Midnight Agency, Season Two: The Soul-Stealers

By Ken Hoover

To fight monsters, you need a few devils.

The town of Noisy River has a witch problem. A dozen people have been kidnapped by a brujo and taken to a remote hideout in the malpaís, an expanse of badlands crawling with hordes of monsters and worse.

When Captain Driskill and his team take the job, they haven't rec

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ken Hoover
• Release date: Nov 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781088006689

Ken Hoover

Ken Hoover lives in New Mexico, which provides inspiration for the Midnight Agency series. When he is not working at his day job or spending time with his family, he writes weird stuff. He is an alumnus of NMSU and Superstars Writing Seminars. Visit his website for more-short fiction, deleted scenes, musings, and merchandise.

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Midnight Agency

Season Two:

The Soul Stealers

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Ken Hoover

Midnight Agency: Season Two

The Soul Stealers

By Ken Hoover

Copyright © 2021 by Ken Hoover. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-0880-0661-0

Published by Ken Hoover

Cover art by Milan Jovanovic

First printing: 2021

Published in the United States of America

For Dad.

Thanks for always cheering from the sidelines.

Episode One:

The Black Touch

ONE

Hunting monsters at night never went as planned.

Kory crouched in the shadow of a pine tree and peered at the herd of bison clustered in a meadow. Under the waning moon, several bulls faced outward, protecting the herd. They stood steadfast and fearless, snorting at anything foolish enough to approach. If that wasn’t enough, thick skulls and fierce horns backed their claims.

Not to mention that musky stink, Kory thought. Something has ’em spooked, she said softly.

"Si. And for once it’s not us," Carlos said. He adjusted his black bolero hat and squinted at the herd.

If the bison were scared, Kory needed a weapon, now. She ignored the big black flintlock in her belt sash even though it purred to her. Instead, she swept her black duster aside and pulled the trusty Sig Sauer from her thigh holster.

Her wings were bound close to her body, bulging uncomfortably against the back of her duster. Twigs and leaves scraped her shoulders and the tails of her coat snagged on the underbrush.

I’m making more racket than a bison.

The meadow of lush green grass and wildflowers blanketed the valley between the steep mountains that surrounded them. Through gaps in the trees, a line of T-shaped poles ran up the mountain, connected by thick cables. The remains of rusted cages dangled from the cables, creaking back and forth in the night breeze, and the sound made her jumpy. She caught herself looking over her shoulder too much.

We should’ve waited until daylight.

The team was here because of a witch. A dozen people had gone missing, and the witch’s hideout was impossible to find. But when the team arrived in the quaint mountain town of Noisy River to investigate the disappearances, the mayor had begged them to hunt down a petrabeast instead. Apparently, this monster had destroyed corrals and fences to get to some goats and had killed a couple farmers who’d tried to stop it. Even the local law’s attempts to kill it had failed. So Driskill had agreed to help.

Mingan had tracked the beast to this valley, and now the team had it cornered. Kory and Carlos were supposed to herd it toward Driskill and Mingan, but that was easier said than done. The townsfolk said it could disguise itself as a boulder, but she hadn’t realized it would be this hard to find the damn thing.

Listen, Carlos said, raising his bandaged hand, his gun hand. Hear that?

Hear what? she asked.

A rumble. Low ’n slow.

She tuned out the horrible static that was always in her head now and finally heard a deep rumble. Where’s it coming from?

This way, I think.

He led her through the trees at a stalking pace. Their footsteps were cushioned by the spongy forest floor, and she avoided fallen pine cones and twigs that would crunch underfoot. The rumbling grew stronger, more pronounced, and she heard a definite rhythm to it.

Is it…sleeping? she asked.

Gods, I hope so.

In the dappled moonlight, they saw a pile of boulders nesting in the undergrowth beneath a knot of aspen. From the townsfolk’s descriptions, a petrabeast had anywhere from two to eight arms, multiple spider eyes, and sharp teeth, but what she saw looked like an oddly shaped boulder, about waist high.

Now what? she asked quietly. The petrabeast was twenty paces away, too close for her liking.

Stick to the plan.

"Herd it? It’s the size of a boulder. How in the nuclear hell are we supposed to herd it toward the others?"

With his left hand, his good hand, Carlos raised a silver Colt revolver. A shot or two might scare it.

Apparently, bullets bounced right off its armor, but close-range gunshots would definitely wake it. After that, it could choose to run…or it could attack them.

Why wake it up when we have it dead to rights? she asked. Mingan was going to shoot it in the eye. You can do that.

