CHAPTER FOUR

Josiah and Ezra barrelled into the hall, closely followed by the four other agents, all with guns drawn and all six of them terrified of what they might find.

But what they found was completely unexpected – a Vin Tanner sitting flat on his ass on the floor, knees drawn up so that he could brace his elbows on them. His gun, held steady and still smoking, was pointed at the front door of the house. Vin was as white as a sheet, but – much to his team-mates' profound relief – didn't seem to have a mark on him.

Chris dropped down beside him and touched Tanner's shoulder.

"Vin! Vin, are you okay? What the hell happened?"

There was no reply. The sharpshooter just kept gazing at the door, his fingers clenched so tightly around the butt of his gun the knuckles showed white through taut skin. Chris looked up at the men crowding around them and Josiah flinched at the fear in the blond's green-gold eyes. The big profiler knelt down beside Vin and gently but firmly removed the automatic from Tanner's grasp.

"C'mon, Vin ... speak to us, son. Are you all right? Vin?"

Sky-blue eyes wide with fear and not a little astonishment turned to meet Josiah's gaze.

"J'siah?"

"Yeah, son – it's me. Chris is here too." Josiah saw Vin turn his eyes slowly as if to check out Larabee's presence, and the sudden relaxation of rigid muscles in the young agent's spare frame signalled Tanner's realisation that he was safe at last. His brothers were here, and they would back him up whatever happened.

"It was tryin' to get in, Chris. It ... it … well … it frightened the unholy crap out of me!"

It was as if a barrier had been broken, and all of them heaved hefty sighs of relief, and Buck started to chuckle, more out of tension than humour.

"Shit, Junior, you were frightened? I thought the goddamn house was gonna fall down, and then I was pretty sure we were gonna find you all tore up and bits of your guts hangin' from the ceiling!"

Vin Tanner proffered a shaky smile, and with Josiah and Chris' help, heaved himself to his feet.

Chris looked at his front door. It had three bullet holes in it, but seemed undamaged otherwise. He cocked an eyebrow at Josiah.

"You think it's gone?"

Josiah shrugged.

"No idea. You guys seem to think I know about these things, but I'm as much in the dark as you are."

The seven looked at each other. Ezra and Vin seemed to be regaining the colour in their faces, and everyone appeared to be all right, apart from Diablo, who had run hell-for-leather into the guest room and was now once more ensconced under Ezra's bed.

"S'pose we'd better go check outside, huh?" Nathan said, hoping with all his heart that his friends would heartily disagree. His handsome face creased into a frown when Larabee nodded.

"Guess so." Chris didn't sound very enthusiastic, but he could see his team were expecting some measure of leadership from him, even under these trying circumstances. Never in his life had Chris Larabee felt so out of his depth. How do you fight a phantom? A thing that patently did not belong in this world, and which came and went with ease, frightening the hell out of his team as it went. And what did it want? Why did it seem to be after Ezra?

He sighed.

"Vin, Ez, you stay here and chill out." For once Vin didn't argue. Satisfied, Chris continued. "Nate, Buck, Josiah, you're with me. I reckon this bastard's gone for now, but I want to see if the horses are okay. JD … make some coffee, will you? Strong coffee."

Within minutes Chris and his compadres were dressed and ready for their foray into the night. Chris dug out flashlights and handed them out.

He was on the point of unbolting the front door when he heard … something.

"Shhh! Listen!" He raised a finger to his lips. Team Seven froze in their tracks, eyes wide. What the hell was coming now?

At first the sound was faint. A soft but solid tread, measured and heavy. But it was different from a normal footfall, that was for sure. Whatever was walking up to the house was big – very big – and it was the stride of a man. Or something like a man, Chris thought.

The heavy footsteps came closer … closer … then they heard the sound change to hollow clunks as the unknown thing stepped up onto the wooden porch and made its way to the bullet-holed front door. Then … silence.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

Seven guns were out of holsters in less than a second, all of them trained on the door as whatever was on the other side of it battered the much-maligned wood.

"B.P.R.D! You fellas okay?" The voice was a deep, gruff baritone.

Seven men almost collapsed with relief.

"JD? Get the door son, will you, while I try to get my heart kick-started here!" Josiah said, his hand shaking as he slipped his gun back into its holster.

