"No ma'am," I said, bailing Mom out. "But I promise to keep up with classes online."

Mrs. Stevens' disapproving expression softened a little. "I'll hold you to that. If you're going to be away a long time, I expect to receive word that you've completed your GED, or I'll call up Colonel Black and give him a piece of my mind."

My head whirled at the thought of being gone that long. "Hopefully I'll be back before then."

For the first time ever, Mrs. Stevens reached across the desk and patted my hand. "I hope so, too. It's been a pleasure having you at Greenhill."

Choked up, all I could do was nod. I found myself wondering if I'd ever see this place, or Mrs. Stevens, again. I rarely got homesick; what was my deal? Why was this departure so much harder than normal?

Maybe it was because I saw the risks more clearly now. I knew what was at stake, and I knew the costs. I hadn't been on a long op since Afghanistan; there was a lot of baggage riding on this trip. Mike was righta"I needed to get my head straight or I'd put people in danger.

Students were arriving by the time we left the office and Mom asked, "Do you want to catch up with your friends before we go?"

I shook my head. No, that was the last thing I wanted to do. I needed to get out of here before Will or anyone else showed up. Mom led me down the main hallway toward the front door, and I stared at my feet to avoid talking to people. I thought if I looked like I was being herded out school because I was sick or in trouble, no one would come close. It almost worked, until I took one last glance back, just to remind me of home during the weeks to comeaand caught Ella standing halfway down the hall, watching us leave. Even from this distance, I could tell she'd gone pale. She knew what was going on, where I was going. It made my chest ache to know my job still caused her to worry.

I reached into my jeans' pocket and pulled out the St. Christopher medal she gave me last year, to keep me safe. I don't know why I did it, reflex maybe, but I made sure she saw me tuck it into my jacket pocket, right over my heart. Then I turned away.

It was the only goodbye I could manage.

After picking me and Uncle Mike up at the airport in Colorado Springs, driving one of the nondescript black SUVs always on hand, Lieutenant Johnson sang "Rubberband Man" by The Spinners all the way to Fort Carson.

Yes, he really did. And it wasn't pretty.

I tapped Johnson on the shoulder from the backseat. "Lieutenant, do you think we could turn on the radio or something? I'm worried we're gonna get pulled over for noise pollution."

He only sang louder. Finally, I shrugged and sang with him. Or, to be precise, I sang over him. My voice wasn't great, but his was awful, so it helped somewhat.

"You're in a better mood today," Uncle Mike said, giving me a slight smile when we finished caterwauling. "Guess your date with the cheerleader went well."

"Cheerleader?" Johnson checked me out in the review mirror. "Nice!"

"Not really." I avoided his eyes by staring at the floor matsa"they needed vacuuming. "She wasn't my type."

The knife-spirit made a smug sound in the back of my head and I glared at my backpack. The blade was stored in its metal carrying case inside. I couldn't see the handle glowing through all the protective layers, but Tink certainly had my attention.

"You got your way this time," I whispered, "but that was still uncool."

Then why are you relieved?

I chose not to answer. Ella's face was too fresh in my mind to argue.

"asorry it didn't work out," Mike was saying. Per usual, I missed part of a conversation because the blade-spirit broke into my regular programming.

"It's okay. So," I said in a rush to avoid any man-to-man wisdom sharing, "When's our first briefing?"

"As soon as I drag your sorry butt onto base and to the conference room," Johnson said. "We're leaving tomorrow night and the colonel has a lot to go over."

"Hey, I forgot to ask. How's Aunt Julie?" I asked Mike. She worked on the Pentagram Strike Force with us, as the general's lead military intelligence expert. "Is she okay with you deploying?"

He didn't answer right away and Johnson shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"So that's a no, huh?" I said.

"That's a no. She'd rather be in the field," Uncle Mike said, with an air of finality that told me not to ask any more questions.

"Any word from Brandt?" I asked, thinking that might be safer ground for a conversation starter.

Johnson shot me a strange look. "I better let you talk to Colonel Black first."

