The Medusa Ritual - Installment 18

The Medusa Ritual

A Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigation

by

CW Hawes

Dotty’s rescued. But will Pierce Mostyn be able to stop the Masked Man’s escape?

Read on for the thrilling conclusion of The Medusa Ritual!

Chapter 23

Mostyn hit the floor, and took out his pistol. He saw light in the entryway of one of the tunnels, and then gunfire erupted.

Jones, Mostyn thought. Hallelujah!

Arcing through the air were two flares. They hit the wall and fell to the floor. The bright light illuminated the situation in the small chamber. Mostyn’s eyes swept the room. He spotted two men struggling to drag Dotty from the chamber.

Mostyn fired a double-tap from his pistol, sending two forty-five caliber bullets into one of the men. The man pitched forward as if he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. The other man let go of Dotty, turned around, and fell backwards under the impact from another pair of bullets sent by Mostyn’s pistol.

With pistol in one hand and knife in the other, Mostyn low crawled across the floor to where Dotty lay. When he reached her, he positioned himself in front of her and took in the scene. Several of the black suits lay dead, there was no sign of the masked man or the Chinese woman. Jones, Baker, Hammerschmidt, and Stoppen entered the chamber. NicAskill stood up, her knife blade colored red.

Dotty groaned, and muttered, “Chinese woman. Stop her.”

Mostyn touched her cheek, stood, and said, “That tunnel,” he pointed to the one he meant, “the masked man and the Chinese woman were there. Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute,” Jones said, “where are the lizard people?”

“You saw them too?” NicAskill said.

“They led us here,” Jones replied.

“Well, I’ll be…,” NicAskill muttered.

“Let’s go!” Mostyn shouted. “Jones, NicAskill, you first. And when you see the masked man or the woman that was with him, shoot first, ask questions later.”

“Right, Boss,” Jones said, and plunged into the tunnel, with NicAskill following.

“Baker, Hammerschmidt, you two help Dotty.”

“My God, Mostyn, she’s in her birthday suit,” Baker said, dropping his pack and stripping off his shirt.

“Thanks, Willie Lee,” Mostyn replied, and to Dr Stoppen he said, “Follow me!”

Mostyn and Stoppen plunged into the tunnel. Almost immediately Mostyn noticed the tunnel descending deeper into the earth.

Maybe this connects to the auditorium, he thought.

Jones and NicAskill were about fifty ahead of Mostyn. They ran around a curve in the tunnel, and a moment later Mostyn, significantly ahead of Stoppen, rounded the curve and almost ran into Jones, who’d stopped.

Before them stood the Chinese woman. Her hand was raised in a signal to halt. “The master says, goodbye. It is time for you to die.”

The Chinese woman’s eyes turned red and she began to change shape.

“She’s the Gorgon!” Mostyn yelled, Dotty’s words suddenly making sense. Jones, NicAskill, and Mostyn opened fire on her. The Gorgon’s body shook and twisted under the impact of the bullets, but was still standing when the three OUP agents ran out of ammunition.

Her beautiful face was still visible, but her body was halfway between a woman’s and something amorphous, slimy, and tentacled. Out of her head, where her hair had been, tentacles were emerging. Rivulets of green ooze were streaming from the many wounds. Mostyn could already feel a certain paralysis setting in. He turned around, ejected the magazine from his pistol, slammed a new one home, and racked the slide. He grabbed his mirror, held it up, and opened fire, watching the monster in the mirror. The first half dozen bullets missed. The next two, however, smashed their way through the thing’s neck, nearly severing the head.

The Gorgon collapsed to the floor. Jones shook himself, muttering, “What the hell?”

NicAskill shook her head and took a deep breath. “My God, I couldn’t breathe.”

“You two alright?” Mostyn asked.

“Yep,” Jones said. “Although for a moment there, it was like I couldn’t make a decision.”

“Me, too. But I’m ready to go, sir,” NicAskill added.

“Where’s Dr Stoppen?” Mostyn asked.

“Here.” Stoppen crept around the curve with a sheepish look on his face.

“Okay,” Mostyn said, “let’s go. One monster down, and one to go.”

Down the tunnel they continued, coming out in the auditorium, which smelled of scorched stone from the thermobaric grenade.

Jones swept the place with his flashlight and helmet lamp. “No one seems to be here.”