JD Dunne looked at his friends. All of them seemed on the point of collapse, and he had to admit he didn't feel much better himself. But if Josiah thought the voice belonged to someone friendly, then that was okay with him. Stepping forward and unbolting the door, he swung it open and got his first glimpse of their visitor.

His yelp of terror made his team-mates jump and they watched, mesmerised, as JD stumbled backwards and landed flat on his butt on the floor. Raising their eyes from the floundering Dunne, they took in the figure that filled the doorway.

At that moment Chris Larabee was sure he had died and gone to hell.

"Holy crap in the foothills!" he whispered.

The demon – for it surely wasn't a man – could not be less than seven feet tall. Red skin glowed dully in the moonlight, and Chris thought he could make out the shaven stumps of horns on the thing's forehead. The body was massive – bulging muscles rippled under the red skin and there were strange markings on the broad chest, symbols the meaning of which Larabee could only guess at. It wore a heavy leather duster coat, pants and boots, and around its waist was a belt carrying the biggest goddamn gun Chris had ever seen in his life. The belt was adorned with mysterious pouches and pockets, and dangling from it were several strange-shaped things that could be talismans, he wasn't sure. Beside them hung a plain, wooden cross. Chris' blood chilled in his veins when he saw a glimpse of a long, prehensile tail bobbing behind the creature. Its left hand was normal, but the right hand and forearm … they were stone. Or something that closely resembled stone. At least three times the size of its mate, the three flat, column-like fingers and thumb were still clenched into a fist, and Chris could see the same marks on the chiselled roundels of the limb as were on the muscled torso.

But its face … dear god, Chris thought, the last time I saw a face like that was in a Bosch painting of Hell. Grim-featured and adorned with whiskers and black hair pulled into the nape of its neck in a knot, it was the very personification of the medieval vision of Satan. Deep-set amber-gold eyes studied the seven with curiosity.

"Hey, guys," the thing said amiably, "you haven't seen a great big hairy mutt with google-eyes hangin' around here, have you?" The creature blinked at the seven, then went back to studying the terrified JD Dunne. "Jeez, sorry kid – didn't mean to scare you." He glanced at Chris. "Happens all the time." He looked at the seven, then pulled out a cigar from his duster pocket and stuck it between big white teeth. "Anybody got a light?"

Josiah Sanchez burst out laughing.

"Fellas - meet Hellboy."


"So, Mister … ah … Boy, do you know what this thing is that's been frightening the wits out of us?"

"It's Hellboy, and yep, I know what it is."

Team Seven and one very large and extremely hungry B.P.R.D. agent were sitting in the kitchen of Chris' ranch house eating a hearty – and in Hellboy's case, substantial – breakfast. He had demolished a pound of smoked bacon and a dozen eggs, almost a whole skillet of fried potatoes, half a dozen biscuits and a pot of coffee. Nathan couldn't even begin to wonder what Hellboy's cholesterol count was – if he had cholesterol, that is.

Vin ate his last mouthful of sausage and watched as Hellboy neatly used his fork to wipe a piece of toast around the egg-yolk dregs on his plate. The huge stone hand rested on the table and the sharpshooter studied it furtively. It couldn't possibly be living tissue, yet it was obviously a part of the big agent, and he looked up to see Hellboy watching him with amusement.

"Nope, it isn't a glove, if that's what you're thinking. It's attached." Hellboy turned his hand over on the table and flexed the fingers and thumb. Vin marvelled at the latent power in the limb, shaking his head in wonder. It was like living rock.

He was on the point of reaching out and touching it, when Ezra interrupted.

"Could we leave this anthropological discussion for now, Mister Tanner, and let our guest tell us just what the hell is going on here?" The undercover agent's voice was reamed with tiredness – it had been a long night, and none of them had garnered much sleep.

Hellboy drank yet another cup of Vin's gut-burning coffee and gave the young agent a quirky grin.

"Good coffee. Just how I like it." He turned to Ezra. "It's a barguest."

Ezra blinked.

"A … a what?"

Hellboy reached over to his duster coat which hung on the back of the chair next to him. Delving into one of its capacious pockets he dragged out a tattered bit of paper. Studying the scrawled writing on it he frowned.