I had a funny feeling I wouldn't like what the colonel had to tell me.

Base was humming when we arrived. Fort Carson sat on wildlife conservation land in the heart of Colorado, surrounded by mountains, but the base itself was like a small city and always on the move, always awake. Humvees and other vehicles trundled up and down the main drag at a steady clip day and night. Soldiers jogged in formation, or walked from building to buildinga"a sea of desert-print BDUs, super-short haircuts and boots.

Johnson dumped us out in front of a square, beige-bricked office building. Colonel Black's situation room, a conference room he took over three years ago and never vacated, was in the back, down a long hallway. The setup hadn't changed much since the last time I was here. Paper maps covered the walls, stuck through with pins of various colors: blue for potential paranormal activity, red for active missions, yellow for ongoing investigations.

Botswana was stuck through with no less than a half-dozen black pins.

"Unca"Major Tannen?" I turned to Uncle Mike. "What's up with the black-headed pins?"

"Active, unknown threat," he said, passing me to meet up with Colonel Black at the lectern.

Each time I saw the colonel after a break, I was struck by how fast he had aged. When I met him two years ago in the woods across base, he'd had more pepper than salt in his hair and no real lines on his face. Over time, though, his hair had gone steadily grayer. Today it was the color of dirty snow and there were new wrinkles around his eyes. Physically, he was imposing as ever at six-five and at least two-sixty of packed muscle, but that was offset by the reading glasses perched on his head. I didn't know his age for sure; he couldn't be more than fifty, though. Again, I wondered if the stress of leading our team was getting to him.

Colonel Black looked up to catch me gaping and waved me to the front of the room. "Archer, good to see you, son." He nodded to Mike. "How did Mrs. Archer take it?"

Uncle Mike winced. "She's not happy, and she's holding me personally responsible for Matt's future if his grades suffer or if he flunks his SATs."

One more thing to worry about. "It's not a big deal. If I don't end up monster food by the time the SATs roll around next year, I'm sure I'll do okay."

Both of them looked horrified by that proclamation, so I added, "Mamie's making me flash cards for the exam."

"Well, if Mamie is helping you study, you'll be ready," Colonel Black said in approving tones. "Sergeant Davis will be by later to set up your online schooling program."

"Davis?" I groaned. Anyone but that overwound dictator. Davis had no sense of humor and was about as flexible as a tire iron. The man pressed creases into his BDUs while we were in the field last year. In Afghanistan. "Guess that means I'll have a satellite uplink in Africa to keep up with my classes, huh?"

"Nothing but the best for you, Matt." Uncle Mike grinned evilly. "And I'll be there to make sure you actually study."

Studying in the savannah. Nice. It was better than sitting through classes all day, mortal danger or not. "Fine, whatever. So who's on my team?"

"Murphy went with Major Ramirez to Peru, so he's off the list for this operation. From the original group, just me and Lieutenant Johnson," Uncle Mike said. "We're getting some new support staff today. Two desert combat specialists and one ordinance specialist. I'll be C.O."

The idea of getting a new team unsettled me. We'd lost two men who worked closely with me in the pasta"Schmitz and Pattersona"along with a number of guys I didn't know well. Even if Murphy and I didn't get along too well, he was familiar. Crabby, but familiar. Walking into an active hunt with newbies at my back was cause for concern. The last time I'd done that, Johnson had to shoot one of them to save him from being turned into a zombie.

I shuddered. The nightmares from Afghanistan were still too vivid, too fresh, for me to dwell on for long. "I hope they're good."

Almost like I had given them their cue, boots stomped down the hall. Sergeant Davis, his face frozen in a permanent scowl, led three men into the conference room. "Sir, Lieutenant Lanningham , Staff Sergeant Dorland , and Sergeant Tyson, reporting for duty."

While Colonel Black welcomed the new guys, I took a moment to look them over. Sergeant Tyson couldn't have been more than twenty-three, with a baby face and blond hair. My five o'clock shadow was thicker than this guy's. I doubted he shaved more than once a week, while I was up to every other dayanot that I was proud of that or anything. Well, maybe a little.