“The masked man disappeared when I tossed the stun grenade on the dais,” Mostyn said. “There must be another tunnel somewhere around there.”

The team walked to the dais and Jones swept the area with the twin beams of his lights.

“Give me your flashlight,” Mostyn said.

Jones handed the light to him, and Mostyn walked to the back wall, sweeping the beam of light across the stone. Not finding what he was looking for, he panned the beam of light across the floor.

“Ah, here it is,” he said, pointing to a crack along a portion of the line where the floor and wall meet. He then played the beam of light along the wall. “I don’t see a trigger, unless…” Mostyn pushed on the door and it swung inwards, revealing another tunnel.

“Jones, wedge this open so Baker and Hammerschmidt can follow.” He then entered the tunnel followed by NicAskill, Stoppen, and Jones.

Jones called out, “I saw Baker and Hammerschmidt enter the auditorium with Kemper when I jammed open the door.”

Mostyn waved his hand to signal he’d heard.

They followed the tunnel as it made a couple right angle turns and finally emptied into a large chamber. A chamber that was illuminated and filled with books, thousands of books filling the shelves from floor to ceiling along all four walls. In the middle was a large desk and chair. In one corner was a large and ornate Oriental folding screen. The screen was black and on it was a swirling chaos of red and orange, with two yellow cat eyes peering out of the chaos.

From around the screen, stepped the masked man. “You have found me. Most unfortunate for you.”

Mostyn raised his pistol.

“You cannot kill me, Mr Mostyn,” the masked man said.

“Want to see me try?” Mostyn replied.

“Many men have, you see, and I am still here.”

Behind Mostyn, Jones, and NicAskill, Dr Stoppen took out of his pocket a small black object and tossed it over the head of Jones. The little thing hit the floor, bounced once, and transformed into a hulking black monstrosity.

The masked man cried out, threw a handful of red dust into the air, and turned to flee. The monstrosity reached out, grabbed the masked man, pulled the screaming man to itself, and vanished.

“What the hell was that?” Jones asked.

“A class three demidaimonus,” Stoppen said. “A gift from Dr Bardon. For emergency use only.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” NicAskill said. “And you had this thing all the time?”

“Well, not all the time,” Stoppen replied. “Dr Bardon gave it to me before he left. He thought we might have use for it. But only in the most dire emergency. I thought this qualified.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jones asked.

“Because Bardon said not to. If you have an issue with him swearing me to secrecy, take it up with him.”

“That’s alright, Otto,” Baker said, having entered the room with Hammerschmidt and Kemper at the tail end of the conversation. “We all know Bardon moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.”

Mostyn clapped Jones on the shoulder. “You ought to know by now, the Director has lots of goodies up his sleeves.”

“What I don’t get,” Jones said, “is why he just doesn’t do all this himself instead of sending us in harm’s way.”

“Well, Jones, he’s not God,” Mostyn replied.

“He’s almost like God,” NicAskill said. “Are you sure he isn’t some kind of supernatural being?”

Mostyn shrugged. “I only know what he told me.”

“Which was?” NicAskill said.

“That he’s human. All too human.”

Jones shook his head. “Yeah, right.”

Epilogue

Dr Rafe Bardon lit his old bent bulldog briar pipe. The odor of sweet Virginia pipe tobacco filled his office. Sitting on the other side of his desk were Mostyn and his team. There was an empty chair in remembrance of Dr Winifred Petrie.

“I want to begin by saying thank you for an outstanding job. You destroyed a star vampire and the Gorgon. Wing Lee is no longer with us. His incredible library is being cataloged by Dr Stoppen. And we have made contact with the lizard people. All in all, a superb job. Thank you all.”

“What about the family of Fiorella Flores-Hernandez?” NicAskill asked.

“Yes, very unfortunate,” Bardon said, nodding his head slowly and gravely. “They will be adequately taken care of.”

“But what did you tell them?” NicAskill pressed.

“Something they could believe,” Bardon replied. “After all, who would believe that an extra-dimensional entity killed their daughter by turning her to stone? Why such things are the stuff of myth!” Bardon’s face was serious, but there was definitely a twinkle in his eye.

“Well, again, I want to thank you for your service. You all did fine work. Thank you.” Bardon stood and everyone knew that was the signal the meeting was over. As people began filing out, Bardon said, “Mr Mostyn and Dr Kemper, if you’d be so kind as to wait a few moments?”