"Just a minute … yeah. That's what it says here – you got yourselves a barguest. A demon hound. A 'Shuck' dog. 'Black Shuck' as it's called in Norfolk, England." He read a little longer, muttering the words to himself, then nodded. "Yeah – here it is. 'There is a popular belief that no one can set eyes on the Shuck Dog and live. It is said that that when someone was dying, people used to say that the black dog was at his heels'." He cocked a dark eyebrow at Ezra. "You look pretty lively to me. I take it you're not plannin' on dying anytime soon, huh?"

Ezra bristled a little.

"So," Josiah said as he swallowed a piece of toast, "How come it's decided to go after Ez? What does it want? Or is it just a sign of … well … death." he finished lamely.

Ezra began to glower, but Hellboy grimaced.

"No idea. You say it's to do with the weathervane. Fairfield Hall, it came from?" He saw Ezra nod. "It's the Fairfield Shuck Dog. Legend has it that Garanhir, leader of the Herlathing – the Wild Hunt - sent one of his hounds to collect the soul of Sir Rodney Talbot of Fairfield 'way back in the 13th century. Not a nice guy. Anyway, he'd been drinking one night and dared the Hunt to take him … so they did. But a monk trapped the hound with words of the Old Way and turned it into a weathervane. Apparently the hound's been trying to get free ever since, so it can return to its master. At least, that's what I was told back at headquarters. I'm not much on research, I gotta say. I just whomp the bad guys."

Buck helped himself to more eggs. It's strange, he thought, how fear gives you an appetite.

"So, could it be that when Maude sent Ez the weathervane, this … this … 'Shuck dog' fixated on him?"

Hellboy looked at Standish.

"Maude?"

Ezra scowled.

"Mother."

"Okay." Hellboy nodded. "Sounds as though that could be it. I'll speak to headquarters today and see what they can come up with. Tom decided you guys needed a hand, and I was gettin' cabin fever anyway so I thought I'd get here early. Good job I did, huh? Oh, by the way Josiah – Kate sends her love."

Six sets of eyebrows hit hairlines.

"Kate?" smiled Buck. "And who, may I ask, is Kate?"

Josiah grinned toothily.

"Professor Kate Corrigan. Tall, blonde, Assistant Director of Field Ops at the B.P.R.D. Beautiful, incredibly intelligent and as stubborn as hell. My kinda lady." He winked at Buck. "And she can read ancient Mayan to boot."

Hellboy finished eating and stood up carefully – Chris' chairs were not really up to coping with four hundred pounds of B.P.R.D. agent.

"I'll have a look around today, if that's okay. You guys go do what you gotta to do – I'll be fine here. I got Diablo to keep me company anyway."

Hellboy looked down at the dog sitting happily beside him, tail wagging. Since Hellboy's arrival Diablo had been a different dog – relaxed and back to his usual self. And for some unknown reason, he had taken quite a shine to the big red agent.

Hellboy patted Diablo on the head and gently pulled his ears.

"Had a dog when I was a kid. Labrador called Mac." He smiled softly, the humour smoothing the grim, angular lines of his demonic face. "We were pals." Reaching onto the table he found a scrap of toast and slipped it to Diablo, who ate it as though he hadn't been fed in a month of Sundays.

Nathan groaned.

"First you guys and now … erm …" the EMT struggled for a moment, still unnerved by the presence of a red creature with a tail and a stone hand, who liked dogs and smoked good Cuban cigars.

"Hellboy. Just Hellboy. Or you can call me HB. My friends call me HB." Hellboy gave them his rare, warm smile that made his amber eyes glow with humour.

Nathan nodded hesitantly.

"Um … HB. Diablo's stomach can be a little sensitive sometimes, I'll warn you now."

Diablo wagged his tail harder at the mention of his name as Hellboy gave the Labrador's dark head a final pat.

"Uh-huh. You get stinky, do you? Well, that's okay. Mac could've emptied Yankee Stadium if you gave him Baby Ruths." Hellboy reached into another pocket of his duster coat and brought out a Twinky. Unwrapping it and breaking it in half, he gave one half to Diablo – who obviously thought Christmas had come a month early – and munched the other half himself with great relish. It was plain that Hellboy had a very sweet tooth.

Team Seven watched this strange being who had dropped into their lives so unexpectedly – a being whose appearance was outlandish, but was so paradoxically human.

