The Vigiles Urbani Chronicles- Year One
Page 1
The Vigiles Urbani Chronicles
Year One
Ken Lange
Table of Contents
Accession of the Stone Born
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Dust Walkers
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Table of Contents continued
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Shades of Fire & Ash
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Table of Contents continued
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
About the Author
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Accession of the Stone Born
Book 1
Death doesn't always ride a pale horse.
Gavin Randall hasn’t been home in nearly thirty years. Upon his return, he steps into a world he never knew existed and awakens dormant powers to discover that he’s one of the rarest beings in the supernatural community—a Stone Born. Now his very existence is a threat to the established order.
A mysterious death pulls him in further, forcing him to face off against family and foe alike. Gavin must reconcile the past he knew with a strange world of magic, along the way encountering new creatures and dangers he’s never experienced.
Will Gavin discover the truth? Or will this new world swallow him whole before he uncovers who he really is and who wants his uncle dead?
Accession of the Stone Born
Ken Lange
Published by Ken Lange
Copyright © 2017, Ken Lange
Edited by Danielle Fine
Cover Art by Danielle Fine
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Acknowledgments
Special Thanks
To Rick G., Steve M., and Eric A. You have been an incredible resource and more helpful in this endeavor than I could ever have hoped!
To my editor Danielle Fine for helping me turn this book into what it was meant to be.
Dedication
To my partner in all things and my better half, Kim. You always show me the way and help me be better than I was the day before. Thank you.
The angel of death flew across the ocean on wings of iron and steel. The metal beast drank its fill twice between the old world and the new—the latter of which objected to his impending arrival, sending a great wall of storms to stand in his way, its guardians weeping as the prodigal son returned home. The gray beast groaned and creaked as it sliced through the thunder and lightning. The devil was coming to collect his due.
Chapter 1
Wednesday, May 27th
Blinding light startled me awake. Dazed, I jerked to one side, slamming my helmet into the metal wall of the cockpit. The resounding thud reverberated through my head, making me wince, and I blinked for several seconds before the world came into focus. Lightning danced all around us in the deep black and gray clouds blanketing the sky. The aircraft shuddered as thunder rolled over us in waves, making the thin metal wings quiver.
We were flying in an F-15, which was never meant to be a passenger aircraft, or deal with the inclement weather we’d run into over the Gulf of Mexico. The maelstrom was so vicious that the helmet did little to keep out the sound of rain crashing into the canopy. Over the next hour, things got progressively worse as we flew deeper into the heart of the storm covering Louisiana, Mississippi, and a good bit of Texas.
We’d been stuck in flight for nearly twelve hours, and I wasn’t accustomed to being shoved into a sardine can for so long. My shoulders were bowed in, and my knees were practically at chin level. All this had led to nearly every muscle in my body cramping. While I wasn’t sure about the pilot, I was stiff, sore, and generally grumpy
Being unceremoniously let go after nearly three decades of service with the Department of Defense wasn’t helping my attitude either. It wasn’t as if the decision was a surprise, but it still hurt, especially after they’d put me through nine types of hell more than once.
The safety harness dug into my shoulders as turbulence rocked the aircraft, and the sensation of being an unwelcome guest washed over me like ice water. It was as if Mother Nature herself objected to my return to my homeland. I’d been away for twenty-eight years, and judging by the reception I’d gotten so far, it hadn’t been long enough.
Being unwanted was better than the alternative though. Given my history, I was lucky I hadn’t been locked up or killed in some convenient “accident,” which was what normally happened to people like me—and, frankly, I couldn’t fathom why they hadn’t. Not that I wasn’t grateful, but it was curious.
The plane touched down with a rough bounce. Strong winds threatened to thrust us back into the sky, but the craft groaned as the pilot fought back, forcing us down one last time, and taxied the length of the runway. We were about a hund
red yards from the hangar when the pilot let out an audible breath and allowed his shoulders to go slack.
He turned his head to one side and settled back in his seat. “We’ve arrived, sir.”
Looking out the window, I barely recognized the Naval Air Station of New Orleans, or more accurately, Belle Chasse.