When everyone was gone, Mostyn and Kemper resumed their seats. Dr Bardon sat and relit his pipe. When he had it going, he spoke.

“I’m glad you got there in time, Pierce, otherwise our Dr Kemper would not be here and, well, we’d have a bigger problem on our hands.”

“What problem, sir?” Dotty asked.

“Don’t have time to go into it now, my dear. No, no time.”

Mostyn looked at Dotty. “Yes, we were very lucky getting there when we did, sir,” Mostyn said.

Bardon smiled. “Oh, I don’t think luck had anything to do with it.”

“What do you mean, sir?” Mostyn asked.

“Just what I said, my boy, just what I said. Now, unfortunately, I can’t give you two any time off. A very big discovery has been made by one of our satellites. The photos are phenomenal, and I have to send you two out right away.”

Bardon slid a folder to the edge of his desk. Mostyn picked up the folder and took a look inside.

“Is this for real?” Mostyn asked.

“It is, Pierce, my boy, it is.” Bardon rubbed his hands together in obvious glee. “The opportunity of a lifetime.”

“For crying out loud,” Dotty said, “will you two let me in on what’s going on?”

“Sorry, Dot,” Mostyn said, “we’re going to Saudi Arabia.” A wicked smile appeared on Mostyn’s face. “And just think…”

“What?” Dotty said.

“There won’t be any trees.”

A look of disgust appeared on her face. “Maybe not, but there will be plenty of goddamn sand. For once, just once, I’d like to get an assignment in a city.”

Dr Bardon leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his ample stomach. Around his pipe, his mouth was stretched into a big smile. “Oh, you will, Dr Kemper, you will.”

The End

If you enjoyed reading the working draft of The Medusa Ritual, and would like to know when the final version will be released, become a VIP Reader and be the first to know! You’ll also get the Pierce Mostyn novelette, “The Feeder” — which is available only to my VIP Readers! 

If you haven’t read the other books in the Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigations series, check them out on Amazon.

What people are saying about the Pierce Mostyn series:

“…a fast-paced story with lots of action, yet does not neglect the characters.”

“Hawes has a great time with this series and does a good job (too good) of leaving us wanting more.”

“This series is fun…”

“…a weird tale of adventure, humor, and horror.”

The Medusa Ritual is copyright © 2019 by CW Hawes. All rights reserved.

The Medusa Ritual - Installment 13

The Medusa Ritual

A Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigation

by

CW Hawes

Deception and shell games. Along with a few shell companies. An ancient sorcerer, or someone pretending to be. And a game of tunnel, tunnel, who’s in the tunnel. The plot thickens, as they say.

Read on! The adventure continues!

Chapter 15

Mostyn sat at the table. Plates of sandwiches, and carafes of coffee and water ran down the center of the table. The team members, except for Dotty Kemper, were eating and drinking. Mostyn, however, just sipped at a styrofoam cup of coffee. The coffee was just how he liked it: strong with a hefty dollop of cream, real cream.

He’d listened to the the reports from Jones and Hammerschmidt, and NicAskill and Petrie. He’d told them what he’d discovered. Then the food arrived and he decided to let them eat before listening to what Stoppen and Baer had found out.

The coffee was hot. Those are good carafes, he thought. His mind drifted back to the morning before Bardon had sent Dotty and him out to attempt the capture of Tommy John MacIlhenney. Dotty had made coffee in her French Press. He liked her coffee. It was perfect. That was definitely one thing she did better than Helene. He smiled. Helene and coffee were like an airplane defying gravity after it had run out of fuel.

Dotty. Would he ever see her again? And if he didn’t what would he do? He had Helene. But Dotty was Dotty. He’d worked with her for a long time and he’d loved her for a good portion of that time.

He looked at his styrofoam cup of coffee and thought of her making coffee their coffee that morning. It was perfect. It was always perfect. She was gone and he hadn’t even told her he loved her.

They would get her back. They had to get her back. That was all there was to it.

He became aware of someone saying, “Boss!” He looked up. Jones. Jones was yelling, “Boss”, and Baker was saying, “Earth to Mostyn. Come in Mostyn.”

“I’m here. What is it?”

“Otto was telling us about his morning,” Dr Winifred Petrie said.

“Did you find out something of importance, Dr Stoppen?” Mostyn asked.