Hellboy straightened, towering over the ATF agents, although several of them were big men.

"Okay," he said, buckling on his belt. The huge gun sat butt-forward in its holster and the talismans clinked softly. Shrugging on his duster coat he scratched the stubble on his head, frowning. "Got a hound to find. Weathervane. Barn, right?"

Chris nodded.

"Josiah, I'd like you to take a personal day. Keep Hellboy company, will you?"

Sanchez's head snapped up.

"Chris, I - "

Larabee's eyebrows drew down.

"Josiah, don't argue. You've worked with the B.P.R.D. before, and dealt with shit we can't even begin to understand. Besides …" He added, his lean face softening. "You've had a lot on your plate recently. Take some time out and tell Hellboy what you can. We'll all be back tonight. Ez, I think you ought to stay too."

"Me?" Ezra almost squeaked. "Stay? Here?"

"Yeah," Chris grinned, "Here. I've already cleared it with Travis."

Ezra looked at his team-mates, and began to fizz as he saw the barely-concealed quirks of laughter on the six faces.

"Mister Larabee, if you think I have any intentions of staying one minute longer in this god-forsaken hole then you can just think again! I - "

Chris grinned and tipped a two-fingered salute at the irate undercover agent.

"See you later, guys. Have a nice day."

And he turned and walked out of the house, followed by a chuckling bunch of ATF agents, leaving Ezra in the company of a cheerful Josiah Sanchez and a somewhat bemused BPRD agent.

Hellboy watched out of the window as the vehicles containing five of the members of Team Seven trundled out of the yard, then turned around to gaze at a red-faced and spluttering Standish.

"Right, friend – let's go do some paranormal investigating stuff. Tell me exactly what you saw, and after that we'll go have a look at the weathervane, huh?"

Ezra looked at Hellboy, then at Josiah.

"Insane," he said, almost conversationally. "The world really has gone completely and utterly insane. Potty. Mad as the proverbial Hatter. Nuts. Crazy as a bed bug."

Josiah grinned and patted Ezra on the shoulder.

"Well, Ez, I think you've finally figured it out."

Standish blinked.

"Erm … figured out what, exactly, Josiah?"

Josiah's grin widened.

"Life, Ez … life!"


The day was spent studying the damage done to the door, the tracks Vin found around the barn, and the weathervane itself. Hellboy looked at it from ground level, as he wasn't too sure that Chris' barn roof was strong enough to support his 400-pound bulk. After perusing all of the evidence he returned to the house and spent some time on the 'phone with Tom Manning at B.P.R.D. Headquarters.

By the time the rest of Team Seven returned in the evening, Hellboy, Josiah and Ezra were sitting at the kitchen table drinking soda. Diablo lay draped over Hellboy's boots, snoring happily. The huge red agent didn't seem to mind. Indeed, he was busy telling Josiah and a somewhat disbelieving Standish about the time he had parachuted out of an aeroplane over the Libyan Desert and his parachute had failed to open.

" … finally, I managed to open the reserve 'chute – I was about a hundred feet up, y'know?" He took another swig of the soda.

"So? What happened? I take it the fall didn't kill you!" Josiah grinned.

"Broke my fall on a camel." Hellboy cringed as he remembered the camel's shriek.

Ezra winced.

"What happened to the camel? Oh … don't tell me – dead as a doornail, right?"

Hellboy nodded.

"Yep. Squashed flat as a pamcake (1)." He shrugged. "The Bedouin weren't too happy about it, I can tell you. Said I was a sand demon." He swallowed more soda then wiped his left hand over his mouth. "Hell, I told 'em I was sorry. Hey, guys!" He added, as Chris and the rest of the team piled into the kitchen, taking off heavy coats and unlacing boots. It was a cold night.

Pouring himself a coffee, Chris cocked an eyebrow at Hellboy.

"Well? Come up with anything?"

Everyone fixed their gaze on the B.P.R.D. agent, who scratched the stubble on his head.

"Do you know what day it is?"

"Monday. So what?" Buck asked as he rubbed his hands together to get some warmth into chilled fingers.

"No – I mean, what date is it?" Hellboy replied, unable to stop a hint of sarcasm from creeping into his voice.

"October 31st" JD said promptly, and then his eyes sparked. "Hey! It's Halloween!"

