Matt Archer: Monster Hunter (Matt Archer #1) (4 page)

“Sure, Mom, whatever,” Brent said. I figured he gave in so
easily because he was still embarrassed about sounding like an jerk to Uncle
Mike.

Mom turned to me next. “Matt…well, just hang in there for
me, okay?”

I smiled and saluted, and Mom laughed. “Mamie, sweetheart,
can you keep an eye out for Matt if I have to work late?”

“Mom, I don’t need a babysitter,” I said. What, did she
think I was seven? Mamie was only sixteen months older than me and was scared
of crickets. How did
she
get appointed to be my minder?

“I’ll watch him day and night,” Mamie said, giving me a sly
glance.

I forced myself not to cringe, for fear Mamie would take it
as another clue. Seriously, could this be any worse? Mom had just guaranteed
that my cover would be blown in short order.

Sunday passed in a blur of glum faces and soggy rain. After
brunch, Brent headed to his girlfriend’s and probably spent the afternoon
making out, which meant he was the only one of us with a shot at a smile. Mamie
hid behind a book, re-reading
A Wrinkle in Time
for the umpteenth time in the recliner by
the living room window. While she was occupied with something other than
watching me, I headed to my room.

I felt compelled to take a look at the knife without Mike
hovering behind me, wearing his troubled frown. He doubted I’d need to use it
until I’d been through some training, but we both felt it should be closer to
its wielder.

I’d hidden it in the pocket of an old backpack stowed in the
depths of my closet. When I retrieved it and laid it on my bed it hummed,
almost happily, when I touched it. The white bone handle was a little smaller
than a carving knife’s, and worn smooth, without markings of any kind. The
brown leather sheath had been stitched with thick twine and fit the knife
snugly, allowing a wielder to draw the knife fast without the fear of the blade
falling out on its own. The blade itself wasn’t shiny—the metal had a bronze
tint to it—and it measured nine inches from where it joined the handle to its
razor-sharp tip. Clearly the knife had been designed with one purpose, as a
weapon. And a badass weapon at that.

A little shudder ran down my spine. If I was going to wield
this blade, I had work to do.

Mike had given me a list of exercises to start on, and I
needed Brent’s weight set, so I sneaked across the hall. His weights were on a
stand in the corner of his room, but how he used them was beyond me. There
wasn’t a single spot on the floor, except for a trail from the door to the bed,
that didn’t have clothes, cleats or other junk dumped on it. I picked my way
through the mine field and grabbed a pair of twenty-pound dumbbells, thinking
I’d just take them to my room since I kept my floor somewhat clean.

Mistake. My arms dropped to the ground and my knuckles
dragged like a gorilla’s. Maybe the twenty pounders were too much for the first
day.

I exchanged the twenties for the ten-pound weights. I could
carry the tens without drooping, so I shuffled back to my room. Even with my
last growth spurt, I was only five-four and a hundred and seven pounds; twenty
pounds was nearly a fifth of my weight. I felt proud of myself until I noticed
the dumbbells had dust on them. Brent hadn’t used these little ones for a long
time.

DNA was a weird thing–all of us had the same smallish nose
as Mom, and dark “Archer blue” eyes from our deadbeat dad. But our builds were
completely different. Mamie was thin, like Mom, and a little taller than her
friends. I was on the small side, hitting below the fiftieth percentile on the
stupid growth charts they use at the doctor’s office. Brent was the hulk of the
family, a good ten inches taller than me and double my weight, all of it muscle
and bone. For the nineteenth time, I wondered why the knife picked
me.

Thirty minutes of weight training was harder than it
sounded, and it had sounded pretty hard in the first place. I worked out my
biceps, my triceps, my delts and a whole bunch of other muscles I didn’t
realize I had. When I was done, my legs and arms felt like gummy worms.
Exhausted, I curled up on my bed huffing and puffing.

“Hey! Who’s been in my room?” Brent yelled.

I bolted upright and regretted it when my head spun. The
weights were by my closet door, six feet from my bed, but I didn’t think I
could crawl across the room to hide them.

Brent flung my bedroom door open without knocking. “I know
you were in there. What did you take this time?”

“Just your weights.” I pointed at the dumbbells, too tired
to lie. “Uncle Mike said I needed to do some weight training, you know, put on
some muscle.”

Brent paused in his attack, looking surprised. “Really?” He
smirked. “I guess wimps have to start somewhere. Besides, a little muscle
wouldn’t kill you.”

