, you need a girlfriend or a wife. Then you’d have real Band-Aids and more in the fridge than skim milk and beer and limes.

Given the type of life I lead, girlfriends lose patience with me real quick. Kinda hard to get married if you can’t keep a girlfriend. He pushed a ceramic mug filled with hot chocolate over to me. Drink half of that. Then, we’ll talk.

He must have heard the same nonsense Mom had about warm milk being soothing. I took a few sips to satisfy Mike, wishing I had marshmallows because it tasted bland, then set the mug down. I was still completely wired, though; the cup hit the wooden tabletop with a smash and I sloshed hot chocolate all over my hand.

I mopped up the spill, hoping he didn’t see how my hands were shaking. Maybe you should talk now.

He rubbed his eyes, looking really tired. He needed a shave and, for the first time, I could see flecks of gray in his beard. It had never occurred to me that Mike might be getting older.

So, last fall I went on that mission, he said. We were sent to investigate disappearances from villages lining the edge of the rainforest. After asking around, we got a similar story from all of them. Something was creeping out of the jungle at night and snatching people from their beds. They never found any remains—the victims vanished.

No bones? No nothing?

Nothing. Not a trace, Mike said. We set observation posts at three villages. We had night-vision goggles, heat-sensing cameras, the works. We were also armed to the teeth. No way was this thing getting past us.

So what’d you find? I asked.

A nightmare, Mike said. This giant lizard came stalking out of the jungle, walking upright on its back legs. The creature was nine feet tall from snout to feet, and its tail was another four feet long—it looked like an alligator from Mars. The guys I was with? We’d all seen things that would make a normal person pass out. When that thing showed up, two of them ran screaming.

The thing was terrifying enough to send two soldiers in the Special Forces running? What happened to them?

Mike shook his head fast, like he was trying to shake the memory from his brain. The monster grabbed one. We blasted that lizard with everything we had, but it didn’t do any good. Bullets bounced right of its hide, and Seranto disappeared, just like the rest. We didn’t find anything but his helmet and his boots.

Oh. My voice had changed when I was twelve, but you wouldn’t have known it by how high I squeaked.

We got pictures of the creature, though. The scientists at the Pentagon interviewed us, but no one had any clue what it was. So on the third day, we decided to scorch part of the jungle; that’s how terrified we were. No one likes to see rainforest go up in smoke, but we were coming unglued. While we planned where to have the bombs dropped, a medicine man from one of the local tribes came to us. Mike smiled. Shocker—he spoke English.

Was he mad you were going to burn down the forest?

He was kind of peeved, yes, but that’s not why he came, Mike said. He knew about the lizard. He called it a monster and said he could help us.

A strange thrill ran down my back. The knife…

Yes, Matt, the knife. That knife is special. The medicine man made five of them, and told us they had powerful magic, he said. Most of us thought it was a crock until we picked one up. I’m sure you know what I mean.

I looked down at the fist clenched in my lap. It vibrated in my hand. And the handle turned green when I stabbed the monster.

Well, there’s more, Mike said. It doesn’t always do that. The knife selects who can wield it. Some of the guys on my team couldn’t feel anything. When I picked it up, my entire arm buzzed and the handle turned bright blue. After that I could hack a tree branch in half with just one swing of the blade. The knives only reacted to three other guys on my team, so the medicine man gave them to us. He said we’d need them because ‘dark creatures’ would invade all corners of the earth. He kept the last one, to protect his people.

I had a bad feeling about what I’d hear, but I had to ask anyway. What’s up with the knives, then? I get that they’re magic, but why?

I can’t tell you anything else. The knives’ origin and workmanship is classified, Mike said. I probably shouldn’t have told you this much, but given the circumstances....Look, let me talk to my superior officer. I have to call him to apprise him of the situation here, schedule disposal of the monster’s body. I’ll ask if I can get you clearance. Since you killed one, there are things you ought to know, but I’m not the one to tell you. Not yet.

Great. I blew out an annoyed breath before asking, Did you kill the Gator-thing?

Yeah. The three of us with knives hid in the brush, waiting at various points near the tree line. It happened to come out on my end. I jumped the creature from behind and put the knife in its neck. I had to slit its throat before it dropped. Mike’s forehead was creased. I take the knife everywhere. Better to have it and not need it, right?

But why didn’t you have it tonight? It was right there in the tent! I said.