"Give the kid a lollipop!" Hellboy grinned. "Yeah – Halloween. All Hallow's Eve. The ancient festival of Samhain."

There were blank looks from six of the seven. The silence that followed was broken by Josiah's soft baritone.

"Samhain. The night when the barriers between the natural and the supernatural thin and fall away … it is a night when the spirits of the dead can walk the earth, among the living."

"Josiah – sometimes I wonder just how in hell you know all this crap!" Buck shook his head in wonder, like a bear awaking from its winter's sleep.

Josiah grinned ruefully.

"I worked one summer on an archaeological dig at Hadrian's Wall, in the north of England." His eyes sparked at the memory. "I'd just come back from 'Nam … trying to get things straight in my head, I guess." His grin faded. "We found all kinds of stuff … Roman coins, Celtic stone heads, skulls – no bodies … just skulls. There was a place that had been a marsh, and we excavated the peat bog there. Found lots of weapons, jewellery, bits of cloth … and a head." He shivered. "The Celts had a thing about heads. This one was wrapped in a cloak and pinned with a brooch. It was a man's head, with a long, red plait of hair. His face … the tannin in the bog preserves flesh very well … his face – he looked as though he was asleep. Pretty creepy. I suppose he could have been a prisoner who'd been decapitated and his head offered to the spirits of the marsh - bog bodies are not uncommon, dating back thousands of years. This one was not quite so old though, probably from the time of the Roman occupation. But when we'd done all the archaeological stuff and finally brought it back to the camp …" His blue eyes became hooded. "That night … well, we were sitting outside our tents, and I suppose we'd had a few whiskies to keep out the night air, but …" He looked at his compadres and Hellboy, all of them listening intently. He took a deep breath and continued. "We were just getting ready to hit the sack when … when I saw something. Just out of the corner of my eye, I suppose, just outside the edge of the firelight and hidden in the tree shadows. I thought I was seeing things, but … but when I looked harder … it was a man. Or at least I think it was a man. But I swear to God, he was like no man I'd ever seen – and I've seen some shit in my time. He must've been near seven feet tall, and I swear …" His voice caught in his throat, but he continued. "I swear he had antlers, like some great, two-legged stag. I stood up – and he was gone, like quicksilver. But I've never forgotten that moment – those antlers, dark against the moonlight."

"Jesus!" Buck's voice was soft with wonder.

"Garanhir. Herne. Cernunnos. The Stalking Person. Mad sonofagun." Said Hellboy, grimacing. "Well, it looks like he'll come to get his damn' dog back tonight. Or at least, that's what the nerdy guys say back at the B.P.R.D. All we gotta do is sit back and let him, they say."

"Pardon me for being somewhat obtuse, but why has it decided to fixate on me? And why now?" Ezra said testily. "Couldn't this Garanhir character fetch his dratted dog another time? Like, a couple of hundred years ago, instead of frightening the wits out of me?"

Hellboy shrugged.

"Damned if I know."

"Perhaps he's got a thing about Armani suits," drawled Vin, grinning.

"Very funny, Mister Tanner." Ezra scowled.

"So," interrupted Nathan, "All we have to do is wait and see what happens tonight. Right? So, tell me – why shouldn't we just high-tail it out of here? Why stay here like sitting ducks?"

Hellboy turned those deep-set amber eyes on the EMT, and Nathan shivered as he gazed into fathomless, golden depths.

"Because here in this house you're safe. The Hunt can't pass over the threshold. With luck they'll just come pick up the dog and go. I hope that's what they'll do, anyway. You can never be sure. Hey!" Hellboy said, brightening. "It's about supper time, huh? I'm gettin' kinda hungry here."

"HB, I hope to hell this business gets sorted out tonight, because if you stay around here much longer we'll run out of supplies." Josiah grouched.

Hellboy just grinned his lopsided grin and patted his stomach with his stone-like hand.

"Gotta keep my strength up, fellas – I'm a growing boy." He looked around at Team Seven. "Anyone know how to make Paprika Chicken?"

Nathan groaned.

"God help us – if this Wild Hunt doesn't get us, indigestion will!" he said.


The evening passed pleasantly enough.

