Those Wonderful Toys: Preternatural Chronicles Book 7 (The Preternatural Chronicles)

by Hunter Blain

  The boy shrugged again in answer and began making his way out of the room and down the hallway.

  “Let your parents sleep, okay, bud? They...they are really tired,” I called out, my voice cracking at the weight of what I was saying. But it was for the best that he didn’t see whatever carnage had befallen his mom and dad whenever Ulric had smashed through their bedroom.

  Oh God...it was my fault Ulric had landed where he did. I should have been more careful and considered my surroundings.

  “No,” I barked out as silently as I could so the child wouldn’t hear me, but unable to contain my words to mere mental projections. “It’s not your fucking fault. Don’t do that. Not now.”

  Setting my jaw, I constructed a cage made from discarded bread twisty ties to imprison my feelings of guilt at the damage I had caused, knowing full well they would escape, in time. Even now, they lashed out with jagged claws to rake at my mind.

  Looking down, I saw the lifeless body of my friend who had only wanted to see the woman he loved one more time.

  My mind flashed to Lily, and my heart cracked like a crystal vase that was barely holding its shape, on the verge of crumbling into shards and becoming unrecognizable.

  Shaking my head again, I forced the thought away, knowing I had a duty to Ludvig...and Hayley.

  “Oh no...” I breathed “...Hayley.”

  TV static filled my brain as I swayed on the precipice of losing my balance at the sheer tragedy of it all.

  It was pure, exquisite torture to be the bearer of sorrowful knowledge. The boy and his grandparents were going to learn the truth, and soon. It was the same with Hayley, and the thought made my crystalline heart crack even further. I was going to have to be the one to tell her about her husband, and how he had given his life to save her own.

  The bedroom blurred as warm tears bubbled over my open eyes, and my core felt empty. For a reason I couldn’t put a finger on, my face seemed to become heavy, as if a dense rubber had been injected under my skin. It weighed me down, and I stared at the blurry floor, Ludvig’s body in my peripheral vision reminding me there was no escaping reality.

  Still holding my beanie, I wiped at my eyes with the cloth made in Heaven above, and renewed my determination to do what I must. Hayley deserved that.

  I replaced my loyal beanie, bent down, and picked up Ludvig with my arms under his neck and knees.

  Walking to the edge of the boy’s bedroom on the second story, I manifested my wings and extended them right as I stepped into the empty air, gliding to the ground and covering several feet before my boots crunched on grass littered with debris from the battle.

  I walked the rest of the way to the house Hayley was in, and then froze.

  “Not like this. Not here,” I said to the empty air and the approaching police sirens in the background.

  Bringing up my phone, I saw I hadn’t charged my teleport function, and silently cursed myself.

  A playful scene of me falling into a pool and my subsequent back-and-forth with Hayley came to mind, and I desperately longed to be back then, when my greatest problem was pissing off the warden.

  Still looking at my uncharged teleport application, I glowered at the phone before an instinct blossomed at the center of my mind.

  The shifting expressions on my face flattened, and I mentally reached for the scene around me, and pulled. I didn’t know precisely where I was going, but I had the unmistakable feeling that wherever we landed was where I was supposed to be.

  18

  Locke - Fortress of Solitaire

  Tiny Tim romped into the kitchen at the sound of Locke’s footsteps, yipping before making visual contact.

  Looking down at his phone, Locke saw an email from an anonymous sender, though he knew without having to open it that it was from the two Elders.

  Opening the message, he saw only one word: Lachesis.

  “Well...shit...” Locke breathed as he closed his phone. Shutting his eyes and leaning on the counter, he rubbed at his temples while Tim posted up on his legs, yipping his demands.

  Locke looked down at the little pup and sighed, accepting what must be done with the Elders’ orders. Lachesis would say what they could not while extracting a heavy toll.

  Tim growled in frustration, breaking Locke’s trance.