“Yes and no,” he replied.

“Okay. I’ll take the good news first,” Mostyn said.

“The buzz is that a very ancient book was purchased and brought to LA within the last year or so. The Huntington made an attempt to find who owned it, in order to make an offer to buy it. They were not successful. Two private collectors are also pursuing a purchase, but have yet to find the owner.”

Mostyn nodded. “The bad news?”

“My contacts are of the opinion the book is just a legend at best, and a fake at worst.”

“But we know the book is real, otherwise Bardon wouldn’t have us looking for it.”

“So what do we do now, Boss?” NicAskill asked.

Mostyn took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then exhaled. “I think we know four vital pieces of information. First, the book is real. I don’t think there is any other way to explain the strange cloud formations. Second, the management companies and Ching Wo are fronts for whoever we are after. Third, the fact the properties owned by Ching Wo are above an underground tunnel system seems to me to be intentional. And finally, all legends are based on truth. Consequently, we are either dealing with Wing Lee himself, or someone who has appropriated the legend. And in either case, the person commands great power. He is, for lack of a better word, a sorcerer of tremendous ability.”

“That all makes sense, Boss, but what do we do with the information?” NicAskill asked.

“I think it’s time we do a turn at urban spelunking, because my gut is telling me that’s where we’ll find the book.”

“Aw, man,” Jones blurted. “We’re not going underground again? Tell me we’re not.”

“Were you listening, Jones?” Mostyn said.

With a smile on his face, Baker said, “You used the word ‘spelunking’. That has a few too many syllables for Jones.”

“Fork you, Mr Camera Man,” Jones said. “I know what the word ‘spelunking’ means. I may have blonde hair, but I’m not dumb.”

NicAskill punched him in the arm. “You just don’t want to get cobwebs in those golden locks, right?”

“Shit,” Jones muttered. “Fine. Back to being mole people. I love being a mole.”

“You enjoyed K’n-yan,” Mostyn said, with his best poker face.

Jones threw his hands up. “Alright, alright. When do we take the tunnel tour?”

Mostyn’s phone chimed. He took it out of his pocket and looked at it. When he was done reading, he put it back.

“The report on Ching Wo Company, Inc. came back. It’s a shell company, owned by another shell company, that is also owned by a shell company, et cetera, et cetera. However, it seems the end of the line is a company in Taiwan. The Mo Yan Corporation. It is privately held, but no owners or officers have been found at this point.”

“Is this relevant?” Dr Stoppen asked.

“No,” Mostyn replied. “I think it safe to say that Wing Lee, or his imposter, is the owner. And does the information alter anything for us? I don’t think so. If anything, a Taiwanese company tends to re-enforce the legend.”

“Do you believe we’re actually dealing with this Wing Lee?” Petrie asked.

“Yes,” Mostyn replied. “I’ve heard the voice. It was ancient sounding. Like a whisper emanating from a distant tomb.”

“So where are we going to access the tunnel system?” NicAskill asked.

“There are two entrances that I’m aware of, and there are probably more. One is in the Hall of Records. An elevator, in fact, takes you there. There is also a bar that was once a speakeasy located in the tunnels. The access point is in the basement of the bar. We’ll try one of these first and go from there. Any further questions?”

No one said anything.

“Finish your lunch. We’ll move out in forty-five minutes.”

Chapter 16

Dr Dotty Kemper opened her eyes. The light was dim, barely holding at bay the Stygian blackness. She felt cold and realized she was lying on concrete. The surface was pitted and rough. She sat up and saw that she was chained to the concrete wall. An iron manacle was on each wrist. They were connected by a chain. Another chain ran from the concrete wall to the chain connecting the wrist manacles.

“Where the hell am I?” she said.

“You are in the tunnels below the city.”

Dotty looked in the direction the voice came from and saw a man sitting in a chair on the edge of the darkness.

“Tunnels? Tunnels below LA?”

“Yes,” the voice said. “They are old. Very old. Many sections are barricaded because they are in poor condition. Other sections are lost to memory because they were here long before the tunnels dug by men.”

“Who are you?” Dotty asked.

“My name does not matter, Dr Kemper. I am to watch you and make sure you are okay.”

“Well, I’m not okay. I have a headache and I ache from lying on this concrete and I’m cold.”

