"Interlude: Morning, noon and night”
Morning
Dan Ketch rolled over on his back, feeling the sunlight on his closed eyelids and realized that he had almost forgotten that, of all the things he’d missed being damned, possessed and dead, sex was the thing he’d missed the most.
He had just decided that he was done being Ghost Rider and was just going to spend the rest of his life in bed, when he heard movement around him.
“Hey, smiley,” a female voice said. “Rise and shine and get your lazy butt out of bed.”
Dan blinked and looked up at Stacy Dolan. She’d dressed for work and was holding a glass of orange juice.
“Morning,” he murmured.
“Let’s go,” She said. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
“What’s up?” he asked, sitting up. “If you’re going to work, I figured I could…”
“No, you can’t,” Stacy told him, sternly, holding out the glass to him. “I’m not spending my day worrying that while you’re here Dracula attacks. My renter’s insurance doesn’t cover demon fights.”
“Um…but, I thought…?” Dan said. “We…?”
“Look,” Stacy said, leaning in and giving him a kiss. “Last night was nice. As crazy and occasionally horrific you have made my life, I’ve missed you, and last night was really nice, but we’re taking this slow.”
Dan took the glass and held it in both hands, focusing on the juice, not the woman in front of him.
“Yeah, okay, I get it,” he muttered.
Stacy put a finger under his chin and guided him up to look at her.
“Do you really?” she asked.
“Yeah, I do,” he admitted. “Can’t say I’m happy about it, but I get where you’re coming from. I’ve…”
“No,” Stacy interrupted, stepping back. “Don’t have time for moping, Dan. I have got to get to work. There is a major blow-out coming between some of the big drug gangs in the city and rumors of vampires…”
“Yeah, I might…um…” Dan started, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact.
“Don’t have time for that either,” Stacy said, reaching down and tossing Dan’s jeans at him.
# # # # # # # # # #
Fifteen minutes later, they were out in front of Stacy’s apartment building.
“Look,” she said, giving him a hug. “It’s going to be nuts the next couple days, so don’t sit around feeling sorry for yourself. Call me Friday.”
She gave him a quick kiss on his scruffy cheek and was gone before Dan could say anything. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and, with a half-smile, watched her walk away.
“She seems a nice young lady,” a voice said, handing him a take-out coffee cup.
“Yeah,” Dan nodded, accepting the cup and taking a sip. “I never thought…what the hell…! Who the hell are you?”
Dan turned and found himself facing a middle-aged man, slightly shorter than him, balding with dark hair and a goatee. He wore a perfectly tailored grey suit with a dark blue overcoat.
“Good morning,” the man said, with a sardonic smile. “I’m Doctor Anthony Druid. I was wondering if I could have a word?”
He made a ‘after you’ gesture towards a small park across the street and despite his concern and confusion, Dan Ketch followed. The two men were soon settled on a bench, watching the people wander by.
“Druid?” Dan muttered. “Why do I know that name?”
“I have been an occult investigator for many years,” the older man explained. “As well a member of the Avengers…”*
*[Most recently, as part of the West Coast branch during Josh Reynolds’ awesome reign on that particular title! – EiC Dave]
“You’re the one that got most of your team killed!” Dan interrupted, nodding to himself.
“I was being mind-controlled by a time traveling alien at the time,” Druid said, darkly.
“And that excuse works for you?” Dan shrugged. “Hey, I don’t judge. I’ve screwed up pretty bad, myself.”
“We might be getting off track,” Druid frowned. “As I’ve said, I am an occult scholar and investigator. Due to some…unfortunate incidents in my past, I like yourself, am generally believed to be dead, as well as not being viewed kindly by a great deal of the mystical and super hero community…”
“We’re both screw ups that nobody wants to talk to. Got it,” Dan said, sounding more bored than suspicious. “What do you want?”
“I am looking for individuals with special knowledge and abilities to help in my efforts,” Druid said.
“Yeah, no,” Dan interrupted. “I already have a team of my own, kind of.”
“Dear lord no,” Druid said, with a rueful smile and headshake. “I’ve had enough of super teams to last me several more lifetimes. All I’m looking to do is set up a loose network of people, occult freelancers if you will.”
“You want someone on call in case a demon needs punching in the face,” Dan nodded, sipping his coffee. “What’s in it for me?”
“I would then return the favor, being available should you need advice when ‘punching it in the face’ isn’t the proper solution.”
“And if I say no?” Dan asked.
“Well, then I use my powers to shatter your will and bind your soul!” Druid intoned.
“What?” Dan snapped sitting up, feeling the Ghost Rider ready to emerge.
“Oh, relax,” the other man said, sitting back. “If you say ‘no’, I leave you to enjoy your coffee and I move on to the other names on my list. You really need to learn not to be so impulsive or you’ll be no help to yourself, let alone me.”
Dan couldn’t think of any response that didn’t make him seem any less like a sullen teenager, so he sat back and sipped his coffee.
Which was actually pretty good. Druid might be a bit of a dick, but if teaming up with him meant this coffee on a regular basis, Dan felt he could put up with the attitude.
He exhaled deeply and focused on what Druid was offering and realizing that, as an idea, it did not suck. He was currently on the outs with Doctor Strange, hell, most of the supernatural community, now that he thought about it and aside from the other three Riders, didn’t have much of a support net if things got hairy.
And if there was anything he’d learned since becoming Ghost Rider, is things get hairy, on a regular basis and at the worst possible time.