We can’t take that risk. He held up his right hand as an excuse. Beneath the bandages, his fingers were still red and swollen.

You’re a dead shot with either hand, Carlos.

Not anymore, he said doubtfully. Besides, I don’t see an eye.

She didn’t either. Yeah. Fair enough.

"You should shoot it. You know, with your Sig. Not the other gun."

She reached for the demonic gun at her waist, but she didn’t dare draw it, even though it would do the job. The flintlock pistol was a damnable thing, cursing her after each shot in some terrible way. Six curses so far.

I’ll never shoot that devilish thing again if I can help it. I’ve got a better idea.

She holstered her Sig, loosened the fingers of the leather glove on her right hand, and pulled it off, exposing her skin. Her latest curse had nearly killed Carlos when she’d touched him. After experimenting, she’d learned her touch turned living matter into ash. She called it her Black Touch and she detested it, but it was about to come in handy.

"You’re going to touch it?" Carlos asked, eyes wide in the moonlight.

She removed the other glove. Best plan we have. Maybe we can end this clean and peaceful-like. Any objections?

He gave her a reluctant No.

Keep that Colt cocked in case my plan goes to shit.

He looked at the revolver in his left hand and grimaced. I’d feel better about this if I could use my gun hand.

I know. She reached out to touch his cheek, then recoiled as she remembered her glove was off. You’re still the best shot I’ve ever seen.

Taking a deep, encouraging breath, she stepped forward. Her right shoulder nearly caught a dangling twig. She watched where she placed her worn, black boots, choosing soft clumps of grass and beds of pine needles that were still damp from the monsoon rain earlier today. The beast’s rumbling snore grew louder with each step.

It was curled up to sleep, she reckoned, which made it about as tall as her, but wider, thicker. As she got closer, she saw a lump that could be its head.

When she was finally within reach, she stretched out her arms and splayed her fingers. She stepped on a dry pine cone with a loud crack. She winced and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was looking down at four inky eyes.

The petrabeast was looking right at her.

Two

The petrabeast growled at Kory with a deep rockslide rumble. It lifted its stony head from the grass, revealing a broad face with four eyes and a wide mouth crammed with rows of vicious pointed teeth.

Kory pressed her fingers onto its armored side and an ashy blackness rapidly wormed across the rocky plates. In a wild, frantic scramble to flee, the petrabeast swept Kory’s legs out from under her. She crashed onto the cushion of her wings and her breath whooshed out.

As she lay gasping, she heard Carlos’s gunfire, heard the beast lumbering away, smashing through undergrowth and trees alike. Several aspens toppled into each other, rattling their leaves. She rolled to her feet, wheezing, and chased after the petrabeast. It galloped through the meadow on six limbs, scattering the bison herd. A poor bison cow wasn’t quick enough and the petrabeast eviscerated it with a savage slash of its long claws.

The creature headed straight toward the other agents at the opposite edge of the meadow, barely visible in the moonlight, Driskill in his three-piece suit and Mingan in his leather buckskins. Kory didn’t think anything could stop the beast’s charge, yet both men seemed disinclined to move, and she wondered what in the nuclear hell they were up to.

Driskill shot his Peacemaker once, twice, and gray smoke plumed in the moonlight. Mingan’s rifle flashed and bellowed. Kory was sure they’d hit the creature, but it didn’t so much as flinch. In fact, it lowered its head and charged straight for them. Mingan reloaded, slammed the bolt into place, and fired again. The rifle boomed.

This time, the petrabeast was obviously struck. Its head jerked, and it tumbled to the ground, unmoving.

For a moment, Kory couldn’t hear anything but her own heavy breathing.

The creature staggered to its feet, shook its rocky head, and blindly slashed the air with its long claws. It lurched in a drunken, swaying path and slowly circled back toward Carlos, who was struggling to reload his revolver.

Carlos! Kory shouted.

I see it, he said, muttering to himself as he fumbled with the bullets.

She shouted at the creature to get its attention. It snorted at her, slashing its claws at the ground and tearing out large chunks of earth and grass. She fired her Sig, angling her shot away from her team. She yelled at the creature again, and it tilted its head as if trying to pinpoint her location. As it drew closer, she saw that one of its four eyes was a bleeding hole. With a rumbling moan, it collapsed to the ground and immediately camouflaged as a boulder. It moaned in obvious pain and confusion.

Kory strode swiftly and silently across the yellowing grass. She didn’t want to anger it or cause it to bolt, but she needed to act now. She pressed both palms to the beast’s rocky armor.