He turned to leave and bumped right into Mamie. “Hey, Latin
Club Princess, you’re liable to get run over if you don’t watch traffic.”

“Being an all-state strong, uh, safely doesn’t mean you can
tackle people at home,” Mamie said, crossing her arms. “Have some manners, you
Neanderthal.”

I’m not sure Brent understood what “Neanderthal” meant but
he could tell she was insulting him. “It’s strong
safety
, genius.”

They glared at each other. Finally, Brent snorted and went
to his room, slamming the door like usual.

“Ugh, he’s loud,” Mamie said. “Why did Uncle Mike tell you
to do some weight training?”

Crap, Sherlock had a clue. “He wants me to build up some
muscle for the rappelling trip.”

Her forehead wrinkled, making her glasses slip down her
nose. “Is that why you’ve been eating so much? I know you hate meatloaf; I
could tell you were lying last night. And you ate about forty pancakes at
brunch today. Are you trying to gain weight?”

“Um, yeah,” I said. Not original, but that’s all I could
think of.

“Matt, a week’s not enough time to gain much muscle.” Mamie
got her mother-hen voice on. “Is someone bullying you at school? If they are,
I’ll ask Mom to talk to Mrs. Stevens.” That was her solution for everything.
You have a problem? Tell an adult.

“No—school’s fine.” I said. “Uncle Mike told me it’s a good
idea, that’s all.”

“I promised Mom I’d keep an eye on you. Remember that.” She
gave me another long stare, then marched off to her room. She didn’t slam the
door.

The next morning, I rolled out of bed, sore all over. That
must’ve been why Mike said to stretch after working out. A hot shower helped
some. After I threw on a semi-clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I stumbled
down to breakfast ready to get this week over with so I could go to Colorado
with Mike. Mamie sat at the kitchen table, reading the paper, still in her
robe. She was always up as early as Mom. I didn’t know another girl who got up
early to read the news, from an honest-to-God newspaper, no less. Mamie was
sick that way.

“Mom, listen to this.” Mamie pushed her glasses higher up on
her nose. “‘The remains of newlyweds John and Marcia Carroll were discovered by
Park Rangers on Sunday. While authorities aren’t providing many details, an
unnamed source says they believe it to be a bear attack due to the nature of
the injuries the couple sustained.’” Mamie turned to me. “Matt, the attack
happened in the same park where you and Mike were camping. Good thing you came
home early!”

Mom took the paper from Mamie. “Oh my gosh. I’ll need to
tell Mike. I don’t want you camping near any crazy grizzlies.”

Up to this point, I’d been shoveling eggs into my mouth and
drinking my milk as fast as I could. When Mom and Mamie both looked at me,
freaked out, I had a hard time gulping down my last bite.

I had a hunch it wasn’t animals, which meant the creature I
stabbed wasn’t the only one roaming the woods. Just knowing something was out
there killing hikers made me realize how important it was that I did everything
Mike told me for the next few months.

And that included not letting Mom or Mamie know there were
monsters in Montana.

* * *

“Archer, what are
you
looking at?”

Carter Jacobs had everything I didn’t: awesome basketball
skills, a dad who spent time with him and Ella Mitchell, the Goddess of
Greenhill High School. He played center for the varsity team and towered over
nearly everyone but the seniors. I only came up to his chin. It was a real pity
his locker was five down from mine, and Ella’s was seven. I didn’t have a
prayer of checking her out without being busted.

Carter’s blond hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over me,
fists clenched. This was the closest to a fight I’d been in two years. I kind
of deserved it, though. Ella had caught me looking—and had
smiled back.
After that, I didn’t really
care if Carter killed me, because I could take that smile from Ella to my
grave.

“Pick on someone your own size, Jacobs,” a voice behind me
said.

I stood up a little taller. Will always showed up right on
time. Carter frowned as my best friend stared him down. Already five-eleven,
and with black hair and square shoulders, Will intimidated pretty much
everyone, especially since he was fast and moved better than you’d expect for a
big guy. Most people didn’t know he was a gentle giant. He’d creamed too many
quarterbacks for anyone to believe that—so many, in fact, the JV football team
called him Crusher. It was a play on his last name, Cruessan, and it gave him a
hallway cred that kept me from getting too banged up by guys like Carter. That
should’ve been Brent’s job, but he was too cool to care what happened to his
kid brother.