The food – Paprika Chicken, salad and French fries followed by Vin's lethally sweet Sticky Toffee Pudding with cream – was excellent, despite Nathan's grumbles about calories and upset stomachs. Vin pointed out, quite correctly, that Nathan wasn't averse to a generous helping of dessert despite himself, but all Jackson would say was that if he was about to get munched by a pack of spectral hounds, he thought it wouldn't do any harm to 'live a little'.

For the next few hours they relaxed, although every little noise and creak set them on edge. But Hellboy turned out to be surprisingly good company. Chris sat back in his comfortable chair smoking a cheroot while the big demon and his team swapped stories, and the ATF team leader smiled to himself. Never in a million years, he thought, would he have guessed that he would be sitting in his living room with a big red demon - complete with horn stumps, a tail and a huge stone hand - sprawled on his old sofa. Josiah had even confided to him quietly that Hellboy had hooves instead of feet secreted in his heavy leather boots.

But once you got past the agent's appearance, Chris decided, Hellboy was in fact just an ordinary Joe – a man who adored old black and white movies, liked a beer or two and enjoyed a good cigar. He loved comics, which instantly endeared him to JD, and Chris could see how shy the huge agent was behind that inscrutable gaze when Buck talked about the beautiful Inez, the lady who served behind the bar at their local watering hole, 'the Saloon'. Hellboy was as gauche as a teenager.

Time slipped by and the evening wore on, and as the hands on Chris' old long-case clock crept towards midnight, the atmosphere in the house became more and more edgy. The slow, inexorable tickticktick … began to grind down even Vin's legendary patience, and the young sharpshooter caught himself more than once gazing at the window that looked out onto the yard and the barn beyond. He could almost feel that damn' dog's eyes glaring at him through the wall …

Finally, Hellboy stood up, stretched to his full height and flexed his tail, the tip twitching slightly.

"I'll maybe take a walk, guys – check things out."

Chris caught the glances of his team and levered himself out of his chair.

"Need some company?"

Hellboy shook his head.

"Nope. Anything happens, I can handle it. You guys stay put."

Buck's cobalt gaze looked questioningly at the red agent.

"You sure? We know how to take care of ourselves, HB - "

Hellboy raised a placating right hand.

"I know – I've seen Josiah in action, and if he's anything to go by, you fellas ain't no slouches. But this is my thing, guys, okay? I can't spend my time keeping an eye on you and kickin' butt at the same time, so humour me."

He wandered into the kitchen and lifted his belt and gun, fastening it around his hips. Then he slipped into the huge duster coat and buckled the sleeve over the stone forearm. Rummaging around in the duster coat pocket, he hauled out a cylinder already loaded with the biggest bullets Team Seven had ever seen and checked it. Satisfied, he put it back into the cavernous pocket and squared his enormous shoulders. He was ready.

Within moments he was striding through the hall and out into the frozen clear night.

The silence in the house would have been deafening but for the ticking of Chris' clock in the corner of the room, and the seven men looked at one another. They knew they should not have let Hellboy do this alone – it went against everything they knew, everything they had been taught and experienced in their time as the elite but unconventional Team Seven of Denver's ATF division. But they also knew Hellboy was right. Each of them knew that they had to trust the big agent – if they could not do that, then it could cost Hellboy his life. Trust was everything.

Ezra finally broke the impasse.

"I think a cup of coffee is needed here, gentlemen, don't you think?" His green gaze was questioning.

Team Seven started awake as if synchronised.

"Erm … yeah, Ez, that'd be great," muttered JD. The young agent looked at Chris, but didn't say anything.

Larabee caught the question in the hazel eyes, and nodded.

"Yeah, I know JD – we should be out there too. But Hellboy's right. He knows what he's doing, just like Ez does when he's undercover, or you when you're setting up a wire. If we're needed …"

He left the sentence unfinished, and JD nodded in understanding. If the crunch came, Hellboy would get all the backup he needed.

As they trooped into the kitchen after Ezra, none of them noticed Diablo wander into the hall and sit behind the front door, ears pricked. The old dog cocked his head, as though he could hear something just beyond the scope of any human hearing, and then his ears went flat against his head. Turning, his tail tucked firmly against his rump, he headed into the guest room and slid under Ezra's bed.

At that moment the clock struck twelve.

TBC


Author's note:

(1) Pamcakes. Yep, that's what Hellboy calls 'em, and has done since he was a boy.