Simon’s flush reached the tips of his ears. The lock of brown hair that flopped over his forehead bounced as he fidgeted with his glasses. “Well, I mean, you men need to procreate. Since you’re the last of your kind, wouldn’t it be in your best interest to…um, make more?”
The laughter that had animated Tybalt’s face mere seconds ago drained completely, as his somber visage now stared determinedly at the bubbles in his drink.
Simon swung his head, nervously bobbing it once again. “I’m sorry, for-forget I asked.”
“No, it’s quite alright.” Tybalt’s voice was thick. “You are right to ask, it is in keeping with the great care you have shown us.” The Vixar took a huge gulp of his ale, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before setting the glass down with a loud thunk.
“Our kind has only been known to reproduce with a specific type of female, a Destine.” Col said. “They are female mates, and each Waryeor is said to have one Destine, one who is meant to bond with him for life. Although in her times of fertility, she may lay with any Waryeor and conceive.”
Simon looked as baffled as if Col were trying to teach him the words of his thousand-year-old language. Col waited respectfully for Tybalt to join in, but the Vixar remained silent, studying the wood grain of the table. So Col continued, “When there is a Destine around who is not mate-bonded, her time of fertility may rile up full-grown males so they will fight over her. Their instincts will be overpowering. The most affected will be the intended mate, so he will be a danger to the other males.”
Simon was finally able to speak. “What happens if…if a Destine loses her mate? I’m sure that happened a lot during times of war.”
Col glanced at Tybalt again, but no answer was forthcoming. “The Destine whose mate was lost in the glory of battle would be quickly mate-bonded to another Waryeor if she was still able to bear young. Duty before love. There were not many Destines, and they are the only ones who can bear us young who will become Waryeors.”
Simon was thoughtful. “It seems that we should be looking for your Destines, then. We should make it a priority. There are so few of you, ”
Tybalt finally spoke. His voice was flat, but firm. “There are no more Destines. They are no longer. We have outlived them all; we are the last of our kind.” He lowered his voice.
“That is why we must find and defeat The Dark Warlord soon, because there will be none to replace us, and against mere mortals, he will be unstoppable.”
Simon opened his mouth, and shut it again without making a sound. He caught Col’s eyes, and then had the good grace to say no more.
Col had to accept what his Vixar said was the truth. That woman he saw earlier could not be a Destine, let alone his Destine. It was but the momentary flare-up of his senses. That was all.
He thought again of the lightning bolt that traversed the distance between their eyes, and the strange, brief sense of absolute rightness. His Destine? No, she couldn’t be. There was no room in his life, no part of his mission, no reason she could be his Destine.
Another of Barric’s favorite phrases came to mind.
No. Fucking. Way.
Chapter Six
Jordy wasn’t one to lie around in bed once her eyes opened. She whipped off the noise-cancelling headphones she wore when she slept, and turned towards the other bed in the room. It was made, but obviously slept in. No other sounds in the room. Good.
Her roommate must have already started the early morning shift at the Staff Childcare, or as Jordy called it, “Whelp Help”. Katie seemed all sweet and nice, but she had that air that Jordy recognized. Katie was definitely hiding something.
Jordy could sniff that shit out, since she had quite a few secrets of her own. And maybe she could find something useful, something she could use to blackmail Katie with. She wasn’t even sure what she might need from her, but Jordy always liked to have the upper hand.
She crammed her feet into the plastic clogs that she used as slippers and started her search. First, the two bags that Katie had brought. It was already suspicious that she hadn’t brought that much, as if this was a spur of a moment decision to work here. Jordy already assumed that the car Gabe had arranged to get towed into town belonged to Katie, but one bag didn’t have all that many clothes. Not at all like someone who was planning to stick around even for more than a day. The pockets didn’t yield all that much, but Jordy didn’t expect them to. The other bag held a teacher’s certificate, and what Jordy recognized as components of a go-bag. Interesting.
On the nightstand by the bed Katie used was the misshapen brown lump of a stuffed animal, already covered with stitches as if it had been repaired a lot over the years, perhaps even recently. Jordy’s lip curled into a sneer, although that was pretty much her usual expression.
She didn’t think much of grown-ass women who still slept with stuffed animals, especially ones that resembled fuzzy, oversized turds. She fought the urge to do her roomie a solid and bury it somewhere.
She knew there had to be something. She just felt it. And it was Katie’s bad luck that Jordy was an army brat, with a lifetime of parent-conducted room inspections behind her. She knew to look at the less obvi hiding places, especially the ones that she wasn’t already using herself.
After feeling along the sides of the mattress and even lifting it up, she decided to check out the drawer in the nightstand, in case her roommate was clever enough to tape shit to the top or behind.
There was nothing there except for the standard motel shit, which this used to be before they turned it into employee housing. The Gideon Bible lay on top of the print outs with information about stores and gas stations nearby. The sort of intel that was useless to someone without a car.
Jordy picked up the Gideon Bible so she could pull out the drawer, and what do you know.
Paydirt.