“I’m sorry. There is nothing I can do to alleviate your pain, or provide you with warmth.”

“Then what the hell good are you?”

“The question has no relevance. I simply serve the master. I am to watch you and make sure you are okay. That you are in no life threatening distress.”

“I will be if you don’t get me a blanket.”

“I am sorry. I do not have a blanket for you.”

“Fine. Be that way.” Dotty stood. She turned around and pulled on the chain. Seems solid enough, she thought. Too bad for me.

She stretched the chain as far as it would go. About four or five feet of play. At least I’m not up against the wall with my hands over my head.

“Even if you were free of your shackles, you would not find your way to the surface,”

“Thanks for the information,” Dotty replied. She turned around to face the man on the edge of the darkness. “So I guess I’m not going to be the blushing bride, am I?”

“I do not know your fate. I only know that you gained the ire of the master.”

“Well, that’s just a goddamn shame, isn’t it?”

“You do not want to anger the master.”

“Between you and me? If I get my hands on that prick the only thing he’ll be master of is worm food.”

“You are in no position to make threats.”

“Threats? Listen, you mechanical dildo, that was a promise. You need to learn the difference.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you cannot keep.”

“Who appointed you to be my mother? Besides, how do you know I can’t keep my promise?”

The man stood and stepped into the feeble light cast by the electric lantern. Dotty recognized him as the older man who’d come into her suite with the masked man.

“You are in grave danger, Dr Kemper. You should not jest.”

She snorted. “I don’t believe in prayer, so that leaves me with jesting.”

“That is too bad.”

“What is too bad is that I didn’t die up there in my room.”

“That is true, Dr Kemper. That is very true.”

***

The elevator came to a stop and the door opened. Mostyn, NicAskill, Baker, and Petrie stepped out. The door closed and the elevator rose. After a couple of minutes the car returned with the rest of the team.

“Well, look at his,” Jones said. “Graffiti artists of the Underworld.”

“Have wall, will paint,” Baker quipped.

“Let’s get ready,” Mostyn said.

The team members were wearing street clothes to minimize attention and not arouse suspicion. Each one had a backpack.

They opened their backpacks and took out their helmets, equipped with an attached electric lamp, a flashlight, and a weapon. The packs also contained water, emergency rations, spelunking equipment, and a light-weight space blanket.

Jones carried the special OUP issued phone which allowed the team to maintain contact with headquarters.

“Let Sumer Base know we are in the tunnels, will you, Jones?” Mostyn said.

“Sure thing, Boss.” Jones made the call and when finished turned to Mostyn.

“They sent you a three D map of the tunnels, Boss. We’ve also gotten a lucky break. Sumer Base has started receiving Kemper’s subdermal transmitter signal again.”

“That is good news,” Mostyn said, while fishing his phone out of his pocket. When it was in hand, he tapped on it and displayed the 3-D map. A flashing green dot indicated where Dotty Kemper was located.

Mostyn studied the diagram for a moment and then called Jones and NicAskill over. “What do you make of this?” he asked.

The two special agents looked at the screen. Jones spoke first. “Doesn’t that beat all. She’s not even in one of the tunnels.”

“More likely, she’s in a tunnel that isn’t on any map,” NicAskill said.

“That’s what I said,” Jones replied.

“Yeah, right, Jones. And Einstein had marshmallows for brains.”

Mostyn studied the holographic projection of the tunnel system. After several minutes, he said, “We’re going to rescue Dr Kemper.”

“We’re supposed to look for the book,” Dr Stoppen said.

“And I’m willing to bet where Dr Kemper is, the book will be close by,” Mostyn replied. “Now get your packs on, and follow me.”

To Be Continued!

While waiting for the next installment, the entire Pierce Mostyn Paranormal series is available for your reading pleasure.

Do you hate cliffhangers? There’s none in this series. Each book stands by itself.

Do you think books are magic? That for just a little while you can be anywhere, doing anything? Then join Pierce Mostyn and experience some magic!

What people are saying about the Pierce Mostyn series:

“…a fast-paced story with lots of action, yet does not neglect the characters.”

“Hawes has a great time with this series and does a good job (too good) of leaving us wanting more.”

“This series is fun…”

“…a weird tale of adventure, humor, and horror.”

Get the Book!

Are engaging characters your thing? Join my VIP Readers and you’ll get the Pierce Mostyn novelette, “The Feeder” — available only to my VIP Readers! 