It groaned pitifully as blackness laced the mottled plates and crackled.

There now, she said in a soothing voice. This will be over soon.

The first wave of nausea hit her like a gut punch. She’d never used her Black Touch against such a large living thing and the sickness was overwhelming, but she bit it back. Their lives depended on it.

The beast went still and rigid. When its armor began to flake beneath her fingers, she finally removed her hands and the whole creature crumbled into piles of ash.

Kory fell back, exhausted, but Carlos caught her by the elbows.

Don’t touch me! she hissed.

I know. I got you, he said, easing her to the ground, then stepping away.

She clutched her stomach and rolled onto her side, feeling as though she was about to retch, but she had nothing in her. Her mouth tasted of ash and death. The grass withered beneath her fingers.

Carlos nudged the giant mound of ash with the toe of his boot. More crumbled in miniature avalanches. Damn.

Damned is more like, she groaned.

Oh, I disagree, Driskill said with his lazy Southern drawl. You have no doubt saved countless lives. The townsfolk shall be relieved.

Wonderful, Kory said flatly, staring at the ground. She looked at Driskill’s boots standing beside Mingan’s moccasins. Got any whiskey, boss? I could use a palette cleanser.

Driskill squatted beside her. He was as dapper as ever in his gray suit and matching derby, but the skin beneath his gunmetal eyes was puffy with fatigue. He produced a flask from an inside coat pocket, and shook it, measuring the weight. I fear you’re left with the dregs.

Story of my life. She sat up, took the flask, and gulped what was left.

It was only a swallow, but the burn of the whiskey pushed down the bile and left an antiseptic taste in her mouth. She gasped and exhaled fumes through her nostrils and mouth.

Better, she wheezed.

A waterskin thumped in the grass beside her hand. You need water, said Mingan. He wore a buckskin shirt and pants, and his long, silky black hair was tied back with a leather headband.

Nice shootin’ there, she said. Can’t be easy to hit a small black eye in the dark.

Heh. I was aiming for the other eye, he said.

She nearly spit out her water. The beast had four eyes. Why, Mingan, was that a joke?

Instead of answering, he gave her a crooked grin and stepped away to examine the pile of ash.

Well done, everyone, Driskill said. We may now resume our true purpose here, which is to investigate and possibly hunt down a witch. Before we return to the town of Noisy River, however, you two must make yourselves more presentable. He indicated Kory and Carlos. You appear to be covered in bison excrement.

Aw, man, Carlos said, looking at his black sleeves. This is my favorite jacket.

Kory looked down at her boots, smeared with hay and brown goo.

Figures, she said.

Three

The team had traveled to this part of the territory because of a soothsayer named Vee. One cold morning, Vee summoned Kory to a meeting in the lounge beside the sturdy stone fireplace. Driskill and Carlos joined her. A summons from Vee was no small matter, apparently.

It was snowing outside of the Agency headquarters, and Kory was staring at the dreadful wintery landscape through the soaring cast-iron windows. The awful cold crept through the glass, as if it wasn’t there at all, so she huddled near the fireplace in the shelter of her wings and a wool blanket while they waited for Vee to speak. Kory and cold didn’t exactly get along.

Although Vee looked every bit a little girl of about ten, with a black bob haircut peeking out of a teal hoodie, she spoke with the wisdom of an old crone. What unnerved Kory the most were Vee’s silver irises, so pale they disappeared if the light hit them just right.

I’ve had visions since the moment you arrived, Vee said. It has taken me some time to interpret them. In the past few hours, they’ve grown stronger.

Damn, Vee, spit it out, Kory said. Don’t keep a girl waiting.

Driskill frowned at Kory in his usual way. He wanted her to be more proper and ladylike, which only made Kory want to do it less.

What have you deduced, Miss Vee? he asked, stretching out her name with his drawl.

Vee swiveled her head and stared straight at Kory, her irises like the tips of silver bullets.

Shards of glass rain from the sky. Walls become rubble of brick and twisted iron. Our agents turn to shadow and ash. And it is all because of you.

You’re prophesying the destruction of our headquarters? Driskill asked.

I believe so, yes, Vee said grimly.

The thought of this ancient hotel and train station being demolished filled Kory’s heart with dread. To make it worse, the agents who had taken her in, who had accepted her for who she was, would die because of her. How could this be?

Kory’s voice trembled. Is this on account of me…of the monster I’m becoming?

No. It is because Death is coming for you.