“So,” Will growled, “you gonna let me hand your butt to you,
or are you gonna turn around and forget this happened?”

Carter swore under his breath. “Whatever.” He pointed a
finger at my chest. “
You
keep your eyes to yourself, got it?” He spun on his heel and strutted off,
straightening his letter jacket in a really obvious way, as if there was a
single person left in the school who didn’t know he was a basketball star.

Will watched him go. “You know, he’s the reason I don’t
bother wearing my jacket. He gives the rest of us a bad name.”

“Thanks for stopping by, dude,” I said. Will was such a good
friend, it didn’t hurt my pride too much when he had to bail me out. “You know
how he is about Ella. ‘Mine—back off.’ I don’t know why she puts up with it.”
Girls were really strange sometimes.

“Some women like the caveman type,” Will said. “Or maybe
it’s the older man thing. Having a sophomore for a boyfriend might be a thrill
or something. I wouldn’t have thought Ella would be part of the Carter fan
club, but all the girls think he’s cute. I guess they don’t care that he’s an
asshat.”

We walked to homeroom. In our eight years of friendship,
this was the first class we’d had together since we were six. We must have cut
up enough in first grade to get that little red sticker on our files that said
“don’t put Archer with Cruessan.” Luckily, that warning hadn’t trickled upward
to high school.

I plopped my books on my desk, getting ready for a long,
boring hour of algebra. Ella sat down in front of me, and I gazed at her
perfect, dark red hair. It was long and a little curly and I had a feeling I
could get my hands lost in it, maybe while I…

“Mr. Archer, kindly tell us the answer to number seven,”
Mrs. Burns said. Her pleasant smile said “caught you drooling, young man.”

“Um....” Number seven, crap, number seven. I scanned my
book, hoping for divine inspiration, because I didn’t even know which problem
was
number seven.

God must’ve heard my prayers, though, because Ella held her
hands behind her back. One had two fingers pointed up, and the other had three
pointing down. Ella was good at math; I sure hoped that was a clue.

“Two-thirds?” I asked.

Mrs. Burns looked disappointed. “Correct. All right, clear
your desks. Quiz time.”

I managed to keep my head down and concentrate for the rest
of class. But only because I didn’t look at Ella. Or think about the lavender
v-neck t-shirt she had on. Or wish that she’d reach down to tie her shoe so I
could see if the v-neck gaped open any.

After the bell rang, she spun around in her desk to smile at
me. She had a dimple on her right cheek and this dusting of freckles across her
nose and when her green eyes caught me, I forgot my name.

“Matt, I’m so sorry for how Carter acted this morning,” she
said. “He’s just in a bad mood because they lost their first game Friday.”

Will came up to us, waiting for me to get moving. “Ella, why
do you hang with Carter? He’s a turd.”

My face heated up. For all his protection skills, Will had
the tact of a backhoe.

Ella crossed her arms. “Carter’s really nice once you get to
know him. Thoughtful, too.” She smiled, staring into space. “He gives me a
flower every Friday and never blows me off when he says he’ll call. I think
you’d both like him if you hung out with us some.”

Will gave me this look that said, “Yeah, like I believe
that.”

I needed to change the subject before he said anything out
loud. “Hey, thanks for giving me the answer today, Ella. I’m, uh, a little
tired and must’ve dozed off.”

While dreaming about you and me, alone in the supply closet.

“No problem,” she said. “Mrs. Burns is always trying to get
the jump on people—I like throwing her off. See you in history.”

Ella glided from the room, and her hips swung back and forth
as she walked. I had to watch her go before I could gather up my own stuff.

Will smacked me on the back of the head with his binder.
“There’s nothing to see here, citizen. Get a move on.”

I punched him in the arm. “Dude—‘he’s a turd?’ Are you
kidding me?”

“Well, I was curious,” he said. “It still doesn’t make
sense, but, whatever.”

I sighed. “Do you think I’ll ever have a chance with her?”

“It’s good to have a dream, man,” he said. “See you at
lunch.”

Shouldering my backpack, I followed him out with my stomach
doing flips, not sure which was tougher to handle – a crush on Ella Mitchell,
or a magic knife that killed monsters.

* * *

“You aren’t planning to eat all that, are you?” Will asked.

My tray was piled high with everything I could get my hands
on. I even braved the “Salisbury steak,” which looked like a soy-burger patty
smothered with a mud pie.

“Yeah. I’m hungry.”