My lips curled into a crooked half smile, and I huffed out a laugh. “You don’t have to call me sir. I work for a living.” I clapped the back of his headrest harder than I’d meant to, making him jump in his seat. “Thanks for the ride.”
His helmet moved forward a fraction. “You’re welcome. If it had been up to me, we would’ve landed somewhere else, but I’m under orders to get you here ASAP.” Unfastening his oxygen mask, he couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “Either you’re exceptionally important or you really pissed someone off.” He held up a hand to stop me from answering. “I don’t want to know which.” He stretched his neck and yawned. “All I want is a shitter and a shower before I sack out.”
Grinning, I unclasped my mask and let it dangle from one side. “You’re a wise man.”
The kid in front of me was maybe twenty-five, with a lot of life ahead of him. I, on the other hand, had more in common with the aircraft we’d been flying…a large, out-of-date relic that was best forgotten.
On that rather depressing note, I was forty-five years old, and everything I owned fit into one knapsack. Hell, I even had a little room left over since I was wearing a pair of size twelve black Wolverine Raiders, blue jeans, and a white button-up long-sleeved dress shirt that hadn’t seen an iron in weeks.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford more, but I’d never bothered acquiring things…which was about to change very rapidly. Normal people needed phones, computers, cars, and a place to live. One thing I’d learned a long time ago was to blend in as best I could. Hard to accomplish given my size, but something I’d mastered over the years. I’d need to repeat that success if I was going to fit in.
The pilot gently coasted into the hangar so we could disembark without getting soaked in the downpour. The canopy opened, and he scrambled down the ladder, where an officer promptly escorted him away for debriefing, which meant that this flight had never happened. I could only hope it wouldn’t ruin his career.
After climbing down, I stood there looking at some of the biggest marines I’d seen in a long time—though even the tallest was a few inches shorter than me. They were dressed in body armor and had their weapons at the ready, but most wore a confused expression.
It appeared only their sergeant knew who I was, and the possible threat I represented. His gaze landed on me, and he waited to see what I was going to do.
I took a few seconds to size up the situation as I stretched. Not including the sergeant, I counted a dozen marines—most likely reservists who’d never seen action. That meant they were well trained but had little to no experience. Bonus for me. And there were several exits I could get through without permanent injury…
I took a deep breath. Focus. I wasn’t in danger, nor was I going to be arrested…otherwise the flight would’ve been pointless. They could’ve arrested me with less trouble and veteran troops back in Naples. Releasing the breath slowly, I forced myself to relax.
If I just cooperated with these men, I’d be a free man shortly. If I didn’t…well, that scenario ended poorly for everyone.
The barrel-chested sergeant stepped forward. His voice was uncommonly high for a man of his breadth, and the deep southern accent made it even more annoying. “Mr. Randall, we’re here to escort you to the commander’s office.”
Snapping myself upright, I yanked my bag over my shoulder and gave the man a curt nod. “Carry on.”
The soldiers fell in around me and escorted me around the base like a mini parade for the damned. People gawked as we passed through their cubical domains until we reached the commander’s office. There, the sergeant, along with three of his men, guided me through the open door.
I didn’t bother to duck when we went in, and the top of my hair brushed the doorframe. For most men, this would’ve been an oversized office, with a massive oak desk at the rear of the room. For me, it was comfortable. The brass placard read Captain Scott R. Gootee. The commander of Belle Chasse Naval Station, at a guess.
Captain Gootee didn’t bother to look up until he’d finished reading a report. He was in his mid-forties, thin, and his dress uniform was immaculate. He stared at me for several seconds before glancing over at the sergeant and dismissing him with a curt nod. “You can leave us.”
By the expression on the marine’s face, it was clear he wanted to object, but he and his men snapped to attention and closed the door behind them. Captain Gootee continued to eye me closely, as if he were trying to fit some sort of puzzle together in his head. “I thought you’d be bigger. I’m not sure how that would be humanly possible, but there you have it.”
Standing at parade rest, I stifled a snicker. “I get that a lot more than you’d think.”
Captain Gootee motioned for me to take a seat. “You’ve caused quite a commotion over the last eighteen hours.”
The burgundy leather chair creaked as I sank into the buttoned cushion. It was comfortable enough, but I’d just spent the last dozen hours on my ass, and it was starting to hurt. “I suppose I have, but I was only following orders.”