The thing was creeping around outside, so I felt around for the knife, trying to be quiet, and caught hold of the sheath. When I got outside, I realized I’d grabbed my hunting knife instead, Mike said. His face turned red. By then, the monster had spotted me, so I had to fight with what I had. I was trying to distract it, to keep it from finding you.

But it would have killed you!

Better me than you, Matt.

Mike’s voice sounded hoarse and thick. I looked away and slurped down the rest of my cocoa, gross or not, because I sure didn’t want to watch a grown man cry. After a minute he wiped his eyes, then got the knife out of his backpack. He put it on the table and pulled it from its leather sheath.

Nothing happened.

Mike laid the knife flat against his palm, like he was weighing it in his hand. Without looking at me, he put it back on the table.

Pick it up, Matt.

Picking up that knife was the last damn thing I wanted to do, but one look at Uncle Mike’s face told me to get on with it. I reached out and wrapped my fingers around the bone handle. It glowed blue, then buzzed in my hand.

What does this mean? I whispered. I knew already, but hearing it from someone else would make it real.

Mike gave me a steady look. It means the knife belongs to you now.

Chapter Three

Let me get this straight. We have magic knives and monsters, and I’ve been chosen by your knife. But to do what, exactly? A little worm of fear twisted in my gut, and I put my head down on my arms, trying to understand what I’d gotten myself into.

"Your knife. Not mine, not anymore. Mike’s voice held a weird trace of awe. The blade left me, Matt. I don’t understand how it happened, but you’re its wielder."

Mike’s reaction bothered me…was he saying I would be stuck with the knife? For how long? The worm of fear grew into a salamander, chasing its tail around my insides. The reverence in Mike’s tone disturbed me, too, like I’d done something spectacular rather than accidental. None of it made sense.

I don’t get it, I said into my arms, refusing to face him. Why would it pick me? I’m only fourteen!

I don’t know, but it did, and there’s no turning back. Unless the knife passes to someone else, it’s your burden, he said. Matt, you’re a monster-hunter now.

A monster-hunter? Was he serious? My head popped up from the table.

What’s Mom gonna say? I asked. We’re talking about a woman who carries a full-sized first aid kit in her purse. I doubt she’ll allow me to become some knife-wielding vigilante.

Mike jumped up and paced around the tiny kitchen. We can’t tell your mom. Dani would never let you hunt if she found out. The dangers are too great. She’d have a hard time understanding we have no choice in the matter, and she wouldn’t let you risk yourself.

So I have to kill monsters, and I can’t tell Mom about it. Could this get any more complicated?

Why did the stupid knife pick me? I was a totally average ninth grader—I didn’t want be a hunter, fighting monsters on my own. All I wanted was to learn about Gettysburg and hope that Ella smiled at me once in a while.

It’ll be okay, Matt, Mike said. We’ll just have to figure out what to do. I only have six weeks to get you trained up and running before I deploy.

No, you can’t leave. You have to stay and help me with the knife. I glared at him. To heck with Uncle Sam. My uncle was staying put.

Sorry, man, that’s not possible, he said. I thought of something that might help you, though.

It better be good.

You have fall break in a week, right? Mike asked.

Yeah.

I’ll take you to Fort Carson. We’re going to put you through basic.

Wait, I said, isn’t that the part where you have to get up at five every morning to run ten miles then do a hundred pushups?

Two hundred. Before breakfast. His mouth curved up on one side. Matt, you’re in the Army now.

* * *

I woke up Saturday morning with a nasty taste in my mouth—hot chocolate and puke. I rolled over, sliding and squeaking on Mike’s black leather couch, and had to peel my left arm away from the cushions. The grain of the leather was imprinted on my skin. On top of that, Mike only had two extra blankets, one of them looking like it’d never been used, and since we’d deserted our sleeping bags at the camp grounds, I’d ended up freezing my butt off most of the night. These are the dangers of sleeping over at a bachelor’s house.

He needs a girlfriend, I grumbled.

Mike responded by snoring like a T-Rex upstairs. It was only nine and we’d talked until four. Old guys needed more sleep, so I let him be, heading off to brush my fuzzy teeth. That was a grosser process than normal, so I threw my toothbrush away afterward, hoping it wouldn’t crawl out of the trashcan on its own.

Puke-fest overnight or not, it was breakfast time, and my stomach growled right on cue. I went to the kitchen, searched every cabinet and only came up with a bottle opener, two cans of chili, and cocktail onions.

You need a girlfriend, Mike, I said, a little louder this time.