“I need to think about this,” Dan said.
“Of course,” Druid nodded. He made a flourishing gesture and handed the magically appearing business card over to the younger man. “You can reach me at this number once you have decided, one way or the other. If I haven’t heard from you in three days, I’ll assume you have declined and move on. If something arises and I have need of your services, or vice versa, we can consider that a ‘trial run’, see how this arrangement would work out.”
Druid got to his feet, brushed at his suit and gave Dan a nod in farewell.
“If this is the start of my day,” Dan muttered, thoughtfully taking a last sip of coffee. “I can’t wait to see what the afternoon is like.”
# # # # # # # # # #
Noon
Out in the mid-west, Johnny Blaze had taken a break on his journey to reunite with his wife and kids, for gas and some lunch.
He found himself at the local fairgrounds, mixing with the locals and enjoying the spectacle of a motorcycle stunt show.
The event featured motorcycle racing by a dozen assorted local racers; some out of towners and a few members of the Thunder riders stunt team.
Afterwards, the full team performed.
Johnny had to admit, while he was really looking forward to seeing his family, it was nice to just lean on the railing and let his inner ‘biker geek’ loose and check out the variety of bikes and riding styles.
The hot dog was good and he was content to let the murmur of the crowd and bike noise wash over him. He was thinking it’d be best to hit the road after this race. Traffic would be light with the crowd staying for the stunt show, when a discordant tone in the background crowd noise caught his attention.
It wasn’t a cheer, but rather a tone of concern and upset.
Johnny looked around, puzzled. He could feel something wrong, but couldn’t figure out what.
Then he saw the kid.
He couldn’t be older than three or four and had taken advantage of his parent’s momentary distraction to squeeze between the barriers to get a better look at the motorcycles.
He was now standing in the path of the quickly approaching half dozen racers, at a particular narrow stretch of the track.
Even if all the racers managed to avoid hitting the boy, there wasn’t enough room that they could avoid colliding with each other or the barriers at the sides of the track.
Somebody was going to the hospital, if not the morgue.
Tossing aside his hot dog, Johnny Blaze leapt the barrier and raced across the dirt track, a nimbus of hellfire enveloping his body. He stretched an arm out behind him and a streak of flame shot out from his fingertips, arced up and over the crowd.
He quickly reached the child and scooped him up, but that brief pause was enough time for the six racers to be nearly on top of him.
With a roar like an angry beast, Ghost Rider’s blazing motorcycle leapt the barrier and he, with the boy in hand, jumped onto it and then wheelie’d over the far barrier to the safety of the grassy median at the center of the track.
The racers skidded and struggled to maneuver, but stayed up and avoided any collision, kicking up a cloud of dust and noise as they sped past what was almost the scene of tragedy.
Ghost Rider set the slightly dazed youngster down.
“You need to mind your parents, boy,” he intoned.
“Uh-huh,” the boy nodded vigorously.
One kind of chaos was soon replaced by another, as the track crew, the boys’ family and various members of the crowd rushed across the track to the duo.
“He’s okay, folks!” a voice announced over the fairgrounds’ primitive PA system. “Bit shook up but in one piece! All thanks to the stunt riding and special effects wizardry of our very special guest, Mister Johnny Blaze!”
Johnny reabsorbed the hellfire, looking up at the nearest loudspeaker at the announcement and finding himself a part of the show, instead of facing police and a frightened mob.
He handed the child over to his parents and accepted various handshakes and congratulations. He felt a bit dazed by the positive attention and was even further surprised when a trio of people pushed their way through the crowd, calling his name.
A lanky blonde man in a white cowboy hat clapped Johnny on the shoulder.
A shorter African-American man in glasses and a curvy African-American woman soon joined him. All three wore matching blue and white jumpsuits.
“Johnny Blaze, holey crap!” the blonde man exclaimed. “I heard you were dead!”
“Cowboy! Wrench! Georgia!” Johnny exclaimed back, struggling to make his voice heard, as well as return handshakes and a hug from Wrench’s wife, Georgia.
The trio quickly hustled him away from the crowd and they rode their bikes to the far end of the fairgrounds.
Two RVs were parked side by side and in between was an oasis containing a makeshift workbench (boards on sawhorses), a fire pit, a half dozen assorted lawn chairs and a couple coolers.
Sitting around the fire with a beer, Johnny slumped comfortably in his chair, taking in his three friends.
Much as he liked being on the road, it had been a long trip with a heavy helping of strangeness and time to think.
“Nice to see you guys,” he said. “Been too long.”
“Well, we did think you were dead, pardner,” Cowboy shrugged.
“Yeah,” Wrench nodded, from the workbench. “At least twice.”
“I think what the ‘Tact Brothers’ are trying to say,” Georgia said. “Is good to see you again.”
“So, how’d you get ‘better’?” Wrench asked, not looking up from the bike engine he was tinkering with.
“Long story,” Johnny said, taking a long pull of his beer.
“I thought you…uh…quit being Ghost Rider?” Georgia asked.
“Also a long story,” Johnny said. “But, a different long story. My life seems to be made up of them. How about you guys? I saw the posters when I stopped for gas, but it’s been years, so my brain didn’t make the connection that these Thunder riders, were the ones I knew. What happened to the rest of Team America?”
“About the time lawyers told us we couldn’t use that name,” Cowboy said, leaning forward to pull another beer out of the nearest cooler. “We started to drift…nothing dramatic. I think we had all decided it was time to move on.”