The captain looked sympathetic as he nodded. “I know.” He appeared genuinely conflicted as he searched for the right words. “You don’t know me, but I know of you. You saved some friends of mine in Iraq, and others in Afghanistan over the years.” He grumbled as he picked up a sheet of paper and read it again. “I’ve got orders as well.” He shoved the papers onto his desk with a disapproving thud. “I don’t particularly care for them either.”
I felt for him, but there wasn’t anything I could do to make things easier. “It’s okay, Captain. Just do what needs to be done. There isn’t anything either of us can do about it.”
Captain Gootee nodded. He reached under his desk and produced a bottle of whiskey. “You drink?”
Tilting my head to the side, I checked the clock on the wall. 10:15 a.m. CST. With a crooked grin, I blithely waved a hand. “I’m game if you are.”
The captain put two tumblers on the desk and poured three fingers of whiskey in each before raising his glass. “To those we’ve lost and those who’ve lost themselves.”
We both pounded back our drinks and placed the tumblers on the desk. “I can’t do anything else for you.” The captain smiled and fingered the papers in front of him. “I can’t tell you that there’s a man sitting in a blue sedan outside the gates who’ll drop you off wherever you’d like, and I can’t say thank you for your years of service.” The captain poured himself another drink and tossed it back before looking at me. “You do have somewhere to go, right?”
I nodded. “I do.”
The captain visibly relaxed. “Good. The door’s going to open in a minute, and you’ll be escorted to the front gates.” He filled the glass again, and held it up in my direction. “Goodbye, Mr. Randall.”
My time was clearly at an end, and I stood. “You can call me Gavin.”
The captain downed the third drink. “Have a great life, Gavin.”
With a grin, I bowed my head.
As I opened the door, the captain called out to me. “You know this is wrong.”
I paused for a moment, locking eyes with the sergeant and forcing myself not to turn around, then nodded. Putting one foot in front of the other, I didn’t look back as I allowed the marines to escort me to the front gate. Once I was outside the perimeter, they turned and marched back to their barracks. A blue sedan pulled up, and the driver beckoned for me to get out of the rain.
He kindly dropped me off at the St. Charles branch of Chase Bank.
Chapter 2
While I was away, I’d had no need for money. Every paycheck was sent into my checking account, and at the end of each calendar year, everything save five thousand
dollars was transferred to a brokerage firm in New York. Over the years, I’d seen a few statements, and I’d never want for money after my retirement if I didn’t spend it lavishly. It took a couple of hours of paperwork to remove the automatic transfer, and another hour and a half to get a debit card, temporary checks, and three thousand dollars’ cash.
The big problem was that I wasn’t near retirement age, and the money I’d set aside for my later years needed to be kept for just that. That meant I had to find a job sooner rather than later. For now, though, I had business to attend to here in the city. Hopefully, life in the States hadn’t changed so much that I’d burn through my available cash before I found something suitable.
That thought made me snigger as I stepped out onto St. Charles Ave. What was suitable for a man like me? The few skills I did have almost certainly weren’t in high demand in the land of the free and home of the brave.
Grimacing, I rolled through the names of a few of the men who’d retired from service over the years who now ran security firms, which were more like private armies for those willing to pay. My stomach turned at the thought of working for any of them. Their loyalties were to whoever had the fattest wallet, and I would’ve rather burned in hell than lived like that. Of course, living on the streets or being institutionalized weren’t high on my list of shit to do either.
The rain had stopped about an hour earlier, but angry clouds littered the sky, threatening another deluge. Thunder rolled in the distance, telling me that Mother Nature hadn’t finished having her say. The late afternoon air was thick, hot, and almost solid.
Moisture clung to my body, and a trickle of sweat ran between my shoulder blades and down my back. I put my bag on the ground, and rolled up my sleeves, revealing the deeply tanned skin underneath.
At least I wouldn’t have to endure this godawful weather for long as my destination was maybe six or seven blocks away. The Garden District was one of the older and prettier sections, filled with the city’s wealthy and influential. Great oaks lined every street, creating shadowy canopies, keeping the area cooler than the rest of the city.