He came down the stairs, the wooden steps creaking under his weight, still wearing flannel pj bottoms and an old t-shirt with some cartoon called Ren and Stimpy on it.

I’ll keep that in mind. What’cha looking for?

Cereal or something else normal for breakfast, I said.

Mike dug the skim milk out of the fridge and sniffed it. He didn’t make a face, so it must’ve still been good. After pouring two glasses of milk, he dumped in some grey powder and stirred it up.

Bottoms up, he said, thrusting the glass at me.

Chocolate milk? How old is that stuff? It looks like dust. Sludge floated around in my glass. You know, Mom’ll kill you with a fork if you poison me.

Mike’s face got serious. It’s a protein shake. We’ve got to put a little muscle on you. No more cereal, Matt. You need to eat like a man.

A cold bead of sweat ran down my back. You meant it…last night. I’m really going to basic, and I’m really gonna have to kill monsters.

Mike nodded. Drink up. Then we’ll talk about a fitness regimen.

Uncle Mike, this is just stupid. Brent’s the jock, I said. I can run fast; that’s about it.

Mike put his shake down on the counter and looked me square in the eyes. Everything happens for a reason. The knife chose you on purpose, which means you can do this. You have to.

His expression was pride mixed with worry, but mostly pride.

I chugged the whole nasty shake in one go.

* * *

We pulled into my driveway just after two on Saturday, the Jeep’s tires splashing in puddles from a sudden rainstorm. Mom had already turned on the porch light. It glowed against the red brick walls and the oak front door cheerfully, like my house was welcoming me. Dodging the rain drops, I ran with my backpack over my head to the porch. The air smelled damp, like moldy leaves. Like fall and home. After everything I’d been through, I was happy to be here.

You’re home early, Mom said as I straggled through the front door.

Thank goodness for the rain. Yeah, it was too muddy to hike, I said. I left my camping stuff at Mike’s to dry out.

Mike followed me in. Dani, gotta sec? I need to talk to you about fall break.

We trooped through the entry into the living room. Mom sank onto the couch sitting closest to the fireplace. She patted the seat next to her. I took a load off and she put her arm around my shoulders. She’d laid a fire, and we listened to the logs crackle while waiting for Mike to settle down in the matching recliner. It took him a while; he always fidgeted when he was getting ready to roll out some lies.

Like Mike had said last night, he didn’t plan to tell Mom about the monsters. He tried to justify that by explaining that dudes in special forces didn’t really lie. They had cover stories.

Yeah, right. Tell that to the bobbing recliner and my twitchy uncle.

Finally Uncle Mike got comfortable enough to speak. I was thinking I could take Matt to Colorado for a big hike. He’s old enough for some serious rappelling and I’d love it.

My older brother appeared at the door to the kitchen, holding a peanut butter sandwich in each hand. Brent’s shoulders nearly filled the doorway. I stared thoughtfully at the hulk, getting an idea…Mike said to eat like a man. Okay, Whatever Brent ate, I would, too.

Brent glared at us. Hey, what about me? I like to rappel.

My understanding was that seventeen-year-olds aren’t supposed to whine. Brent did it anyway. He cocked his perfectly square head to one side—an amazing feat since he had almost no neck after all his weight training—and squinted suspiciously at us, like we were dissing him on purpose. Uncle Mike shot me a glance, and I saw him tense a little. We hadn’t counted on Football Hero being in the way.

I already took you out for your birthday, Mike said. To that concert in Helena, remember? This is an early birthday gift for Matt.

Brent put his sandwiches on the coffee table without a napkin under them, ignoring Mom’s glare, and flopped on the couch hard enough that I caught air on the wave. I get an overnighter, and he gets a week? Nice favoritism, Unc. Giving Mike a seriously dirty look, he said, Why can’t I go with you guys?

So Mike let the shoe drop. Just not about the monsters.

I’m shipping out in December. Fort Carson first, then on to Afghanistan in January. I seem to remember taking you on a big hike when you were fifteen. Just in case I take a bullet or get stuck over there for two years, I thought it’d be nice to make sure Matt got his turn.

Mom’s gasp drowned out Brent’s stuttered apology and my sister flew around the corner from the entryway. Mamie’s face was pale; she’d caught the news, too. Mike had done a good job diverting Brent’s attention…and everyone else’s.

Mom raked her hands across her head, spiking up her short, brown hair into a porcupine-like mess. Upstairs, everyone. Now.