There was something tucked into the back cover. She opened it, and saw the photographs. Boring. Just your standard kid pix with her moms, or…ok, her dad was somewhat interesting. The moms looked average height, but Katie’s dad was tall, and there was something about him that made Jordy think of Puma. He was tall, well built, and had some of the look of the First Nations, or Native Americans.
There weren’t any pictures of him alone, or with her other than as a small child, as if he had died or ghosted. Too bad, so sad, what’s next. Jordy whistled. Now, looky here. That’s what she was talkin’ about.
She held two current drivers licenses in her hand, both with photos of Katie. Both had addresses with Denver zip codes, but the names were different. Chances were the addresses were fake too.
What was this girl doing with two current IDs? Jordy examined both closely, holding them to the light, scraping her fingernail gently along the edges. She whistled again. The job that was done on these was good.
Jordy placed them back into the Gideon Bible, humming to herself. Despite Katie’s penchant for plush turds, she was interesting after all. She was going to keep an eye on her, that was for sure. Leverage was always a good thing, especially if Katie turned out to be useful to her.
She was a big believer in making her own luck. And it was great luck that she made her way here, working for Puma, after recently being disowned by her Naval officer dad. Apparently he had hit the limit in getting hauled in for yet another dressing down by his CO. Fights, trespassing, stealing, drug-dealing – her father managed to cover it all up, not because he cared about her, but because if she’d ever actually been convicted, it would have reflected badly on him. His competence was called into question, because he obviously couldn’t control his kid.
His bad kid, that is, since effin’ Franklin, aka her ex-brother the suckup, was more than thrilled to turn her in. He was the junior version of dear old dad, even though they were both adopted. Trying to force her into the military mold didn’t take, as evidenced by her penchant for breaking into abandoned buildings and locked up mausoleums in cemeteries for shits and giggles. Her father had hit the roof when he’d fou
nd her books on magic and Tarot; that had been the last straw.
Now that she was here, in a much better place than that standard issue everybody-better-fit-in Naval base where she would never, ever belong, she was going to do whatever it took to make the most out of it. Especially as it was rare that she actually came across someone she respected like the head of Ops.
His right hand person was a thin, dark-haired woman named Trish, but Jordy had been watching her critically. Trish was competent, but barely that, in Jordy’s opinion. Puma deserved someone better.
Someone like Jordy.
Maybe after a stop at the Staff Caff for some food she’d jump on the shuttle to town, pick up some necessary ingredients, and get herself a promotion.
She smiled to herself with the plan. And then it would be back here, for another night of working alongside people who she could barely tolerate, with their annoying inferiorities.
Jordy pulled out a Tarot card for the day, a practice that served her well. The worn card was from the Major Arcana, which heralded something significant. The Hierophant. Interesting. A Teacher coming along, with ancient learning.
Jordy tucked the card back into the deck, humming to herself.
The Waryeors were out with Miller, trekking to the site where Col had been held the previous day, while Simon remained at the house.
Simon turned to his computer, something in the details that Col had reported tugging at his memory. The machine was a powerful piece of technology, and ensconced in his spacious office overlooking the forests and mountain range in the distance. The scenery was wasted, since Simon studiously pored over the various high resolution monitors that were lit up like NASA’s Mission Control center with all the custom programs they were running.
“You’re amazing, Simon,” the voice of Jemima Danes, the hot TV actress, cooed. He had paid her to record his computer alerts and ring tones —not in person, of course—which he then had programmed in to his various systems. He particularly enjoyed waking up to her affirmations in the morning.
Here, she was letting him know that there was a significant match between Col’s experience and another anomaly, culled from the various databases that Simon was able to access, even uninvited.
And what a match it was.
Recently there had been a rash of similar abductions — young, buff men who were running or hiking in the woods of upstate New York. Their bodies had been found after the latest victim had been tracked using the records of the watch he’d been wearing. The fitness company was more than cooperative in handing over the coordinates of his run, and where it had come to an abrupt stop.
The police were still trying to find the persons responsible, but had only said that the closest residents —some type of religious retreat —were nowhere to be found, perhaps not even present at the time of the abductions.
That by itself, was suspicious, but the next part, from a different set of databases, had Simon pushing his glasses back up on his nose, leaning forward in astonishment.
The area where the bodies had been found was rich in crystal deposits, and important to New Age visitors. It was, in their parlance, an energy vortex of some sort.
Just like here.
His fingers flew over the keyboard, furiously clacking out more instructions.
Nothing more.
He blew out an exasperated sigh, the lock of hair on his forehead bobbing up in response. But he knew in his gut that it was connected.
He’d talk to Miller about it, see if it was worth hiring a private investigator to send up there so they could root around some more and find out what might be behind the murders. It might very well have something to do with The Dark Warlord. And if that were the case….he started tapping his sternum. He futilely wished he knew more, but anyone who could tell him anything was long gone.
In addition to looking for anomalies or any news items that might indicate the re-awakening of The Dark Warlord, he had set his computer programs to root out any details that would lead to the mystery of his parents’s deaths, any clues as to who killed them or why.
But in this, Jemima’s voice was frustratingly silent. Similarly, he had exhausted all other avenues, including the little that Miller could tell him.