And you’ll be the first to know when the revised book version of The Medusa Ritual comes out!

The Medusa Ritual is copyright © 2019 by CW Hawes. All rights reserved.

The Medusa Ritual - Installment 9

The Medusa Ritual

A Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigation

by

CW Hawes

A tulpa. Art fraud. The origin of those too life-like statues. And Dotty Kemper. What about Dotty?

Read on for more adventure!

9

When Mostyn, Bardon, and Jones entered the conference room, they found everyone in a tizzy. It took Mostyn only a moment to determine why. For on the wall opposite the windows, in bright red, were the words the man with the mask had said to him.

Winifred Petrie, on seeing Bardon, pointed at the wall and asked, “What does it say?”

Bardon replied with a question, “When did the words appear?”

“About ten minutes ago,” Otto Stoppen, the assistant librarian, answered.

“That’s about the time you were talking to Dr Kemper, my boy. Wasn’t it?” Bardon said to Mostyn.

“Yes, sir, it was.”

“He has a flair for showmanship,” Bardon said.

“Who does, sir?” NicAskill asked.

“Our adversary,” Bardon replied. To everyone, he said, “Please take your seats. We need to make an important decision.”

Everyone sat and the room became quiet.

Bardon pointed to the writing on the wall. “We are not dealing with an ordinary thug. The words mean,” and Bardon told the team his rough translation of the message on the wall. “He calls himself a summoner, which means he is follower, a fanatical follower of the Great Old Ones. He is dangerous to the extreme. We don’t know what he knows, but he knows enough to suspect Special Agent Mostyn is someone who might thwart him.”

“What about Dr Kemper?” Dr Hammerschmidt asked.

“Our nameless adversary has her prisoner. The price for her freedom is Special Agent Mostyn’s departure.”

“Dr Bardon,” NicAskill raised her hand, and Bardon indicated she should continue. “How do we know he’ll let Dr Kemper go?”

Bardon shrugged. “We don’t. So the question before us is, do we give him what he wants and hope he releases Dr Kemper? Or do we ignore him?”

“If we ignore him,” Mostyn began, “Dotty said she’d be given to his grandson as a mistress or wife — and she added the grandson is apparently not normal.”

“What does that mean?” Jones asked.

“She didn’t know,” Mostyn answered.

“If this guy is a fan of the Great Old Ones,” Baker said, “then his grandson not being normal might not actually be something we want to contemplate.”

“Indeed, Mr Baker,” Bardon said.

“If we assume the masked man doesn’t know about us, then maybe we can deceive him,” Mostyn volunteered.

Bardon smiled. “Yes, we could. Do you have anything specific in mind?”

“A tulpa.”

“Ah, yes, that might work quite nicely,” Bardon said. He thought a moment before continuing. “You won’t be able to make one, because we don’t have months at our disposal for you to learn how to do so. I will have to create one that looks like you.”

“You mind my asking what this tulpa thing is?” Jones said.

“Not at all, Special Agent Jones,” Bardon said. “Tulpa creation is a Tibetan Buddhist practice. Normally the tulpa begins life in your mind. It more or less becomes a sentient being.”

“You mean like another person in my head?” Jones asked.

“Yes,” Bardon replied. “If the person creating the tulpa has sufficient power, the tulpa can actually take shape and be seen by others, as well as interact with them. The tulpa can also be sent on missions.”

“So you’re going to create this tulpa thing to look like Mostyn and send it home on a plane,” Dr Petrie said.

“That’s the idea,” Mostyn said.

“Will it work?” Petrie asked.

Bardon smiled. “Yes, I think it will work. Time, however, is of the essence. We need to get started right away.”

“Then let’s do it,” Mostyn said.

“And we’ll also find out if this guy is honorable and will release Dr Kemper,” Baker said.

***

Mostyn, Jones, and Dr Stoppen were in the room with Dr Bardon. Outside the Kymbra NicAskill stood guarding the room from any intruders. The remaining team members were in the conference room watching what was going on via their computers.

To Mostyn, seeing Dr Rafe Bardon in his three-piece suit sitting in the Lotus Position, was comical. Except what they were trying to do wasn’t comical at all, but a matter of life or death. Dotty Kemper’s life or death for starters.