“You the only ones on the team?” Johnny asked.
“Reddy’s dad died,” Georgia said. “He’s now a responsible businessman.”
“Not that ‘responsible’,” Wrench added. “He’s also become a bit of an internet celebrity since he started dating that model.”
“It was Reddy that put up the money for us to set up the Thunder Riders,” Georgia said, chiding her husband.
“Wolf drifted back to Texas,” Cowboy added. “We think he’s got himself a lady. Joined us at a couple shows when we’re down that way.”
“And Honcho faded away to do ‘spy stuff’?” Johnny asked.
“We could tell you,” Georgia smirked. “But, then we’d have to kill you.”
“And if we did that, you’d miss the evening show,” Cowboy told him.
“What’s so special about the evening show?” Johnny asked.
“You are!” Cowboy said. “After your appearance this afternoon, tonight’s crowd is going to be huge!”
“Uuhh…?” Johnny replied, looking at his friends, who were looking expectantly back at him.
“Besides the love and adoration of the crowd,” Georgia said. “You’d have a place to crash and gas money to get you home.”
“Heck, I’ll throw in your meals!” Cowboy added. “All the corn dogs you can eat!”
“How can I say ‘no’?” Johnny said, leaning forward, so he Cowboy and Georgia could ‘clink’ beer bottles in a celebratory toast.
# # # # # # # # # #
Night
Sandwiched between two cars, Robbie Reyes winced and braced himself when he saw the road narrow. All three cars made the turn, as one. Robbie felt the car shudder, heard the scrape of metal on metal at 85 miles per hour. He could feel the car’s pain and anger.
“We aren’t here to fight anybody,” Robbie told it between gritted teeth. “We’re here to race. You want to punish them, show them how fast you are!”
In a shower of sparks, the black racer squeezed out from between the two other cars, inching ahead of them.
The driver’s side door began to buckle and Robbie could feel the metal tear his jacket sleeve.
“Come on! You’re better than this!” he shouted, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “You’re a hell beast!”
The engine revved, or maybe it roared and the black dodge charger shot away from the two cars. Both drivers would later swear they saw flames coming off the black car.
Robbie shot down the last stretch, across the finish marker and had to stomp on the brake to keep from plowing into the crowd at the end of the makeshift track. They did not leave skid marks on the concrete but rather gouges that smoked.
The crowd surged around, well-wishers, gung-ho race fans, a few angry guys that had lost money betting against him and the usual half dozen slutty-looking girls who seemed to magically appear around any winner. Robbie sat in the car for a few moments, prying his gloved hands off the steering wheel and getting his breathing back to normal.
“What was that about?” he asked the dashboard. “I thought we were okay…under control, but you…you are straining on the leash or something…not cool! You’re going to get us…if not a lot of other people killed acting like that.”
The engine idled, sullenly. Being an angsty teenager himself, Robbie could recognize when he was being snubbed.
When he climbed out of the car, the crowd moved in. Robbie nodded to a few acquaintances, reluctantly pushed past the very friendly ‘race girls’, touched base with Giffen and another bet handler for his money.
He figured a few minutes mingling would give both him and the car time to calm down and think about recent events. He drifted along with the crowd, stopping to admire a couple of the other cars, as well as the girls.
In the middle of trying to listen to the four separate people who were talking to him, Robbie spotted a familiar looking hairstyle. He pushed through the crowd, following the dark-haired girl in the denim cut-offs and jacket.
Robbie lunged forward and grabbed her arm.
“Hey!” Seer exclaimed, turning around. “Buy me a drink before you…oh, it’s you.”
“Yeah, it’s me!” Robbie snapped. “What’re you doing here?”
“Been investigating sources for ‘Blue’,” she replied, taking out a small plastic bag, filled with a shining blue powder inside.” I traced several dealers to…”
“Would you stop flashing that crap around!” Robbie said. Keeping a grip on the young mystic’s arm, he steered her through the crowd and back towards where the cars were parked.
Seer pulled her arm away and then leaned against a blue racer.
“By ‘what’re you doing here?’,” Robbie grumbled. “I mean ‘why aren’t you watching Gabe’, like you’re supposed to’?”
He’s fine. The lady next store is staying with him and I needed to follow up…”
“No!” Robbie snapped, forcefully enough that several people looked over to see what drama was occurring. “I needed you to watch my brother tonight! You’re supposed to be here to help me!”
“I am helping you,” She replied, icily. “I’ve been investigating…”
“How is it helping me to bail on the thing I needed you to do?” Robbie interrupted, practically shaking with frustration. “I didn’t ask for this! I asked you to watch Gabe so I could be here! This is how we get enough money to keep us off the streets! Not to mention trying to find out if there is a demon stalking me! This obsession with some weird street drug is your thing and you are using me as your excuse to play detective!”
“You have a mission, a duty…” Seer interrupted.
“Yes, I do! I have that whole supernatural destiny thing happening! Not you!”
Robbie glared at her, then shook his head and stalked off.
“Where are you going?” She asked, some of her self-assuredness slipping.
“Home! Gabe needs me.”
He pushed his way through the crowd, fairly oblivious to the people around him. He was at the black charger and reaching for the door handle, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
He spun; shrugging the hand off and immediately went into a defensive stance. For a brief second his fists were engulfed in flame and his face was replaced by the metallic, flaming skull of the Ghost Rider. All of which startled the hell out of the young Asian man he found himself facing.
