G.H.O.S.T. Teams: Book 1 - Magic

This book is dedicated to my parents.

To my mother, who gave me my love of Science Fiction and always encouraged my imagination.

To my father, who gave me my work ethic and taught me to take pride in everything that I do.

I love you both.

Acknowledgements

Special Thanks to Lazlo for lending me his character Visine and spending countless hours on the phone as my sounding board for this story.

Special Thanks to The Revengel for letting me flesh my character out in your Delta City. BD was born in my mind but he grew up in your city. For that I will always be grateful.

Special Thanks to Steve Tarr for being my first reader and providing invaluable feedback.

Special Thanks to Cory Matsui for consulting on government agencies and jurisdictions and all that jazz. Good stuff bro.

Special Thanks to Jerome Jacinto for the amazing cover art. More of his work can be seen here.
http://chichapie.deviantart.com/

Special Thanks to Eric Krause for giving style to my cover lettering.

And of course I want to thank all of my family and friends who have been there over the years. While you may not have contributed to this book directly, you definitely contributed to my life. I am the man that I am today because of the influences of each of you.

Two months ago, a chance encounter brought me face to face with my first vampire. He was attacking a jogger in the park and I asked him to stop. When he refused I asked again, with a sharp stick. What I didn’t realize at the time was that someone was watching. Apparently, it’s a really big deal to beat a vampire, all by yourself, with no supernatural training to speak of. Although to be fair, I did spend the last decade of my life as an assassin for a ninja cult. But nevertheless, word of my fight reached somebody high up and the next day I got a visit from the organization. I wanted a way to atone for the sins of my past and they offered me a job. So here I am. A GHOST.

The Global Hunters Of Supernatural Threats are a secret worldwide organization charged with policing the paranormal. For jurisdictional reasons we operate in the United States as the SIA. Our offices were right behind me. Located in a corner wing of a US Commerce building between 14th and 15th streets. It was a massive five-story stone and marble structure that blended in nicely with all of the surrounding government buildings. Perfectly boring and reasonably inconspicuous. Even the stone gargoyles perched on the roof were tucked into nooks and crannies to hide them from view. And of course our location meant that we were catty-corner to one of my favorite things in DC, the Washington Monument.

As I stood there I remembered visiting that five hundred and fifty five foot tall tower as a child. Both of my parents were gone now. I’d lost my father when I was unable to save him and my mother when she helped me avenge him. But long before all of the bloodshed in my life I was almost normal. And in one of those rare moments when I got to spend time with my mom, she brought me here.

I remember how excited I was to get to the top and see the city. It’s the tallest structure in DC and the view is magnificent. As we waited in line to head to the top, my mother pointed to the monument and showed me the two-toned exterior. A third of the way up the obelisk there is a very obvious change in the stone’s color. The Monument was started before the American Civil War, which meant that once the fighting began, construction halted. As the war concluded and construction resumed, although they used the same type of rock, they were forced to mine it from a neighboring quarry. This caused the bottom third of the Monument to be a few shades lighter than the top two-thirds. Her whispered telling of its history made me think that my mother was sharing a secret with me that no one else knew. Something that was visible to the whole world but only we noticed it. It reminded me of my current job and the monsters that are hidden right in front of us. We are all similar stones from adjacent quarries. But the creatures that go bump in the night are definitely of a different tone.

It was probably silly to stand out here reminiscing. But not too long ago an earthquake caused some major damage to the monument. So when Vlad told me that the apocalypse was coming, I was worried about its survival. So I gave it one last look before turning around and heading across the street to the office. I touched the black leather band on my left wrist and thought of my friend.

“Okay Vlad, I’m heading into work. Stay out of trouble,” I said.

“Will do Boss,”
his voice chimed in my head.

I should probably explain that. Vlad is my car. Two months ago that wouldn’t have made much sense to me either. Vlad is the spirit of a long dead dragon. Through an odd series of events, he bonded with my car in order to prevent his soul from being destroyed. I communicate with him through the leather band on my wrist that, I am sorry to say, is comprised of the last of his corpse. I have tried several times to free his spirit from the car, but he fights against every attempt. He claims that it is his place to watch over me. Dragons can be odd that way.

In his favor is the fact that I own a very cool car. It is an absurdly futuristic concept vehicle that was clearly inspired by the old Pontiac Firebird. One of the many perks Vlad enjoys by being the dragon of a rich kid. The first time that I drove him into the office however, all hell broke loose. It turns out that a dragon soul sets off every magical alarm in the building. The place went nuts. It was a very funny moment until I found out that I couldn’t drive Vlad to work anymore. So he chills in my garage while I take the metro, at least until I can convince the boss to clear him with security.

Sure that may be a bit presumptuous. Especially since today will be the first time that I actually meet the boss and my new team. But who wouldn’t want to do a favor for a nice guy like me. In addition to being a badass super ninja I also dressed up in honor of our meeting. A collared shirt and a dark suit jacket complimented my white sneakers and blue jeans. The lack of a tie goes without saying. I refuse to tie a noose around my own neck.

