by Lita Stone
Atticus’ lips stretched into a half-grin. “I have slept with worse.”
Trish hesitated, seemingly taken aback. She cleared her throat. “What brings you to town?”
“I hunt the Beast.”
“Ah, well, you’ll find plenty of them in Sacred Forest.” From one of the cubby holes behind her, she fetched a key. “How long will you be staying?”
“Until the Beast is dead.”
Trish nodded. “Well, we offer a home-style breakfast. Roxy’s diner caters lunch. In the evenings we offer sweet tea, front porch sitting and horseshoes.” She gave a wink. “Ramsey, my husband, is the undefeated champion.”
Atticus set a stack of money down. “How many nights can I afford?”
Trish let out a delicate squeal as she fanned the bills. “That’ll get you two weeks at the least. If you need anything, darlin’, you just ask for Miss Trish or Mister Ramsey Stonehedge.” The woman scanned the small lobby. “Bobby! We have a new guest.” Trish’s face contorted in disappointment before she turned back to Atticus with a cheery expression. “Kids are so lazy these days. But can’t really blame ’em, with all those gadgets and doodads they got.” Head cocked, she sighed. “You sure do look like an old soul, hun. What’s your name?”
He bowed. “My name is Atticus.”
“After Mr. Atticus Finch?”
“No ma’am. After the martyr.”
“Oh. I see. Well, it’s a nice name.”
An overweight teenage boy entered from the parlor room. He held a half-empty bag of deep-fried potato slices called potato chips in one hand and a large can of soda-poison in the other. “Yes ma’am?” he said while munching.
“Bobby, dear, meet our newest guest, Atticus.”
“Yo,” the boy said.
“Take Atticus to his room.”
Bobby waved Atticus along as if he were a pet. “C’mon.”
His bag slung over his shoulder, Atticus followed.
“Nice gear,” Bobby said as they climbed a short staircase to the second floor.
The worn wood creaked beneath Atticus’ boots.
The boy looked back at Atticus. “Looks like the leather armor from Guild Battles, after you add the green dye that you have to get from the goblin archers in Pyrewind Meadows.”
Strange. The Order was under the impression they’d eradicated Goblins from this region of the planet long ago.
“Here it is,” Bobby waved at a door with a copper star emblazoned into the antique wood.
A photo of a malnourished gunfighter was pinned on the bedroom wall. A caption beneath read: I’ll be your huckleberry.
“It’s the Holiday suite,” Bobby said. “Get it?”
Atticus slung his gear and sword onto the bed.
“Yo, man. Is that a real sword?”
“Indeed.” His back to Bobby, Atticus unzipped his bag. He removed Rourn’s journal and the wilted flower. Placing them on the dresser, he asked, “Is there food…a restaurant nearby?”
“Carmen will be by around noon with lunch. Not my taste, but people ‘round here seem to love her...I mean the food.”
Atticus gave a curt nod and closed the door in the boy’s face. His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since graduation night. But first he needed to report his observations of the murder scene. From his belt clip, he unclasped his phone and dialed Elder Cai.
“Atticus, my boy.”
“I humbly ask is there any more information you have uncovered regarding the Geminus?”
“I have consulted with members from the Arch Templars of the Divine Council. Their knowledge is limited, but we have found some clues after searching the ancient texts. The female—or Whelp—will be in heat and prove to be extremely fatalistic.”
“The Stag has already proven its savagery,” Atticus said.
“The gruesome murder of one family is just the beginning. The female will morph from human into a primordial beast with more animalistic than human traits. The Arch Templars speculates that the Geminus will attempt to mate soon, bringing her into full maturity.”
“Understood. But I am unclear as to how to proceed.”
“I will continue to meet with the Council and phone as soon as I know more.”
Atticus paced at the foot of the bed. “Is there no path I can explore while I wait for your call?”
Elder Cai hesitated before replying. “An inter-dimensional gateway can be found somewhere in the Sacred woods on the outskirts of Buckeye.”
“I will leave at once.”
“Nay! Only if the Order has exhausted all other avenues and still can find no further clues to help with your search of the Geminus. It is a last resort only. Understood?”
Atticus shook his head, giving no verbal reply.
Elder Cai’s deep sigh reverberated through the phone. “You may inadvertently summon an evil entity or worse, lose yourself on some alien realm. You lack the esoteric skills required to manipulate a cosmic vortex. It would be far too dangerous.”
If Elder Cai deemed the summoning too dangerous, why had he told Atticus of it? Was this another test?
Atticus glanced out the window. A patch of thick woods lined the distant landscape. He gazed into Sacred Oaks, the forest where he could find answers. But he was to do nothing; just sit and wait. “I am expected to save the world with my hands bound by the chain of command?”
“As I am a steward of the Order, I must dictate procedure warning you against unauthorized actions.”