Miller had been hired by his parents. Miller did know that they called themselves Diviners. It had something to do with their ability to divine magical energy. He also knew that they had a tradition of going into the military or law enforcement to get the training necessary to — as he learned later — protect the five Sarcophagi and their contents that had been hidden on their property. When Miller had received an honorable discharge, he took up his friend Jeffrey’s offer to move to Gardendale. Jeffrey was Simon’s father.
It was Miller who raised him, from the time he found Simon, still alive after the massacre of his parents. That memory swept through him with a shudder. He had been in his hidey-hole that only a five year old could fit into. It was small, cramped, and kept him from the killer’s sight. But it couldn’t keep out the sound of his parents’ screams, or the evil dripping from the killer’s voice afterwards.
He kept tapping his medallion rapidly, forcing himself to deepen his breaths. Slowed them down by looking at the wide expanse of his office space, the even larger open area in the vista beyond. Since that time, he had a problem with tight, confined spaces. There were other triggers for panic attacks, of course, but thanks to Miller, he was as reasonably well-adjusted as a five year old kid present at his parents’ violent ends could be.
He was freakin’ Batman, minus the cowl and cape and the physical prowess. With a recorded actress’s voice the closest he would get to having a girlfriend. And one step away from having to bolt down furniture because of the shifters brawling in his living room.
Reasonably well-adjusted, riiiiiiiight.
Cadmus hated what he was wearing, but he knew that he had to fit in here. Make himself invisible. So he’d reluctantly taken Micah’s advice on what to wear to look like the head of a tech company, and outfitted himself in what he was assured was a top of the line long sleeved tee-shirt and pants that could unzip into shorts. Never in a million years would he have thought he would have to wear garments made out of garbage — 4.8 plastic soda bottles were recycled to make this!, the shirt tag proclaimed —in service to His Terrible Majesty. The only saving grace was that somewhere out there, Micah was wearing clothes that he similarly detested.
He had come to this little shop of horrors, to get what he needed so he could track down the man-wolf. His ticket to getting back in His Terrible Majesty’s good graces. The store was billed as the most extensive purveyor of metaphysical goods, including ingredients used in spell work and the crafting of charms. Even so, it had a light and airy feel, with soft flute music piped in that featured sounds of rushing water and gentle bells. There were sashes of lavender fabric draped over every available space, and wind chimes and dreamcatchers everywhere that he kept knocking into.
“Did you hear about us from the Faire?” The speaker was a short, rotund woman with purple feathers woven into her grey hair. Her t-shirt was large, deep purple and read This Is My Resting Witch Face with a helpful upwards-pointing arrow.
“Excuse me?” Cadmus asked, meaning the Faire, but really it was the woman who should have been apologizing for that abomination of an outfit.
“Oh, most people find us from the huge booth we have at the Faire, where we make most of our sales. I’m there at night, giving my readings, but the regulars know that if they come here, they’ll get a more private setting, so we can really go in depth, you know what I mean?”
She obviously mistook Cadmus’ look of horror for encouragement to continue.
“In fact, I have my custom-made cards here, featuring my cats dressed up in outfits I designed myself. Would you like a reading? I can tell you’re in desperate need of my special Soulmate Finder Reading. In fact, I’ll give you an hour long reading for the price of 45 minutes!”
Cadmus was speechless at the o
nslaught of words that really didn’t belong together. Did she really say her tarot cards had dressed up cats on them? He wanted to kill her just on principle. But then he wouldn’t get what he needed. He finally cleared his throat.
“No, actually I’m in need of some ingredients that I am hoping you might have available.” He listed them, and Resting Witch Face laughed.
“Wow, I haven’t had a request for that in many years. But I know I definitely have everything on your list, because nobody else has bought them. It’ll take me a few minutes to pull them together from the back, so why don’t you take a look around, make yourself comfortable?”
“Of course,” Cadmus said. He’d continue looking around, with the same fascination reserved for seeing photos of medical abnormalities, but he could never find comfort here. She disappeared past some lavender curtains, setting off more wind chimes, and Cadmus settled himself by looking at an array of crystal pendulums hanging from a display stand.
One of them seemed to respond to his gaze, and started spinning tightly without being touched. He raised an eyebrow. It was clear quartz, and swung impossibly high, towards him, the chain stretched straight out as an arrow.
He took a deep breath, clearing his mind of the distracting irritation at his surroundings, the annoyance at what he was wearing, and allowed himself to feel the message.
The pendulum wasn’t pointing at him. It was pointing to indicate the imminence of what he had wanted. He could sense it now. The potential darkness for him to tap into. A possible recruit.
The pendulum was almost pulsing, as if it were screaming, Now do you get it? All of a sudden it stopped, dropping back into position alongside all the other pendulums for sale as if it had never moved at all. The bells at the store’s entrance noisily jangled to announce a new customer, at the exact moment the chimes at the lavender curtains heralded the return of the proprietor.
Cadmus turned to look at who had entered the store. He barely had time to hide his surprise at what he saw, just as Resting Witch Face called out.
Col: His Destined Mate Page 7