Whenever Mom’s voice sounded like that, we moved, and today was no exception. The three of us climbed the stairs as fast as we could. Brent slammed his bedroom door before we could say a thing, so Mamie followed me into my room.

Afghanistan? For a year? she whispered.

Mamie twirled one of her brown pigtails around her finger, her classic nervous tic, and burst into tears. I hated watching Mamie cry. Even though she wasn’t quite sixteen yet, she was the most together person in our family and seeing her upset threw off the balance of my universe. Brent teased her like crazy and I pulled silly pranks on her all the time, but the truth was either of us would jump in front of a train for her. Something about being sandwiched between two brothers ensured she’d have lifelong protection. It also meant the shy kid in her Latin class would never, ever, ever ask her out.

Feeling like the older brother in this scenario—even though I only came up to her eyebrows—I patted her on the back. C’mon, Mamie, don’t cry. It’ll be okay.

I’m sorry, Matt. I know this is harder on you than the rest of us. You’re Mike’s favorite, and I don’t mean that in a rude way, like Brent does. I’m glad, actually, since Dad isn’t around. She pulled off her glasses to wipe her eyes, giving me what she probably thought was a brave smile. I’m sure it’ll be fine. We just have to keep believing that.

A knock on the door interrupted us. Mike stuck his head in. Hey, Daisy May, can I talk to Matt a minute? I’m staying for dinner; we’ll have a chance to visit more then.

The use of her nickname made Mamie tear up again, but she nodded and drifted off to her room. I flopped down onto my bed and played with my pillow. Mike looked serious, but I wanted to pretend everything was normal. Too bad we couldn’t.

Dani said I could take you to Colorado, he said. We’ll leave next Friday. It’s a ten-hour drive to Fort Carson so I’ll check you out of school before noon. We won’t drive back until the following Sunday to get a full week of training in.

I’d never been to a Fort anything, and barracks were a complete mystery. Would I be able to get network coverage there? The idea of being without my phone or an internet connection for a week made me twitchy. What do I bring?

Mike winked. Your camo, of course.

* * *

Mike stayed for dinner and Mom fussed over him a lot. That didn’t stop her from nagging me about eating my asparagus, though. And she wasn’t the only one checking out what I ate.

Dude, your guts are gonna explode if you eat any more meatloaf, Brent said. Leave some for the rest of us.

Mamie glanced at me. Matt, I thought you hated meatloaf.

I shook my head, cheeks so full of the disgusting stuff I wasn’t sure I could open my mouth without hurling. After a huge swallow and a gagging shiver, I said, No, I like meatloaf just fine.

Mamie’s eyes narrowed, but Mom got to me first. You must be growing, sweetheart. There goes my grocery bill. Two teenage boys in the house is going to bankrupt me. She smiled. I better start buying more peanut butter.

That was the rule. When Mom came home from work three years ago to find that Brent had cleaned out the fridge only two days after her last shopping trip, she’d laid down what we all called the snack law. If it wasn’t mealtime, we could eat all the peanut butter sandwiches we wanted. Nothing else, unless she said okay. Mom said it was a cost-saving measure, but I think she was just pissed that Brent ate all the cheese along with her hidden stash of M&Ms.

Mamie continued to watch me. She had one eyebrow raised and that little half-smile on her face—the one that meant she was on the trail. Despite Brent saying she lived with her nose in a book, Mamie saw and heard everything around her. She was also smart enough to figure out any puzzle. I’d have to be more careful.

After Mike left, Mom called a family conference. She settled us down around the glass-topped coffee table in the living room like she was conducting a client meeting.

"We need to spend the next few months showing Mike how much we love him, okay? That means not putting demands on his time unless he offers, Mom said. I’m also going to plan a surprise party. We’ll have it right before he leaves for Fort Carson. And let’s think about ideas for care boxes to send him. We can send one a month, with pictures, snacks and notes from home. If we mail one before he leaves, he’ll get it a few days after he arrives at base."

We nodded and Mom started handing out assignments. I know it’s going to be hard without him here. We’re going to have to pull together. Brent—you’ll need to be more of a big brother and less of a liege-lord, got it?

Sure, Mom, whatever, Brent said. I figured he gave in so easily because he was still embarrassed about sounding like an jerk to Uncle Mike.

Mom turned to me next. Matt…well, just hang in there for me, okay?

I smiled and saluted, and Mom laughed. Mamie, sweetheart, can you keep an eye out for Matt if I have to work late?

Mom, I don’t need a babysitter, I said. What, did she think I was seven? Mamie was only sixteen months older than me and was scared of crickets. How did she get appointed to be my minder?