“What?” Robbie snapped, pulling back the Ghost Rider, yet not losing his anger.
“I do not fight.” The other teen said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I am just messenger!”
“Fine…sorry…what’s your message?”
“Asuka wants to race,”
“Not a good time…other things on my mind…” Robbie grumbled.
“Not this,” The messenger said, waving vaguely at the surrounding crowds. “Just you and he.”
‘Yeah, should have figured...” Robbie muttered, nodding. “Tell him…um…Friday…the old air strip…that work?”
The youth nodded and drifted away into the crowd.
“What else can happen…?” Robbie muttered, climbing into his car.
# # # # # # # # # #
Elsewhere
Following the conflict between heaven and hell, people have come to believe there are only four Ghost Riders in the world.
They would be wrong; there are seven.
One of them was Alejandra Jones, a young Nicaraguan woman given the powers of a Ghost Rider by a mystic. She’d lost the powers then had them returned in a new form and had been living quietly in rural Nicaragua.
Her flames had the power to heal, both the body and the soul, and this Ghost Rider had become an ally of and protector to the many human rights and medical aid groups operating in South America.
While she would occasionally fight a super villain or supernatural menace, Alejandra mostly focused her efforts on helping people.
Currently, she was running for her life.
Her bike was nowhere as sleek or modern as her brethren’s. It was more dirt bike with a good amount of makeshift additions, than a store bought street bike.
Alejandra veered off the road, hoping going deeper into the jungle moving from paved roads to dirt tracks hardly wider than the bike would shake off her pursuers.
She leaned down low, practically hanging over the handlebars, her skull blazing with white soul fire.
She could hear the foliage rustling violently behind her. Alejandra took a sharp turn down a side path. The trail twisted and turned.
Alejandra slowed for a second, spotted a side trail that was covered by a curtain of foliage. She blew down it and skidded to a halt. She dismounted from her bike and took up a defensive stance.
She stood, tense, for several seconds, as the rustling circled the clearing, drawing closer but staying just behind the shelter of the jungle.
It went quiet, seeming like the jungle was holding its breath and then the creature burst forth from behind the young Ghost Rider.
Her pursuer had the upper body of an athletic exotic dancer, with appropriate attire. From the waist down, her body was that of an enormous snake; both her arms were also large snakes.
She writhed and flowed, quickly wrapping herself around the Ghost Rider.
She leaned in closer, to whisper in Alejandra’s ear.
“Reptillia enjoys it when they put up a good chase,” She breathed, sensuously. “But, I was tasked to find you, so have no more time to play.”
The snake parts of her body wrapped around Alejandra tightly, pinning her arms to her sides.
The snake woman’s grip tightened and Ghost Rider could feel her ribs compressed to the point of cracking and breathing became a struggle. White flame flared from her gloved hands, causing Repillia to flinch and gasp, but her death grip didn’t loosen.
Alejandra could feel the panic welling up. She had not her fellow Rider’s experience with battling monsters. Gritting her teeth, she concentrated. The white flame around her skull flared and she brought her head back, slamming it against the bridge of Reptillia’s nose.
The snake woman screeched in pain. Her grip loosened and Ghost Rider jammed her elbow into Reptillia’s solar plexus. She leapt away and spun, sending a blast of fire at her attacker.
Retillia swayed, moving like a dancer to dodge the blasts of fire, then lunged forward, her snake -hands sinking their fangs into Alejandra’s shoulders.
Under the pain, she could feel the venom seeping into her body. She struggled, striking out, but even when she could keep her focus and a blow would connect, it was more tap, then punch.
Her knees buckled, and Reptillia wrapped her arms around her, pinning Ghost Rider’s arms to her sides as she lowered her to the ground.
“A noble effort,” The snake woman cooed, treating Alejandra so gently you’d almost forget that she had just tried to kill her. “But, I have no more time to play.”
One of her snake arms uncoiled and she held it above Ghost Rider’s face. It fluttered back and forth, the snakehead staring hungrily at the skeletal figure.
Slowly, it morphed into a hand, still green, with long, sensuous fingers. Retillia gestured, murmuring under her breath. Tendrils of golden energy drifted from her dark green fingernails to Ghost Rider’s slack open mouth.
Alejandra’s back arched and she made a retching, gagging noise.
After several minutes of watching her suffering, Reptillia frowned in annoyance and closed her fist, which immediately transformed back into a snake.
Glaring at the limp form of Ghost Rider, as though whatever had gone wrong was her fault.
Retillia picked up Alejandra and hurled her across the clearing. By the time she had struck the ground, she had reverted back to a young dark-haired woman.
Reptillia slithered and loomed over the fallen Ghost Rider.
“You are not the one!” She fumed. “This was all a waste and I can’t even play with you, as I must help entrap the others…!”
She sighed in annoyance, tossed her hair defiantly and slithered away, making strange gestures with her snake-hands. A golden portal opened in front of her and without a backwards glance, she entered it and was gone.
“Blaze…!” Alejandra muttered, struggling to open her eyelids and hold on to consciousness. “Must…find…they are…coming…for him…”
To be continued…
Author’s note: Thought this was going to be a short, kind of fluffy issue. Turned out to be busier than I’d planned and a few small pieces just kept get bigger and going off in other directions.
Next thing I knew I’d written a story that included Team America and Doctor Druid…?
Go figure.
And before I get any letters accusing me of being a mean member of the patriarchy, rest assured, I will be beating the crap out of the four guy Ghost Riders over the course of the coming arc.
