Free Dark Legion by Rob Cornell

be back in your Agency days.”
    “Enlighten me.”
    “Vamps are getting organized.”
    “Bullshit. The closest they come to organized is when they hunt in packs. They have no leadership unless some mortal tames them.”
    Marty shook his head. “You think you’ve seen every vampire there is to see?”
    “I’ve seen enough.”
    Marty pointed at Lockman’s chest with a sausage-sized finger. “That kind of stupid is gonna get you killed.”
    “If you know what’s happened to Teresa, you need to tell me.”
    The ogre shook his head and picked up his beer. He drank deep, almost draining the mug completely, then set the mug down and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “I don’t know what happened to her. She came to see me for some equipment about a week ago. Said it had something to do with her sister.”
    “Her sister was taken by vamps, too.”
    “There you go saying ‘taken’ again.”
    Since Marty had finally leveled with him, Lockman gave him the full rundown about Teresa coming to him for help and the attack on the cabin. When he had finished, Marty rocked his mug back and forth.
    “I need a refill. You want something?”
    “Water.”
    “I can smell the hungry on you. You want to eat?”
    “You’re a hard ogre to read, Marty. From hostility to hospitality.”
    “You got that wrong, brother.” He waved his big finger. “I like you, Lockman. No matter how much you hate and distrust me. But I have to watch my back. I don’t have the luxury of belonging to this world.”
    “I don’t hate you. I just know what you are.”
    Marty raised his eyebrows. “And I know what you are. Better than you know yourself.”

    Marty fed him a homemade gyro with pita chips. When the ogre bragged that the gyro had lamb from the best butcher in Detroit, Lockman almost spit out what was in his mouth. Images of a lamb with its throat cut and gushing blood poured into his mind. He squeezed the thought away and forced himself to eat the rest of his meal. Eat when you can, even if you have to stuff your mouth full of grubs. Lockman could hear Creed’s voice as clear as if he stood in Marty’s kitchen with them. He hadn’t thought about the old man much since last summer’s events. Not ready to deal with the loss of his mentor. Which, considering the lies that mentor had told him, seemed foolish. Maybe it wasn’t Creed himself that Lockman missed. Maybe it was the idea of Creed—the only true father figure Lockman had in his life.
    Gabriel, on the other hand…
    He pushed those thoughts away. No need to go there. Gabriel, for all intents and purposes, was dead and buried with the artifact that held his memories back behind the cabin in Illinois. As far as the artifact went, he could retrieve it at some other time if he needed to. Or he could leave it there, lost forever.
    “I can see the smoke.”
    Lockman looked up from his empty plate.
    Marty studied him across the table, his hands folded and resting on his barrel of a belly. “You thinking about Gabriel?”
    A bolt of cold shot up Lockman’s spine. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “You forget. I’m a shaman now. And I’m good. Real good.”
    “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Gabriel Dolan. Brother of Otto Dolan.”
    “So what?”
    Marty unfolded his hands and leaned his elbows on the table. His eyes grew intense, the pupils dilated wide. “The events are in motion. I’ve seen what’s to come.”
    “Fortune telling? Really? Never been a very reliable practice, even with the best mojo.”
    “Not for mortals, perhaps. But the shaman have an honored place among my people. Even the warriors fear them.”
    Lockman pushed his plate aside. “Is that it? You’re trying to scare me?”
    “A little fear wouldn’t hurt. But I know you well enough that you won’t believe a word I say.”
    “Then why waste your breath?”
    The ogre smiled, showing teeth near as thick as dice. “This is bigger than you. Yet you