Staff Sergeant Dorland, in contrast, was a tall, wiry black guy who squinted like he was X-raying the entire room. He examined me with the same intensity, and I fought an urge to squirm under his gaze.

Of the three, Lieutenant Lanningham was the one who looked most like what you'd expect from Special Forces: barrel-chested, biceps like bowling balls, and a faintly square head with dark hair buzzed down to a millimeter.

"Who's on ordinance?" I asked. I needed to size up the guy who'd be carrying the C-4 before I set foot outside these doors with him.

Dorland stood up straighter, like he was pretending not to be shocked to hear this kid asking him a question in a commanding tone. I knew he was, though. They always were, at first.

"That would be meaum, sir?" Dorland shot a glance at the colonel. I was wearing BDUs, but without rank or ornament except for the pentagram patch that symbolized our team. I guess he wanted to be safe, just in case I was an officer.

Shooting Davis a smirk, I said, "Not, *sir,' Staff Sergeant. I work for a living."

Davis' pasty face turned purple and he growled at me. I guessed he didn't like being quoted. Or maybe he was surprised I remembered a conversation he and I'd had two years ago. Either way, I got a laugh out of it.

Colonel Black rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Archer, for that amusing aside. Let's get on with the introductions, shall we?"

"Sir, yes sir." I turned back to Dorland. "As long as you're good at blowing things up, welcome aboard."

Dorland flashed me an uncertain smile that said, "who is this kid and why is he asking about blowing crap up?" I decided I liked him. He was off balance by the whole situation, but trying hard not to show it. He had steady hands, tooa"important in his line of work.

This one is fine. Good soul.

Tink rarely commented on other people, so that was an A+ recommendation if I ever heard one. I turned my back on the group and wandered to the window, murmuring, "Any thoughts on the others?"

The big one is worried. He will be cautious, but that is an asset. The little one is proud to be here. He's the one to watch.

Interesting.

"Mr. Archer? You planning to join us?" the colonel asked, interrupting our conversation.

I could feel the spirit retreat from my mind; she wasn't planning to tell me anything else. I snapped to attention. "Sir, yes sir."

Casting me a weary glance, Colonel Black asked everyone to find a seat up front. "Welcome to Pentagram Strike Force, gentlemen. As you've been told, this is the point of no return. If you have any doubts, ask to be relieved now, because once I explain the mission, you're locked in until it's complete or you're too injured to continue."

Dead silence.

"All right," the colonel said. "Everything I'm about to tell you is so high clearance, Congress doesn't even know about the majority of our mission. The most important thing you should understand, however, is that Mr. Archer is more valuable than anyone else in this room, including me. Your mission, above anything else, is to protect him. Archer stays alive to work, no matter what."

I watched the men as the colonel laid out the specifics, especially when he backed up the stories with slides of dead monsters. Lanningham swallowed a lot, like he was forcing puke down his throat. Dorland stared at the pictures with detachment, as if he was analyzing each scene for relevant information. Both those reactions were reasonable, in my opinion.

Tyson worried me, though. His eyes lit up at each new monster. All he needed was a jumbo bucket of popcorn, and he could be watching a B movie marathon rather than a military briefing. He didn't look scared, or cautious. Not one bit. Like usual, the knife-spirit keyed in on something I couldn't have. I'd have to watch Tyson close; I had a feeling he'd flip when he saw his first monster, probably right when I needed backup the most.

Finally, the colonel put up a picture of me looking dead crazy and covered in gold-tinged blood. Everyone turned to stare at me in unison. Even Tyson looked unsettled, and no wonder. That picture was particularly telling; I'd just finished off a drove of Kali demons in the Himalayas. It was also the first time the knife had really taken me over during battle. The Matt in the picture clearly wasn't me and the gleam in my eyes hinted at something otherworldly. Something dangerous.