  “I’m guessing it’s time to eat?” he asked Tim, who jumped in tight little circles in agreement.

  Double-checking his phone, Locke saw the time before calling into the house, “John? You still here?”

  Silence answered.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Locke walked to the large fridge and selected a can from the shelf reserved for Tim’s all organic, nutrition-packed food. There, on the shelf for all to see, was a custom-printed label that read,

  Do NOT put in microwave.

  Locke still received junk mail, even two years later.

  Opening the cold, metal container, Locke scooped as much of the food as he could into Tim’s bowl before rinsing out the excess and tossing the container in the recycle bin.

  Making his way to his room, Locke removed his Council robes—carefully stashing them in the closet as to not get them wrinkled—set his phone to Do Not Disturb, and plopped face-first on his bed. John had awoken him at least an hour before the sun started to rise, and Locke needed a nap.

  Several hours later, Locke jerked awake to see he had taken a coma rather than a simple nap.

  Cursing, he hastily brushed his teeth, rolled on his deodorant, and did a quick spritz of his favorite cologne. After that, he put on blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a plain black T-shirt.

  Licking his thumb, Locke rubbed at a smudge on his pristine shoes, took in a shallow breath, and stood up with an exhale, ready to face the seer.

  Stepping through the door and into the driveway, Locke heard the reassuring clicks of the automated security system Collin had helped set up, ensuring that no trespasser—mortal or supe—could intrude. At least not easily.

  Opening the door to his Tesla, Locke took note of the few dints and dings from years of use. He could have bought a brand-new model whenever he felt like, but this one had been good to him.

  Pulling from the grounds, Locke made his way toward the highway. The side road was empty all the way to I-45, with not even a single set of headlights passing him.

  Glancing at the time, Locke saw that it was late, and briefly wondered if Lachesis would even be up at this hour. The notion passed as he told himself that she would—without a doubt—be expecting him.

  A swelling of competing thoughts and concerns slammed against the wall of Locke’s mind, threatening to consume him in a storm of chaos if he didn’t address them soon.

  Setting his car to autopilot, Locke brought up his phone and began slowly scrolling through his contact list. He needed someone to talk out his thoughts with.

  Seeing Father Thomes Philseep, Locke selected the name and let it ring. After four rings, his call was answered.

  “Hello?” the elderly voice rang out through Locke’s Bluetooth system, the expensive audio giving the priest a nice bass boost to his voice.

  “Hey, Father Thomes,” Locke said, almost unsure of where to start.

  “Locke? What can I do for you at this hour?” With John being out of town for most of the last two years, coupled with his ability to walk in the sun now, Father Thomes had apparently adopted a normal sleeping schedule again.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you, Father. I...I just needed someone to talk to.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m here for, my son,” Father Thomes said with a slight grunt. Locke could picture him pushing himself up to a seated position in his bed.

  “I...” Locke began, his eyes going unfocused as he stared out the windshield, the cars on the highway seeming almost hypnotic. “I feel like I’m being used.”

  “Oh? By whom?”

  “The Elders.”

  “I’m not too familiar with them. Perhaps you can fill me in so that I might better understand the situation
.”

  “Well, there’s Hecate, of course. She is the head of the High Council, but doesn’t seem to have the other Elders under complete control.”

  “How so?” Father Thomes asked, curiosity intermixing with intrigue.

  “There are two Elders on the High Council who—from what I can gather—do not respect Hecate’s authority.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Gryff and Carlyon. The Red and Blue Cloaks.”

  “Colored system? Hmm. Is red some sort of police force?”

  “The red cloaks are the equivalent of the Council’s military, while the blue cloaks are the bureaucrats.”

  “This...Hecate,” Father Thomes started, sounding distant, as if deep in thought, “is she the one who first trained you?”

  “Ye-yes, Father. Good memory.”

  “Curious,” Father Thomes mused to himself.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t think the supernatural community would welcome a warlock as their leader.”