Rather than put their headquarters at risk, Driskill took a mission that would take them far away. They had journeyed five hundred miles south to assist the town of Noisy River.

Since their last big mission—the Battle at the Vault, as they were calling it—Driskill’s group was in terrible shape. The bones in Carlos’s right hand had been crushed and would take several more weeks to heal properly. Mingan was still limping because of extensive injuries. Driskill looked exhausted. Clara had abandoned them, which stung of betrayal. Silas was severely wounded and confined to the train by his sweet little wife Etta. They were delivering Elijah, their commander, and two agents to the West Coast.

Instead of recuperating at headquarters, the team was scattered and wounded.

All because of me, she thought.

Kory slumped in her saddle, gripping the pommel and horn to keep from sliding off. She was feverish, clammy, and queasy, and she yearned to spread her wings wide to collect some cool air, but the townsfolk of Noisy River wouldn’t appreciate the sight of her large, black-feathered wings. Besides, she was too dog-tired to walk, much less fly. Using the Black Touch had left her feeling like a tequila hangover.

She peeled off a glove to inspect her right hand. She’d felt like a devil when she’d gotten her horns. Now she was far worse. She had wings. Her touch was death. She was fireproof. When she looked into someone’s eyes, she saw their sins. And now there was a strange static in her ears.

I’m a freakshow. A solo grotesquerie.

Six curses, one for each pull of the trigger. She counted them in her mind, but something wasn’t right, and she had to recount.

It was supposed to be six shots, she mumbled to no one in particular.

Whuzzat? Carlos asked, leaning forward in the saddle, eyes drooping with fatigue.

Six shots, she said, using her fingers to count. When we met, I’d already shot this damned flintlock pistol three times. Horns, Sinsight, Fireproofing. Three! But then I shot at Tez and took out one of them Bison Boys instead, and the pistol cursed me with these enormous crow’s wings. I only had two shots left. I killed Trace, then destroyed Tez’s precious obsidian mirror. Six.

Okay… he said, yawning.

And then I shot him in the head. Don’t you see?

No.

He was cute when he was sleepy, but she couldn’t wait for him to catch up. I got my Black Touch and that awful hissing static, but that was it. Six curses. But that’s seven shots! I should’ve been done at six. That’s what they all said. My da’ told me as much, and so did the man before him. Six shots. But that was a myth. I get that now.

"Maybe they were right, no?"

Why would it stop at six? It’s not a six-shooter. No, it’s turning me into something else. I feel it. She banged her forehead with her fist and groaned. What am I becoming? I can’t take much more of this.

She was whining, but she couldn’t help it. She already had to hide her horns, hands, and wings from the world. What more would she have to hide? What more would the gun take from her?

The seventh curse, she muttered. What in the nuclear hell could it be?

Driskill twisted in his saddle to look back at them. You are intruding upon my good humor. How may I be of service?

I’m missing a curse, she said.

Hmm. I do not follow, Driskill said.

Kory took a deep, calming breath, wanting to be concise. She patted the butt of her flintlock pistol, and it purred in response. I fired this thing seven times, yet it only cursed me six times. I’m missing…a curse.

I see, he said. Are you certain?

I can count.

You misunderstand me, he said. Perhaps your seventh curse has already arrived but has yet to manifest itself.

She hadn’t considered that. She’d discovered being fireproof the hard way. Same went for her Sinsight, and she’d nearly killed Carlos with her Black Touch. She pounded her fist against her forehead again. No, no, no. Gods, what now? I’ve gotta get rid of this pistol! I have to find a way.

No matter what happens, Kory, remember this, Driskill said, you are what you choose to be.

She tore her hat off from her head and jabbed a finger at her horns. I didn’t choose this.

No, you did not, but you may still take the paths of your choosing. His kindly smile turned into a frown and he lifted his cane to look at it. That’s quite enough from you.

Jefe? Carlos asked. Are you okay?

I’m fine. Nothing to be concerned with.

It’s him, ain’t it? It’s Tez, Kory said, setting her hat back into place.

Tez was a powerful death god who’d tried to create the world in his image. Besides nearly killing them all, he’d unleashed a horde of monsters and undead creatures into this world. Kory had defeated him, but it wasn’t so easy to kill a god, so he was now imprisoned within the blade of Driskill’s soul-stealing cane sword. Kory could practically feel Tez trying to claw his way out, like an undead corpse in a buried coffin.

Driskill let out a slow, calming breath. "He is far more powerful than Miss Clara was, and he’s rather incessant, even when