“I refuse to sit idle.”
“Open your ears boy. I’ve given you an alternative.” The Elder hiccupped. “One last thing. The Geminus are capable of sensing your presence. It is only a matter of time before it attempts to eliminate you. After all, you are its most feared predator.”
Atticus looked again at the woods. “Perhaps it is time I start playing with madness.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Two hours later, the Jalopy rattled its way into Buckeye a quarter past noon. Roxy’s Bus Depot read ‘O en’; the ‘p’ darkened. Over the years, little had changed in the small Texas town. Just how Shane liked it. He shifted to park and killed the engine.
Birch grabbed his large duffel from the truck bed and headed for his car parked on the side of Roxy’s.
“You don’t want to come in for a quick bite?” Shane asked.
Birch glanced over his shoulder. “Not sure I can stomach watching you and Amy ogle over each other. But let’s work on our bikes tomorrow.” Birch tossed his bag in the back of his car. “That is, if the little lady don’t tucker you out too much tonight.”
Shane waved and strode into Roxy’s.
Amy, wearing the standard Roxy uniform—black shorts and white T-shirt—hurried by carrying a plate in each hand, both topped with a burger and steak fries.
The richly scented air tasted of bacon grease and buttered biscuits. His mouth watered and his stomach growled.
A poster-sized photograph of his high school football team clung to the wall: the Buckeye Vultures, taken over a decade ago, right after they won the state championship—the glorious Kettle days before he tossed his sorry ass into Uncle Sam’s pot.
Amy set the burgers down at a nearby table, swung around and lunged into his open arms. “Thank God you’re home!”
“Hello, baby.” He held her head between his hands, his eyes roamed her body. “Just let me look at you.”
Their lips fastened. Shane tightened his grip around her waist and drew her close. God, she feels good. And smells a hell of a lot better than raw oil, chewing tobacco and body odor.
“It’s all over the news about the earthquake,” she said. “And the strange lightening.”
Amy’s face was covered in makeup. He ran a thumb over a pink bump on her cheek. “What happened?”
She kissed his palm. Running the back of his hand along her face. “I missed you.”
Fuck that shit! His hands on both sides of her face, he forced her to look at him. “What the fuck happened to your face?”
“You’re the only one that’s noticed.” She hesitated. “Restroom incident at The Bull. Clumsy is all. The door just came out of nowhere.”
Shane drew her against him and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ve told you to be careful around those dangerous doors.” He decided to lighten the mood. Lowering his head, he whispered close to her ear. “Has Bastet been having all the fun?”
Amy blushed and gave him a shove. “Hush. I can’t believe you told Carmen to do that.”
He pressed his face into her neck and inhaled “Mmm. Think I’ll have today’s special. Meatloaf is it?”
She scrunched her shoulders. “Down boy. I’m at work.”
Carmen held two plates, each topped with fried eggs and a scoop of hash browns. A black ponytail bounced in rhythm with her steps. “You two make me want to hurl.”
Shane draped his arm around Amy’s neck, tucking her close. “You're just jealous, Car. Blew your chance to be with a hero and now you're stuck with a bunch of zeroes.”
“Oh jeez.” Amy groaned. “Don’t ever utter that phrase again or we’re through.”
“I’m parched. Mind getting me some sweet tea?”
Amy planted a quick but fiery kiss on his lips and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a pitcher and a glass.
Shane straddled a stool. “Sit. I need to talk to you.”
Amy slid onto the stool beside him. A smile lit her face. “Did you decide to attend the anger management class?” She let out a delicate squeal and clapped her hands. “I’m so proud of you, honey.”
Grimacing, he shook his head. “Not even close.”
Fuck the anger management classes. She needs to drop that shit
Her shoulders sagged, brows furrowed. “Then what?”
Shane cracked his knuckles and let out a deep sigh. Seconds crawled by while his heart hammered against his ribs.
“What did you want to talk about, sweetie?” she said.
Does your mama know you're a slobbering pussy? The taunting words of his former Sergeant Stark rung through his head. Scoop up your balls and tack ‘em back on 'fore I stomp all over them little girly nuts!
Shane cleared his throat. “I want you to—”
“Is anybody gonna bring me my damn coffee?” the old geezer, Robert Campbell, bellowed. The minty scent of Bengay wafted from his skin and clear across the cafe. Had the guy bathed in it?
Amy held up a finger to Shane. “Be right back.” She hopped from the stool.
He snatched her wrist. “Marry me.”
#
Holding a large platter of bloody meat, Ira floated into Lynn’s bedroom.
Amongst the king-size bed and a full-length mirror centered over an antique dresser, Lynn slept. A faint purr whispered from her lips.