I’ll watch him day and night, Mamie said, giving me a sly glance.

I forced myself not to cringe, for fear Mamie would take it as another clue. Seriously, could this be any worse? Mom had just guaranteed that my cover would be blown in short order.

Chapter Four

Sunday passed in a blur of glum faces and soggy rain. After brunch, Brent headed to his girlfriend’s and probably spent the afternoon making out, which meant he was the only one of us with a shot at a smile. Mamie hid behind a book, re-reading A Wrinkle in Time for the umpteenth time in the recliner by the living room window. While she was occupied with something other than watching me, I headed to my room.

I felt compelled to take a look at the knife without Mike hovering behind me, wearing his troubled frown. He doubted I’d need to use it until I’d been through some training, but we both felt it should be closer to its wielder.

I’d hidden it in the pocket of an old backpack stowed in the depths of my closet. When I retrieved it and laid it on my bed it hummed, almost happily, when I touched it. The white bone handle was a little smaller than a carving knife’s, and worn smooth, without markings of any kind. The brown leather sheath had been stitched with thick twine and fit the knife snugly, allowing a wielder to draw the knife fast without the fear of the blade falling out on its own. The blade itself wasn’t shiny—the metal had a bronze tint to it—and it measured nine inches from where it joined the handle to its razor-sharp tip. Clearly the knife had been designed with one purpose, as a weapon. And a badass weapon at that.

A little shudder ran down my spine. If I was going to wield this blade, I had work to do.

Mike had given me a list of exercises to start on, and I needed Brent’s weight set, so I sneaked across the hall. His weights were on a stand in the corner of his room, but how he used them was beyond me. There wasn’t a single spot on the floor, except for a trail from the door to the bed, that didn’t have clothes, cleats or other junk dumped on it. I picked my way through the mine field and grabbed a pair of twenty-pound dumbbells, thinking I’d just take them to my room since I kept my floor somewhat clean.

Mistake. My arms dropped to the ground and my knuckles dragged like a gorilla’s. Maybe the twenty pounders were too much for the first day.

I exchanged the twenties for the ten-pound weights. I could carry the tens without drooping, so I shuffled back to my room. Even with my last growth spurt, I was only five-four and a hundred and seven pounds; twenty pounds was nearly a fifth of my weight. I felt proud of myself until I noticed the dumbbells had dust on them. Brent hadn’t used these little ones for a long time.

DNA was a weird thing–all of us had the same smallish nose as Mom, and dark Archer blue eyes from our deadbeat dad. But our builds were completely different. Mamie was thin, like Mom, and a little taller than her friends. I was on the small side, hitting below the fiftieth percentile on the stupid growth charts they use at the doctor’s office. Brent was the hulk of the family, a good ten inches taller than me and double my weight, all of it muscle and bone. For the nineteenth time, I wondered why the knife picked me.

Thirty minutes of weight training was harder than it sounded, and it had sounded pretty hard in the first place. I worked out my biceps, my triceps, my delts and a whole bunch of other muscles I didn’t realize I had. When I was done, my legs and arms felt like gummy worms. Exhausted, I curled up on my bed huffing and puffing.

Hey! Who’s been in my room? Brent yelled.

I bolted upright and regretted it when my head spun. The weights were by my closet door, six feet from my bed, but I didn’t think I could crawl across the room to hide them.

Brent flung my bedroom door open without knocking. I know you were in there. What did you take this time?

Just your weights. I pointed at the dumbbells, too tired to lie. Uncle Mike said I needed to do some weight training, you know, put on some muscle.

Brent paused in his attack, looking surprised. Really? He smirked. I guess wimps have to start somewhere. Besides, a little muscle wouldn’t kill you.

He turned to leave and bumped right into Mamie. Hey, Latin Club Princess, you’re liable to get run over if you don’t watch traffic.

Being an all-state strong, uh, safely doesn’t mean you can tackle people at home, Mamie said, crossing her arms. Have some manners, you Neanderthal.

I’m not sure Brent understood what Neanderthal meant but he could tell she was insulting him. "It’s strong safety, genius."

They glared at each other. Finally, Brent snorted and went to his room, slamming the door like usual.

Ugh, he’s loud, Mamie said. Why did Uncle Mike tell you to do some weight training?

Crap, Sherlock had a clue. He wants me to build up some muscle for the rappelling trip.