Mike shifted in his seat. I guessed he hadn't seen this picture, either. But he'd seen me that night and claimed it still freaked him out. Now I could see why; I looked psycho and I really hoped Mom would never see me like that. She'd wonder what kind of demon spawn she'd given birth to.

"I think that's enough for today," the colonel said. "Be back here at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow. Dismissed. "

The three new guys rose and filed from the room. Once the door closed, I asked, "Soawhat's the bad news?"

Colonel Black started. "You think I didn't tell them everything?"

"Hardly," I said. "You told them *Botswana,' *Monsters,'' *keep Matt alive.' Oh, and showed them that I'm a dangerous, crazy guy who likes to stab things. That information may've been enough for them to handle today, but I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, sir."

The colonel took a seat next to me. "Brandt thinks he's finally found the shaman the Lions were after during the last wave of monsters. He's part of the San people, the Bushmen, living on a settlement in the Kalahari desert."

"Well, that's good news, right?" My blood started pumping. Maybe we were about to get more answers. "Could this shaman help us pinpoint the source of the new attacks?"

The colonel shook his head. "Noa"because he's dead."

Chapter Nine.

Join the army, see the world, they said. I just never thought I'd be doing it before my seventeenth birthday. I'd kind of hoped to visit cool places like Spain and Tokyo, not places that weren't even on a standard map. I looked out the window of the Humvee at the desert stretching to the horizon. Yeah, this was not your typical garden spot.

While it was fall in Montana, it was late spring in the Kalahari. The sky arched far and blue without a cloud to be seen, only a merciless sun that beat down on our helmets with a white light. Spring was short herea" about six weeks long at most. The desert was on the cusp of summer and temperatures reached ninety-five by three in the afternoon. What surprised me, though, was that despite the heat and lack of water, plants still grew: grasses, the occasional tree. Even so, this wasn't the most friendly land to call home.

Our Humvees fought the sand between giant dunes that reached dozens of feet above our heads. I squirmed in my seat, fighting off a yawn. My muscles were stiff from sitting for so long and the heat baking my BDUs wasn't too comfortable, either. We'd been driving for hours and still hadn't reached the outpost where Brandt's team was stationed. It was supposedly an easy drive from base camp to the nearest San village, the one where the dead shaman had once lived. Apparently this village had one foot in the old ways, and one foot in the new. They'd been "resettled" away from their ancestral lands on the game preserve and now raised cattle on the savannah rather than hunting and gathering like traditional clans did. Some clans had won the right to return to the game preserve, but this group had decided to stay where they were.

Lulled by the rocking Humvee, I'd almost nodded off when Johnson shook my arm. "We're here."

I sat up and stretched, feeling stupid with exhaustion, and peered out the window. Brandt's camp looked like a dozen others I'd seen, just with different scenery. Unlike Afghanistan, this desert wasn't mountainous and the heat was an entirely different animal than the muggy rainforests of Peru. Still, there was a sameness to it, too.

Four canvas tents huddled together inside a razor wire fence. I found out later that the wire wasn't to defend against humans, but more to keep out roving wildlife. It wasn't to fend off demons, that was for sure; any monster worth its hide would cut through razor wire like it was made of spider webs.

A few soldiers sat on upended crates near the entrance to camp, eating MREs, but popped to attention the second they saw Uncle Mike coming. An oak leafa"denoting a major's ranka"sewn onto his BDU pocket caused that kind of behavior a lot.

"Gentlemen, we're the reinforcements Colonel Black sent. Is Captain Brandt around?" Uncle Mike asked.

A braying laugh came from the nearest tent. "Know what three eights and two Jacks mean, Baker? Means I'm taking your money."

I knew that laughaI'd heard it mocking me before. Brandt.

One of the privates guarding the gate winced and gave Uncle Mike an apologetic glance. "Yes, Major. I'llajust take you to him, sir."

"Seems Brandt hasn't changed much since the last time I saw him," I said to Johnson. "He's still a jackass, huh?"

Johnson rumbled a laugh. "More than you know, kid. I can't wait to see how you two get along."