Dan Ketch rolled over on his back, feeling the sunlight on his closed eyelids and realized that he had almost forgotten that, of all the things he’d missed being damned, possessed and dead, sex was the thing he’d missed the most.
He had just decided that he was done being Ghost Rider and was just going to spend the rest of his life in bed, when he heard movement around him.
“Hey, smiley,” a female voice said. “Rise and shine and get your lazy butt out of bed.”
Dan blinked and looked up at Stacy Dolan. She’d dressed for work and was holding a glass of orange juice.
“Morning,” he murmured.
“Let’s go,” She said. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
“What’s up?” he asked, sitting up. “If you’re going to work, I figured I could…”
“No, you can’t,” Stacy told him, sternly, holding out the glass to him. “I’m not spending my day worrying that while you’re here Dracula attacks. My renter’s insurance doesn’t cover demon fights.”
“Um…but, I thought…?” Dan said. “We…?”
“Look,” Stacy said, leaning in and giving him a kiss. “Last night was nice. As crazy and occasionally horrific you have made my life, I’ve missed you, and last night was really nice, but we’re taking this slow.”
Dan took the glass and held it in both hands, focusing on the juice, not the woman in front of him.
“Yeah, okay, I get it,” he muttered.
Stacy put a finger under his chin and guided him up to look at her.
“Do you really?” she asked.
“Yeah, I do,” he admitted. “Can’t say I’m happy about it, but I get where you’re coming from. I’ve…”
“No,” Stacy interrupted, stepping back. “Don’t have time for moping, Dan. I have got to get to work. There is a major blow-out coming between some of the big drug gangs in the city and rumors of vampires…”
“Yeah, I might…um…” Dan started, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact.
“Don’t have time for that either,” Stacy said, reaching down and tossing Dan’s jeans at him.
# # # # # # # # # #
Fifteen minutes later, they were out in front of Stacy’s apartment building.
“Look,” she said, giving him a hug. “It’s going to be nuts the next couple days, so don’t sit around feeling sorry for yourself. Call me Friday.”
She gave him a quick kiss on his scruffy cheek and was gone before Dan could say anything. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and, with a half-smile, watched her walk away.
“She seems a nice young lady,” a voice said, handing him a take-out coffee cup.
“Yeah,” Dan nodded, accepting the cup and taking a sip. “I never thought…what the hell…! Who the hell are you?”
Dan turned and found himself facing a middle-aged man, slightly shorter than him, balding with dark hair and a goatee. He wore a perfectly tailored grey suit with a dark blue overcoat.
“Good morning,” the man said, with a sardonic smile. “I’m Doctor Anthony Druid. I was wondering if I could have a word?”
He made a ‘after you’ gesture towards a small park across the street and despite his concern and confusion, Dan Ketch followed. The two men were soon settled on a bench, watching the people wander by.
“Druid?” Dan muttered. “Why do I know that name?”
“I have been an occult investigator for many years,” the older man explained. “As well a member of the Avengers…”*
*[Most recently, as part of the West Coast branch during Josh Reynolds’ awesome reign on that particular title! – EiC Dave]
“You’re the one that got most of your team killed!” Dan interrupted, nodding to himself.
“I was being mind-controlled by a time traveling alien at the time,” Druid said, darkly.
“And that excuse works for you?” Dan shrugged. “Hey, I don’t judge. I’ve screwed up pretty bad, myself.”
“We might be getting off track,” Druid frowned. “As I’ve said, I am an occult scholar and investigator. Due to some…unfortunate incidents in my past, I like yourself, am generally believed to be dead, as well as not being viewed kindly by a great deal of the mystical and super hero community…”
“We’re both screw ups that nobody wants to talk to. Got it,” Dan said, sounding more bored than suspicious. “What do you want?”
“I am looking for individuals with special knowledge and abilities to help in my efforts,” Druid said.
“Yeah, no,” Dan interrupted. “I already have a team of my own, kind of.”
“Dear lord no,” Druid said, with a rueful smile and headshake. “I’ve had enough of super teams to last me several more lifetimes. All I’m looking to do is set up a loose network of people, occult freelancers if you will.”
“You want someone on call in case a demon needs punching in the face,” Dan nodded, sipping his coffee. “What’s in it for me?”
“I would then return the favor, being available should you need advice when ‘punching it in the face’ isn’t the proper solution.”
“And if I say no?” Dan asked.
“Well, then I use my powers to shatter your will and bind your soul!” Druid intoned.
“What?” Dan snapped sitting up, feeling the Ghost Rider ready to emerge.
“Oh, relax,” the other man said, sitting back. “If you say ‘no’, I leave you to enjoy your coffee and I move on to the other names on my list. You really need to learn not to be so impulsive or you’ll be no help to yourself, let alone me.”
Dan couldn’t think of any response that didn’t make him seem any less like a sullen teenager, so he sat back and sipped his coffee.
Which was actually pretty good. Druid might be a bit of a dick, but if teaming up with him meant this coffee on a regular basis, Dan felt he could put up with the attitude.
He exhaled deeply and focused on what Druid was offering and realizing that, as an idea, it did not suck. He was currently on the outs with Doctor Strange, hell, most of the supernatural community, now that he thought about it and aside from the other three Riders, didn’t have much of a support net if things got hairy.
And if there was anything he’d learned since becoming Ghost Rider, is things get hairy, on a regular basis and at the worst possible time.
“I need to think about this,” Dan said.