For an hour, Mostyn watched Bardon sit there on the bed with his eyes closed and his lips barely moving. He had no idea if Bardon had been successful or not. Then a filmy white shape began forming on the bed next to him. The thing looked as tangible as a stream of smoke from a smoldering campfire. And Mostyn smiled. Bardon had created a tulpa. Now the question was could he make the thing solid in time to catch the last flight out of Los Angeles.

The minutes passed into hours. The filmy ghost-like shape didn’t move, nor did it gain any substantial substance. Mostyn stared at the clock. They had but three and a half hours to go before midnight. He glanced at the tulpa and then took a second look. The thing was no longer a smoke-like wraith. It now looked human. In fact, the thing looked a lot like him. The creature was still transparent, but it did have shape and form and looked like his identical twin.

More minutes slipped by. While Mostyn watched, the tulpa gradually became denser.

“It looks just like you, Mostyn,” Dr Stoppen said.

Mostyn chuckled. “The twin I never had.”

“I think Dr Bardon is almost finished,” Stoppen said. “I can’t see through it anymore.”

“You’re right,” Mostyn agreed.

The tulpa opened its eyes. “Hello Special Agent in Charge Pierce Mostyn, and hello to you, Dr Stoppen.”

“It sounds just like you, Mostyn,” Stoppen exclaimed.

A look of disapproval crossed the creature’s face. “I am not an ‘it’. I’m a ‘he’.”

Mostyn laughed. “He even wants to choose his own pronouns.”

Bardon’t eyes opened. “For all practical purposes, he is you, Pierce, my boy. He is developing his own personality, and will continue to do so.”

“I am ready for this mission,” the tulpa said.

“Very good, Special Agent Mostyn,” Bardon said. “Let us be on our way then.”

10

Mostyn and Bardon, both in heavy disguise, watched the tulpa board the plane with no problems. Mostyn scanned the airport crowd looking for some sign of the masked man’s henchmen, but saw nothing unusual in the people waiting to get on the plane or who were sitting nearby.

“If there here,” he whispered to Bardon, “they must be in disguise too.”

“They may not even by visible,” Bardon whispered back. “It’s also possible no one is here and the Summoner is watching remotely.”

Mostyn nodded. He looked at his watch. Half-past eleven. They’d met the deadline. Once the door to the jet was closed that was it, the tulpa was on his way to New York and Dotty should be released. He clenched his fists. And then he was going after the bastard.

The door to the jetway closed. “Well, Pierce, my boy, let’s head back. We have a lot to talk about.”

Mostyn and Bardon exited the airport and walked out to the parking ramp, where Jones was waiting with the sedan. Once in the car, Bardon began talking.

“Let me bring you up to date, Pierce, my boy. You were drugged when the reports were sent out, and with everything happening…” He lifted his hands. “It will be simpler if I brief you.”

“I can read the details later, sir.”

“Indeed. We ran Mr Cortado and Mr Salzman through our database and all those we have access to. Thanks to Special Agent NicAskill’s photographs, we were also able to run their faces through the databases as well. We got hits all around. Mr Salzman is an experienced con artist. His known aliases are Milton Gray, Gary Salzman, Gray M Salzman, and Shlomo Salzman.”

“What’s his racket?”

“Just about everything, but art fraud seems to be his specialty.”

Mostyn nodded. “Explains why he’s hooked up with Cortado.”

“It does, at least in part. Mr Cortado is also something of a con artist, although nowhere near as successful as Mr Salzman. Mr Cortado is suspected of forging the works of Pilar Hernandez-Vega, Joan Miró, and Leonora Varo.”

“Why only suspected?”

“Because the possible victims, thus far, are not willing to come forward and admit they were conned.”

“I see.”

“He also tried to impersonate the Hungarian artist Lorine Kiss, at a time when Mr Kiss was unable to leave Hungary.”

“I take it he got caught.”

“He did. Mr Cortado had the misfortune of an acquaintance of Kiss’s visit the show, and the woman blew the whistle on him, as you Americans say.”

Mostyn chuckled. “What happened?”

“The scam of course was discovered. The paintings were confiscated and Mr Cortado got five years probation. That’s when he left New York for California.”

“He could do that?”

Bardon shrugged. “He got someone here in California to offer him a job as an art restorer. Bogus, I’m sure. But it worked, and here he is.”

“Very interesting. So what’s with the statues?”