  “Ah. Well...you bring up a good point. She’s, ah, not a warlock...anymore. She gave up her powers and learned to be a wizard.”

  “Forgive my ignorance, but why would a warlock willingly give up their powers to become a wizard? Weren’t yours taken and it almost killed you?”

  “John tells you a lot, doesn’t he?” Locke asked in a tone that was more touched than accusing. He knew the Father had helped John forgive him long ago when he was but a head in a box.

  Ignoring Locke’s statement thinly poised as a question, Father Thomes continued, “How did she not perish?” His voice was flat, and Locke couldn’t tell if it was concern for the supernatural community being led by an ex-warlock, or if he was fully interested in the topic at hand now. Father Thomes was one who digested as much information as he possibly could, rivaling most supes with his knowledge and memory.

  Locke thought for a moment longer before answering the question.

  “I’m not sure. I think it has something to do with her never being able to leave the In-Between.”

  “Or at least being unable to return to our plane where time flows normally.”

  “Normally for us,” Locke corrected.

  “So, these two Elders are giving Hecate a hard time, then?” Father Thomes asked, getting the train back on its tracks. “For her to be in power suggests some would be on her side. Perhaps even a majority?”

  “Elder Scymanky, the Green Cloak, and Elder Tafoya, the Brown Cloak,” Locke confirmed nodding his head, which felt both silly and right.

  “I am beginning to notice a pattern with the cloaks.”

  Locke’s eyebrows went up for a moment in mild surprise at how perceptive the Father was.

  “Yes. The Green Cloaks are basically R&D, with the Brown Cloaks being responsible for recruitment and training.”

  “So, the lawyer and general dislike the ex-warlock...but the scientist and teacher trust her? Am I getting this all correctly?”

  “Ye-yes, Father,” Locke answered, unable to drop how impressed he was with the mortal man. Then he reminded himself that nearly the entire household spoke to the father on a regular basis, and had done so for decades.

  “Well, at least it is somewhat comforting to know that political strife exists across all planes and isn’t exclusive to Earth.”

  “Heh, yeah,” Locke agreed on autopilot while the next thought stepped to the counter with demands to be recognized.

  “They are hiding something from me. Something big.”

  “Forgive my ignorance, but aren’t you but a student?”

  “Apprentice.”

  “Apprentice, thank you. Why would they share the goings-on of their duties with one such as yourself?”

  Locke’s mouth started to formulate a knee-jerk response about having been with Hecate before, but he stopped himself.

  Silence filled the space between the passing seconds, prompting Father Thomes to deduce the situation.

  “You think, because of your past with Hecate, that you should be privy to information that is above your pay grade.”

  “I...” Locke let the lack of words answer for him as the silence came back. Only the pleasant sound of tires on the road and the cool air-conditioning filled the air.

  “Locke? Did I lose you?” Father Thomes asked, his voice growing distant as if he was pulling his phone away to check the screen. He still had a flip phone, refusing to opt for one of the now standard wrist-mounted pieces of technology.

  “I-I-I’m still here, Father,” Locke answered, shaking his head and bringing himself back from his thoughts.

  “Thought I lost you for a moment. Can I assume your silence was acquiescence?”

  “For argument’s sake, let’s go with sure.”

  “You are a smart man, Locke. I have a feeling you do not need me to tell you the absurdity of your notion. So, what is the real reason you are calling?”

  Locke blinked hard a few times, realizing he was right.

  “I get the impression that something big is going on behind the scenes that could impact us directly, Father. They mention John, and even admit he is at the center of the prophecy in some form or fashion, but won’t do anything to stop it.”

  “Hmm. Why do you think that is?”

  “Well...” Locke began while thinking back on the conversations with the High Council and then the Elders. “I think it has something to do with attacks from an outside force.”

  “You mean like Lucifer?”

  “Not exactly,” Locke drawled as his mind raced. “I get the impression it’s something much bigger.”