“Of course,” Druid nodded. He made a flourishing gesture and handed the magically appearing business card over to the younger man. “You can reach me at this number once you have decided, one way or the other. If I haven’t heard from you in three days, I’ll assume you have declined and move on. If something arises and I have need of your services, or vice versa, we can consider that a ‘trial run’, see how this arrangement would work out.”
Druid got to his feet, brushed at his suit and gave Dan a nod in farewell.
“If this is the start of my day,” Dan muttered, thoughtfully taking a last sip of coffee. “I can’t wait to see what the afternoon is like.”
# # # # # # # # # #
Noon
Out in the mid-west, Johnny Blaze had taken a break on his journey to reunite with his wife and kids, for gas and some lunch.
He found himself at the local fairgrounds, mixing with the locals and enjoying the spectacle of a motorcycle stunt show.
The event featured motorcycle racing by a dozen assorted local racers; some out of towners and a few members of the Thunder riders stunt team.
Afterwards, the full team performed.
Johnny had to admit, while he was really looking forward to seeing his family, it was nice to just lean on the railing and let his inner ‘biker geek’ loose and check out the variety of bikes and riding styles.
The hot dog was good and he was content to let the murmur of the crowd and bike noise wash over him. He was thinking it’d be best to hit the road after this race. Traffic would be light with the crowd staying for the stunt show, when a discordant tone in the background crowd noise caught his attention.
It wasn’t a cheer, but rather a tone of concern and upset.
Johnny looked around, puzzled. He could feel something wrong, but couldn’t figure out what.
Then he saw the kid.
He couldn’t be older than three or four and had taken advantage of his parent’s momentary distraction to squeeze between the barriers to get a better look at the motorcycles.
He was now standing in the path of the quickly approaching half dozen racers, at a particular narrow stretch of the track.
Even if all the racers managed to avoid hitting the boy, there wasn’t enough room that they could avoid colliding with each other or the barriers at the sides of the track.
Somebody was going to the hospital, if not the morgue.
Tossing aside his hot dog, Johnny Blaze leapt the barrier and raced across the dirt track, a nimbus of hellfire enveloping his body. He stretched an arm out behind him and a streak of flame shot out from his fingertips, arced up and over the crowd.
He quickly reached the child and scooped him up, but that brief pause was enough time for the six racers to be nearly on top of him.
With a roar like an angry beast, Ghost Rider’s blazing motorcycle leapt the barrier and he, with the boy in hand, jumped onto it and then wheelie’d over the far barrier to the safety of the grassy median at the center of the track.
The racers skidded and struggled to maneuver, but stayed up and avoided any collision, kicking up a cloud of dust and noise as they sped past what was almost the scene of tragedy.
Ghost Rider set the slightly dazed youngster down.
“You need to mind your parents, boy,” he intoned.
“Uh-huh,” the boy nodded vigorously.
One kind of chaos was soon replaced by another, as the track crew, the boys’ family and various members of the crowd rushed across the track to the duo.
“He’s okay, folks!” a voice announced over the fairgrounds’ primitive PA system. “Bit shook up but in one piece! All thanks to the stunt riding and special effects wizardry of our very special guest, Mister Johnny Blaze!”
Johnny reabsorbed the hellfire, looking up at the nearest loudspeaker at the announcement and finding himself a part of the show, instead of facing police and a frightened mob.
He handed the child over to his parents and accepted various handshakes and congratulations. He felt a bit dazed by the positive attention and was even further surprised when a trio of people pushed their way through the crowd, calling his name.
A lanky blonde man in a white cowboy hat clapped Johnny on the shoulder.
A shorter African-American man in glasses and a curvy African-American woman soon joined him. All three wore matching blue and white jumpsuits.
“Johnny Blaze, holey crap!” the blonde man exclaimed. “I heard you were dead!”
“Cowboy! Wrench! Georgia!” Johnny exclaimed back, struggling to make his voice heard, as well as return handshakes and a hug from Wrench’s wife, Georgia.
The trio quickly hustled him away from the crowd and they rode their bikes to the far end of the fairgrounds.
Two RVs were parked side by side and in between was an oasis containing a makeshift workbench (boards on sawhorses), a fire pit, a half dozen assorted lawn chairs and a couple coolers.
Sitting around the fire with a beer, Johnny slumped comfortably in his chair, taking in his three friends.
Much as he liked being on the road, it had been a long trip with a heavy helping of strangeness and time to think.
“Nice to see you guys,” he said. “Been too long.”
“Well, we did think you were dead, pardner,” Cowboy shrugged.
“Yeah,” Wrench nodded, from the workbench. “At least twice.”
“I think what the ‘Tact Brothers’ are trying to say,” Georgia said. “Is good to see you again.”
“So, how’d you get ‘better’?” Wrench asked, not looking up from the bike engine he was tinkering with.
“Long story,” Johnny said, taking a long pull of his beer.
“I thought you…uh…quit being Ghost Rider?” Georgia asked.
“Also a long story,” Johnny said. “But, a different long story. My life seems to be made up of them. How about you guys? I saw the posters when I stopped for gas, but it’s been years, so my brain didn’t make the connection that these Thunder riders, were the ones I knew. What happened to the rest of Team America?”
“About the time lawyers told us we couldn’t use that name,” Cowboy said, leaning forward to pull another beer out of the nearest cooler. “We started to drift…nothing dramatic. I think we had all decided it was time to move on.”