I entered our building and had the misfortune of meeting someone new on the security force. There was the usual song and dance as he got one of the senior guys to verify my identity. You see when you are a white dude with the surname Chang, people tend to do a double take when they see your name. But I finally made it to through and into the elevator. Striking the button for the fifth floor sent me on my way. Moving at the speed of bureaucracy, the elevator eventually reached the top. Finally a chime let me know I’d arrived a moment before the doors slid open to reveal a large gray hallway.

Three dark wooden doors flanked each side leading up to the ominous double door at the end of the hall. As I approached the doors a receptionist, complete with large desk, seemed to appear just to my left. I didn’t know how they did it, some trick of the light perhaps, but she was out of sight until I was almost right on top of her. Even at first glance I could tell that she was a no-nonsense broad. Her light brown hair had been pulled back into a tight bun revealing a strong neck and sharp chin. Black framed glasses outlined eyes that had seen the better half of a century. A slight smile crossed her thin lips as we made eye contact. It was the kind of smile one would expect from a hungry bear. I knew instantly that she didn’t plan to put up with any lip from me. I opened my mouth to speak, hoping to win her over with my charm, but she cut me off before I could even get a word out.

“Mr. Chang, please head on in. He is expecting you,” she said.

I smiled at her because she knew my name. It was only then that I took a moment to realize how large this seemingly cloaked reception area really was. A small couch and chair graced the left wall and a pair of chairs surrounded a water cooler on the right. I thought about getting a drink of water when I heard the lightest of throat clearings from the receptionist. I met her gaze as she gave me the same smile as before. Against my nature I stayed quiet and stepped into the office.

The double doors swung open of their own accord. As soon as I stepped in they silently shut behind me. The room in front of me was immense. The whole office looked as if it had been carved out of a single enormous block of wood. The bookshelves lining the walls seemed to converge on a desk that was big enough for its own hot tub. It was an office on steroids.

The boss, Mr. Dutton, was sitting in a large brown leather chair facing away from me. If my nose was in full working order today then the small wisps of smoke rising up from the chair were from a fine cigar. I say fine because it seems to fit the extravagant atmosphere of the office. I don’t actually know anything about cigars. They are very un-ninja.

“Chang…
’puff’
…you’re late,” he stated, his voice deep and booming.

“Yes sir, should’ve turned left at Albuquerque,” I smiled.

I was hoping for at least the slightest of chuckles. Instead I was graced with the slow motion unveiling of the mammoth man called Dutton. As the large backed leather chair spun around I started to realize that the stories of his size were understated. If we had a company football team, he could be our entire front line. He wasn’t fat or covered in steroid induced muscle, but rather someone who had grown large because of good genetics. He looked like Andre the Giant, with wider shoulders.

His dark brown skin seemed light compared to those piercing black eyes. He had no facial hair and a shaved head that flowed down into his wide neck. For a man who appeared to be in his fifties, he was in incredible shape. Broad shoulders threatened to bust out of his dark jacket. His thin blue tie was almost lost in the gray shirt that struggled to hold itself together. A slight smile crossed his lips as he leaned back in his chair, causing it to squeak as all comfy chairs do. I was watching the little wisps of smoke rolling off of his cigar when I realized that he was waiting for me to say something.

“Sorry sir,” I tried.

I straightened up, putting my five-foot-eleven frame at attention, as he looked me over. The expression on his face changed just enough to let me know that he wasn’t impressed. He took another drag on his cigar, exhaling a large puff of smoke before finally speaking again in his deep voice. Dutton had a confident and slow cadence to his speech.

“It’s time to meet the team,” he said.

As if on cue a large wooden door, next to the main entrance, opened and out stepped five individuals. Two of which were very much my type…Hot. I took half a step towards the two ladies in question when a wiry young gentleman, a hair over six-feet tall, and wearing a three-piece tweed suit stepped in my way. A pair of round glasses and a red bowtie accentuated the young black man who extended his hand towards me. On the whole he felt English, a suspicion that was confirmed the moment he spoke with an easily identifiable accent. I instantly pegged him as the team’s walking encyclopedia, our supernatural specialist.

“Greetings, Mr. Chang, my name is Froedrick Blair and I must say that it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” he squealed in the Queen’s English.

“Froedrick you say?”

“That is correct, Mr. Chang, I am in fact named after the third century monk…” he said before I cut him off.

“Another time Freddy,” I said, patting him on the shoulder, “Now let’s meet the rest of the squad, starting with…”

I stepped towards the fiery redhead as Freddy stumbled to correct me on his name. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, although the fine lines at the corners of her eyes and the depth of her green eyes made me think that my guess was short by a decade. There was a sophisticated beauty about her that was enchanting. She had to be the team witch.

“Hi, I’m Bruce, and you must be…”

“I am Kara Tremont, Mr. Chang, Ms Kara Tremont,” she said with a slight Irish accent and a small smile.

It was the kind of smile that a woman gives to an amusing boy. Not the reaction I was hoping for. Her pale skin and dainty nose were accented by a small trail of freckles across her cheeks. She was wearing a navy coat and matching skirt that hinted at her voluptuous figure. Deep red boots raised her height a couple of inches to about five-foot-seven and complimented her hair perfectly. I decided to say something suave.

“Ms you say, well since we are…”