  “Bigger than Satan himself?” Father Thomes asked, surprise sneaking into his voice.

  “Yes and no. They seem to understand the threat of the Devil, but seemed resigned to focus more on this other thing.”

  “How very curious,” Father Thomes said flatly.

  The pair thought in silence for a full two minutes before Father Thomes spoke up.

  “Well, I think we should only focus on what we can control, for now. Maybe you will discover more about what is behind the veil and we can compare notes. For the time being, I suggest we keep all of creation from falling apart. If I am not mistaken, we have just under three years before the prophecy becomes null and void, right?”

  “I can appreciate your optimism,” Locke said with a chuckle.

  “John has done much, and I believe he will keep surprising us with his growth and abilities.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Locke said as his face went flat, feeling the weight of what they were saying.

  “Have faith, my son,” Father Thomes said confidently.

  Locke’s shoulders—which he hadn’t noticed had been tense—dropped to a neutral stance as he let out a long breath.

  “Thank you, Father. Thank you for reminding me of what is important.”

  The turnoff for Lachesis’ road came into view.

  “I need to go now. Talk soon?”

  “Of course, Locke. Peace be with you.”

  “And with you,” Locke answered as he pressed the red phone icon on his steering wheel, ending the call.

  Lachesis’s yellow house came into view, and Locke opted to park in the street instead of the seer’s driveway. He didn’t know why. Maybe the simple gesture of choosing where to park provided him with a sense of control in a situation where he knew how not in control he was. Lachesis was going to tell Locke what he probably didn’t want to hear—though he needed to hear it—and he was going to pay a price for it that he couldn’t possibly guess.

  Turning off the car, Locke’s hands felt sweaty as he stepped into the cool night. A shiver went up his spine as he shut his car door, and he briefly wondered why he hadn’t brought a jacket with him. It hadn’t been cool outside of the mansion, but it was definitely more than chilly outside the seer’s ramshackle house.

  Locke set his chin and made his way toward the front porch, little pebbles seeming to crackle under his feet the way rocks do when stepped on.
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  In front of the door, Locke shook out his hands in an effort to abolish the anxiety building in them, and raised his fist to knock.

  The door creaked open, making Locke’s heart begin to pound, and an empty, dark hallway greeted the man with a phantom’s hiss.

  19

  Depweg - Fairie

  Depweg lay on his bed with one arm under his neck as he stared at the ceiling and played back Ulric’s message over and over again.

  A stern knock made him jump and his skin crawl as his body urged to burst into fight mode.

  “Depweg?” Magni’s muffled voice called out. He sounded unsure, and the were immediately got control over the wolf inside his mind.

  “Come in, Magni,” Depweg called out, running a hand over his face hard enough to pull skin.

  The young man walked in with red, glistening eyes that spilled tears at seeing his friend.

  “What is it?” Depweg asked, standing upright as Magni rushed into his arms. The boy lost it then, sobbing uncontrollably with violent shudders. Depweg had never noticed how tall the young man had become until that moment, noticing how Magni’s arms took the high ground when the pair went in for the embrace. Every pair of huggers made the distinction of who would go high and who would go low as they opened their arms. Most men of similar heights chose the alternating embrace—one arm high and the other low—so that both men were on equal footing. Magni’s arms were both high, making the five-foot-nine Depweg feel short.

  “He...he’s dead,” Magni said between sobs.

  “What? Who?” Depweg asked in alarm, pushing the young man back to better look at his face.

  “Ludvig!”

  “How do you know?” Depweg asked, trying desperately to find an easy explanation to what Magni was saying.

  Looking up from the red-faced man, Depweg saw Taylor standing in his doorway, both arms crossed in front of his chest and head hanging low.

  “No...” Depweg breathed in disbelief. “Is...?”

  “John is fine,” Taylor said, lifting his head to meet Depweg’s gaze. “He is delivering Thor to Asgard as we speak.”