“You the only ones on the team?” Johnny asked.
“Reddy’s dad died,” Georgia said. “He’s now a responsible businessman.”
“Not that ‘responsible’,” Wrench added. “He’s also become a bit of an internet celebrity since he started dating that model.”
“It was Reddy that put up the money for us to set up the Thunder Riders,” Georgia said, chiding her husband.
“Wolf drifted back to Texas,” Cowboy added. “We think he’s got himself a lady. Joined us at a couple shows when we’re down that way.”
“And Honcho faded away to do ‘spy stuff’?” Johnny asked.
“We could tell you,” Georgia smirked. “But, then we’d have to kill you.”
“And if we did that, you’d miss the evening show,” Cowboy told him.
“What’s so special about the evening show?” Johnny asked.
“You are!” Cowboy said. “After your appearance this afternoon, tonight’s crowd is going to be huge!”
“Uuhh…?” Johnny replied, looking at his friends, who were looking expectantly back at him.
“Besides the love and adoration of the crowd,” Georgia said. “You’d have a place to crash and gas money to get you home.”
“Heck, I’ll throw in your meals!” Cowboy added. “All the corn dogs you can eat!”
“How can I say ‘no’?” Johnny said, leaning forward, so he Cowboy and Georgia could ‘clink’ beer bottles in a celebratory toast.
# # # # # # # # # #
Night
Sandwiched between two cars, Robbie Reyes winced and braced himself when he saw the road narrow. All three cars made the turn, as one. Robbie felt the car shudder, heard the scrape of metal on metal at 85 miles per hour. He could feel the car’s pain and anger.
“We aren’t here to fight anybody,” Robbie told it between gritted teeth. “We’re here to race. You want to punish them, show them how fast you are!”
In a shower of sparks, the black racer squeezed out from between the two other cars, inching ahead of them.
The driver’s side door began to buckle and Robbie could feel the metal tear his jacket sleeve.
“Come on! You’re better than this!” he shouted, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “You’re a hell beast!”
The engine revved, or maybe it roared and the black dodge charger shot away from the two cars. Both drivers would later swear they saw flames coming off the black car.
Robbie shot down the last stretch, across the finish marker and had to stomp on the brake to keep from plowing into the crowd at the end of the makeshift track. They did not leave skid marks on the concrete but rather gouges that smoked.
The crowd surged around, well-wishers, gung-ho race fans, a few angry guys that had lost money betting against him and the usual half dozen slutty-looking girls who seemed to magically appear around any winner. Robbie sat in the car for a few moments, prying his gloved hands off the steering wheel and getting his breathing back to normal.
“What was that about?” he asked the dashboard. “I thought we were okay…under control, but you…you are straining on the leash or something…not cool! You’re going to get us…if not a lot of other people killed acting like that.”
The engine idled, sullenly. Being an angsty teenager himself, Robbie could recognize when he was being snubbed.
When he climbed out of the car, the crowd moved in. Robbie nodded to a few acquaintances, reluctantly pushed past the very friendly ‘race girls’, touched base with Giffen and another bet handler for his money.
He figured a few minutes mingling would give both him and the car time to calm down and think about recent events. He drifted along with the crowd, stopping to admire a couple of the other cars, as well as the girls.
In the middle of trying to listen to the four separate people who were talking to him, Robbie spotted a familiar looking hairstyle. He pushed through the crowd, following the dark-haired girl in the denim cut-offs and jacket.
Robbie lunged forward and grabbed her arm.
“Hey!” Seer exclaimed, turning around. “Buy me a drink before you…oh, it’s you.”
“Yeah, it’s me!” Robbie snapped. “What’re you doing here?”
“Been investigating sources for ‘Blue’,” she replied, taking out a small plastic bag, filled with a shining blue powder inside.” I traced several dealers to…”
“Would you stop flashing that crap around!” Robbie said. Keeping a grip on the young mystic’s arm, he steered her through the crowd and back towards where the cars were parked.
Seer pulled her arm away and then leaned against a blue racer.
“By ‘what’re you doing here?’,” Robbie grumbled. “I mean ‘why aren’t you watching Gabe’, like you’re supposed to’?”
He’s fine. The lady next store is staying with him and I needed to follow up…”
“No!” Robbie snapped, forcefully enough that several people looked over to see what drama was occurring. “I needed you to watch my brother tonight! You’re supposed to be here to help me!”
“I am helping you,” She replied, icily. “I’ve been investigating…”
“How is it helping me to bail on the thing I needed you to do?” Robbie interrupted, practically shaking with frustration. “I didn’t ask for this! I asked you to watch Gabe so I could be here! This is how we get enough money to keep us off the streets! Not to mention trying to find out if there is a demon stalking me! This obsession with some weird street drug is your thing and you are using me as your excuse to play detective!”
“You have a mission, a duty…” Seer interrupted.
“Yes, I do! I have that whole supernatural destiny thing happening! Not you!”
Robbie glared at her, then shook his head and stalked off.
“Where are you going?” She asked, some of her self-assuredness slipping.
“Home! Gabe needs me.”
He pushed his way through the crowd, fairly oblivious to the people around him. He was at the black charger and reaching for the door handle, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
He spun; shrugging the hand off and immediately went into a defensive stance. For a brief second his fists were engulfed in flame and his face was replaced by the metallic, flaming skull of the Ghost Rider. All of which startled the hell out of the young Asian man he found himself facing.
“What?” Robbie snapped, pulling back the Ghost Rider, yet not losing his anger.