Bardon rubbed his hands together. “Ah, the statues. As near as our science staff can determine is that they are genuinely made of stone. A type of marble. And that they were probably once living beings. At least that is what the sculptors said who examined the statues. They couldn’t be carved. In addition, we lifted fingerprints from the woman.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, That’s how fine the detail is.”

“Amazing.”

“It is.”

“Could you identify her?”

“Yes, because we are able to access the California DMV records and the fingerprints they require licenses.”

“Is that legal, sir?”

“Need to know, my boy, need to know.”

“I take that as a no.”

Bardon merely smiled, and went on. “Her name was Fiorella Josephina Flores-Hernández. She lost her job about a year ago, her apartment four months later, and has apparently been homeless the past three or four months.”

“And now she’s dead.”

“Sadly, yes. I asked Special Agent NicAskill and Dr Petrie to talk to her family. Hopefully they’ll have something for us tomorrow.”

“Anything further on the book?”

“We found the high end bookseller in New York. He told us he got the book from a dealer in Munich, who bought it from a rare book collector’s estate. Apparently the children were selling off everything to get cash.”

Mostyn laughed. “The Munich dealer probably got a good price. I can’t believe the heirs knew what they had on their hands.”

“I quite agree, my boy.”

“So how did the book get out here?”

“The New York dealer has a select clientele for certain esoteric items, and one of those clients lived out here. A Beverly Fitzroy McCandless.”

“Where does she live?”

“Not a ‘she’, my boy.”

“A man with the name ‘Beverly’?”

“Yes,” Bardon replied, with a smile on his face. “Long before the fairer sex appropriated the name, Beverly was a male name. Quite British, you know.”

“Huh. Learn something new every day. So where does he live.”

“He lives nowhere. He was murdered some three months after he bought the book and the book is missing. Apparently stolen.”

“So we still don’t know who has it.”

“No, we don’t. Although Mr McCandless kept a diary and in the diary recorded getting several phone calls from someone who wanted the book and was willing to offer McCandless a lot of money for it.”

“And his turning down the offer resulted in his death.”

“So it seems, my boy, so it seems.”

Jones pulled the limo into the hotel garage and stopped by a door. Bardon and Mostyn got out of the vehicle, maintaining their disguises and walked to a room registered to one Diamond Jim Brady. Once inside, Bardon texted a message on his phone. Two people looking like hotel cleaning staff, moved down the hall. The equipment in the cleaning cart swept the corridor for bugs and spy cameras. When they found none, they texted an all clear back to Bardon.

“Good. We can get out of these disguises,” Bardon said.

“If it’s okay with you, I’ll keep mine on. Just in case.”

Bardon nodded, and removed his. When he was back to looking like himself, he and Mostyn walked to the conference room. Jones had gotten there before them.

“The tulpa boarded the plane,” Bardon told the team. “Now we wait.”

“So we have no idea when or where our masked man will release Dr Kemper?” Baker said.

“Unfortunately, no, Mr Baker, we do not,” Bardon answered.

The OUP director’s phone chimed. He took it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. Bardon turned to Mostyn. “Check your phone, Mr Mostyn. Our tulpa received a text on his phone which we cloned from yours, so you should have it as well.”

Mostyn looked at his phone and read the text. A cloud descended on his face.

“What is it, Boss?” Jones asked.

“The bastard has decided to keep Dotty. It seems he has a further use for her.”

To Be Continued!

While waiting for the next installment, the entire Pierce Mostyn Paranormal series is available for your reading pleasure.

Do you hate cliffhangers? There’s none in this series. Each book stands by itself.

Do you think books are magic? That for just a little while you can be anywhere, doing anything? Then join Pierce Mostyn and experience some magic!

What people are saying about the Pierce Mostyn series:

“…a fast-paced story with lots of action, yet does not neglect the characters.”

“Hawes has a great time with this series and does a good job (too good) of leaving us wanting more.”

“This series is fun…”

“…a weird tale of adventure, humor, and horror.”

Get the Book!

Are engaging characters your thing? Join my VIP Readers and you’ll get the Pierce Mostyn short story, “The Feeder” — available only to my VIP Readers! 

And you’ll be the first to know when the revised book version of The Medusa Ritual comes out!

The Medusa Ritual is copyright © 2019 by CW Hawes. All rights reserved.