Her forehead wrinkled, making her glasses slip down her nose. Is that why you’ve been eating so much? I know you hate meatloaf; I could tell you were lying last night. And you ate about forty pancakes at brunch today. Are you trying to gain weight?

Um, yeah, I said. Not original, but that’s all I could think of.

Matt, a week’s not enough time to gain much muscle. Mamie got her mother-hen voice on. Is someone bullying you at school? If they are, I’ll ask Mom to talk to Mrs. Stevens. That was her solution for everything. You have a problem? Tell an adult.

No—school’s fine. I said. Uncle Mike told me it’s a good idea, that’s all.

I promised Mom I’d keep an eye on you. Remember that. She gave me another long stare, then marched off to her room. She didn’t slam the door.

The next morning, I rolled out of bed, sore all over. That must’ve been why Mike said to stretch after working out. A hot shower helped some. After I threw on a semi-clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I stumbled down to breakfast ready to get this week over with so I could go to Colorado with Mike. Mamie sat at the kitchen table, reading the paper, still in her robe. She was always up as early as Mom. I didn’t know another girl who got up early to read the news, from an honest-to-God newspaper, no less. Mamie was sick that way.

Mom, listen to this. Mamie pushed her glasses higher up on her nose. ‘The remains of newlyweds John and Marcia Carroll were discovered by Park Rangers on Sunday. While authorities aren’t providing many details, an unnamed source says they believe it to be a bear attack due to the nature of the injuries the couple sustained.’ Mamie turned to me. Matt, the attack happened in the same park where you and Mike were camping. Good thing you came home early!

Mom took the paper from Mamie. Oh my gosh. I’ll need to tell Mike. I don’t want you camping near any crazy grizzlies.

Up to this point, I’d been shoveling eggs into my mouth and drinking my milk as fast as I could. When Mom and Mamie both looked at me, freaked out, I had a hard time gulping down my last bite.

I had a hunch it wasn’t animals, which meant the creature I stabbed wasn’t the only one roaming the woods. Just knowing something was out there killing hikers made me realize how important it was that I did everything Mike told me for the next few months.

And that included not letting Mom or Mamie know there were monsters in Montana.

* * *

"Archer, what are you looking at?"

Carter Jacobs had everything I didn’t: awesome basketball skills, a dad who spent time with him and Ella Mitchell, the Goddess of Greenhill High School. He played center for the varsity team and towered over nearly everyone but the seniors. I only came up to his chin. It was a real pity his locker was five down from mine, and Ella’s was seven. I didn’t have a prayer of checking her out without being busted.

Carter’s blond hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over me, fists clenched. This was the closest to a fight I’d been in two years. I kind of deserved it, though. Ella had caught me looking—and had smiled back. After that, I didn’t really care if Carter killed me, because I could take that smile from Ella to my grave.

Pick on someone your own size, Jacobs, a voice behind me said.

I stood up a little taller. Will always showed up right on time. Carter frowned as my best friend stared him down. Already five-eleven, and with black hair and square shoulders, Will intimidated pretty much everyone, especially since he was fast and moved better than you’d expect for a big guy. Most people didn’t know he was a gentle giant. He’d creamed too many quarterbacks for anyone to believe that—so many, in fact, the JV football team called him Crusher. It was a play on his last name, Cruessan, and it gave him a hallway cred that kept me from getting too banged up by guys like Carter. That should’ve been Brent’s job, but he was too cool to care what happened to his kid brother.

So, Will growled, you gonna let me hand your butt to you, or are you gonna turn around and forget this happened?

Carter swore under his breath. Whatever. He pointed a finger at my chest. "You keep your eyes to yourself, got it?" He spun on his heel and strutted off, straightening his letter jacket in a really obvious way, as if there was a single person left in the school who didn’t know he was a basketball star.

Will watched him go. You know, he’s the reason I don’t bother wearing my jacket. He gives the rest of us a bad name.

Thanks for stopping by, dude, I said. Will was such a good friend, it didn’t hurt my pride too much when he had to bail me out. You know how he is about Ella. ‘Mine—back off.’ I don’t know why she puts up with it. Girls were really strange sometimes.

Some women like the caveman type, Will said. Or maybe it’s the older man thing. Having a sophomore for a boyfriend might be a thrill or something. I wouldn’t have thought Ella would be part of the Carter fan club, but all the girls think he’s cute. I guess they don’t care that he’s an asshat.

We walked to homeroom. In our eight years of friendship, this was the first class we’d had together since we were six. We must have cut up enough in first grade to get that