“I do not fight.” The other teen said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I am just messenger!”
“Fine…sorry…what’s your message?”
“Asuka wants to race,”
“Not a good time…other things on my mind…” Robbie grumbled.
“Not this,” The messenger said, waving vaguely at the surrounding crowds. “Just you and he.”
‘Yeah, should have figured...” Robbie muttered, nodding. “Tell him…um…Friday…the old air strip…that work?”
The youth nodded and drifted away into the crowd.
“What else can happen…?” Robbie muttered, climbing into his car.
# # # # # # # # # #
Elsewhere
Following the conflict between heaven and hell, people have come to believe there are only four Ghost Riders in the world.
They would be wrong; there are seven.
One of them was Alejandra Jones, a young Nicaraguan woman given the powers of a Ghost Rider by a mystic. She’d lost the powers then had them returned in a new form and had been living quietly in rural Nicaragua.
Her flames had the power to heal, both the body and the soul, and this Ghost Rider had become an ally of and protector to the many human rights and medical aid groups operating in South America.
While she would occasionally fight a super villain or supernatural menace, Alejandra mostly focused her efforts on helping people.
Currently, she was running for her life.
Her bike was nowhere as sleek or modern as her brethren’s. It was more dirt bike with a good amount of makeshift additions, than a store bought street bike.
Alejandra veered off the road, hoping going deeper into the jungle moving from paved roads to dirt tracks hardly wider than the bike would shake off her pursuers.
She leaned down low, practically hanging over the handlebars, her skull blazing with white soul fire.
She could hear the foliage rustling violently behind her. Alejandra took a sharp turn down a side path. The trail twisted and turned.
Alejandra slowed for a second, spotted a side trail that was covered by a curtain of foliage. She blew down it and skidded to a halt. She dismounted from her bike and took up a defensive stance.
She stood, tense, for several seconds, as the rustling circled the clearing, drawing closer but staying just behind the shelter of the jungle.
It went quiet, seeming like the jungle was holding its breath and then the creature burst forth from behind the young Ghost Rider.
Her pursuer had the upper body of an athletic exotic dancer, with appropriate attire. From the waist down, her body was that of an enormous snake; both her arms were also large snakes.
She writhed and flowed, quickly wrapping herself around the Ghost Rider.
She leaned in closer, to whisper in Alejandra’s ear.
“Reptillia enjoys it when they put up a good chase,” She breathed, sensuously. “But, I was tasked to find you, so have no more time to play.”
The snake parts of her body wrapped around Alejandra tightly, pinning her arms to her sides.
The snake woman’s grip tightened and Ghost Rider could feel her ribs compressed to the point of cracking and breathing became a struggle. White flame flared from her gloved hands, causing Repillia to flinch and gasp, but her death grip didn’t loosen.
Alejandra could feel the panic welling up. She had not her fellow Rider’s experience with battling monsters. Gritting her teeth, she concentrated. The white flame around her skull flared and she brought her head back, slamming it against the bridge of Reptillia’s nose.
The snake woman screeched in pain. Her grip loosened and Ghost Rider jammed her elbow into Reptillia’s solar plexus. She leapt away and spun, sending a blast of fire at her attacker.
Retillia swayed, moving like a dancer to dodge the blasts of fire, then lunged forward, her snake -hands sinking their fangs into Alejandra’s shoulders.
Under the pain, she could feel the venom seeping into her body. She struggled, striking out, but even when she could keep her focus and a blow would connect, it was more tap, then punch.
Her knees buckled, and Reptillia wrapped her arms around her, pinning Ghost Rider’s arms to her sides as she lowered her to the ground.
“A noble effort,” The snake woman cooed, treating Alejandra so gently you’d almost forget that she had just tried to kill her. “But, I have no more time to play.”
One of her snake arms uncoiled and she held it above Ghost Rider’s face. It fluttered back and forth, the snakehead staring hungrily at the skeletal figure.
Slowly, it morphed into a hand, still green, with long, sensuous fingers. Retillia gestured, murmuring under her breath. Tendrils of golden energy drifted from her dark green fingernails to Ghost Rider’s slack open mouth.
Alejandra’s back arched and she made a retching, gagging noise.
After several minutes of watching her suffering, Reptillia frowned in annoyance and closed her fist, which immediately transformed back into a snake.
Glaring at the limp form of Ghost Rider, as though whatever had gone wrong was her fault.
Retillia picked up Alejandra and hurled her across the clearing. By the time she had struck the ground, she had reverted back to a young dark-haired woman.
Reptillia slithered and loomed over the fallen Ghost Rider.
“You are not the one!” She fumed. “This was all a waste and I can’t even play with you, as I must help entrap the others…!”
She sighed in annoyance, tossed her hair defiantly and slithered away, making strange gestures with her snake-hands. A golden portal opened in front of her and without a backwards glance, she entered it and was gone.
“Blaze…!” Alejandra muttered, struggling to open her eyelids and hold on to consciousness. “Must…find…they are…coming…for him…”
To be continued…
Author’s note: Thought this was going to be a short, kind of fluffy issue. Turned out to be busier than I’d planned and a few small pieces just kept get bigger and going off in other directions.
Next thing I knew I’d written a story that included Team America and Doctor Druid…?
Go figure.
And before I get any letters accusing me of being a mean member of the patriarchy, rest assured, I will be beating the crap out of the four guy Ghost Riders over the course of the coming arc.