On the end table, Ira set the plate down. A water canister hung from a hook in the corner of the room. She watered the exotic plants dangling from the ceiling and several small potted trees that adorned the corners. Hovering over the brown carpet, she closed the thorny vines framing the floor-to-ceiling window, shading the room from the afternoon sunlight.
Ira felt Lynn’s sweaty forehead. A frown curved her lips. Lynn had been asleep for fourteen hours. Settling onto the foot of the bed, Ira watched.
And waited.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Inside Nephruch’s skull, Isaac disrobed. With his dagger tip, sharper than a falcon’s talon, he lacerated the archaic numeral two into the leathery skin of his chest. Scorches of pain seared through him as he carved himself all according to the ceremonial rites.
The same way sirens lured sailors to their doom, the musk clinging to every branching corridor of the lair—like a sweet oil—beckoned Isaac to penetrate deeper into the cavernous skull.
Darkness enveloped him, but he plunged forward. A warm sourness licked at his naked body. Somewhere amongst the labyrinth the clicking movement of Vostrick’s patrol resounded.
Slices of green light filtered through cracks of the charred bone walls. Rotten, hardened muscle and sinew clung like grout. Torn and broken spurs hung from the passageways’ low ceilings.
Since the dawn of time—or at least since the decay and ruin of Eden—Geminus stags had made a similar pilgrimage as he was now, back to mother’s lair to seek the blessings of the matron goddess. Not since his sixteenth season had he tasted her essence.
According to the ancient scriptures of the Tabbrunica, Galmoria’s bittersweet essence flowed like tainted ambrosia from every pore of her body and it enticed even the mightiest of beasts to kneel and serve her wicked desires.
But Isaac would never cower. His lips curved into a sinister sneer. He imagined bending the Winged Priestess over her own altar and fucking the goddess’ black asshole until it bled with her slimy fetid guts.
As one of her offspring, he would need to prove his alpha bloodline, confirm he was worthy of carrying on the Geminus lineage. He would need to force her to submit. Only then would Galmoria bless his union with his twin and allow Lynn to mature into a Vixen -- and together his mate and he would rule the throne over all the tribes as King and Queen of Beasts.
But if he failed Galmoria would kill or enslave him.
Galmoria could kiss the lips of Death and chill the Reaper down to his tiniest bone.
At the end of the last chamber, a jagged threshold opened to his left and a larger cavernous alcove to his right. Isaac ducked into the smaller opening.
Four naked males were shackled to the scabrous wall, their bodies blistered and their genitalia consumed by pus and warts. Swarms of fat flies infested the dungeon chamber as did piles of writhing maggots that feasted on the blood, urine and feces of the four prisoners.
Isaac sniffed the air.
Geminus.
Three of the males spat at him. The fourth, grizzly and aged, stared with hollow black eyes. His scrawny arms were chained to a jutting bone spur above his head. A disgusting blistery rash covered the lengths of both his arms.
Isaac approached. “Why do you not spit like the others?”
The old Geminus said, “He ponders with me?”
“You failed your conquest over mother, all of you.” Isaac panned the wretched prisoners, and chortled. “I shall be your master soon.”
“I tried not.” The male met Isaac’s gaze. “I drank not of her bowl.”
“And now you hang here like a fool.”
The male hung his head. He snorted, blood dripped from his nostril. Lifting his gaze, grinning, a toothless smile, he said, “I saw the burning chariots over the city walls and they fell.”
“You have gone mad, brother. Justly so, for your failure.”
“When he came down from the mountain...his skin was aglow and his hair turned white for he had seen the face of Gods--the face of giants.”
“I suspect you’ve been here awhile, my wretched brother.”
A raspy laughter came from the threshold. Galmoria slithered inside the dungeon like a wet reptilian. Black wings trimmed in scarlet flapped against the wall. Ember red hair flowed to her waist like liquid flames. She wore only a lace halter with a tawny red thong, and knee-high boots with tiny human skulls chained to the outer sides. Her firm abdomen sparkled from onyx and garnet embedded in her skin. Curved talons protruded from her bony black fingertips.
Her forked tongue traced full bloody red lips. “Hello my darling.”
The other three Geminus hissed, snarled. They lashed out with their hands and chomped their jaws. One-by-one Galmoria kissed their lips and stroked their infected genitals, immediately lulling them to sleep.
“Meet your brother, Adela,” Galmoria glided until she stood between Isaac and the old male. “On that forsaken world called Earth, Adela once thought it a grand idea to be a priest for the humans. After he found his mate, he deemed himself too righteous for his own Mother.” Galmoria waggled her finger. “But for the last thousand years, Mother has taught her little boy a lesson, hasn’t she, baby?” Galmoria inched her face tow
ard Adela’s.
“I spaketh to the Lascivious Maid along the Red Sea!” Adela recoiled. “Return to whence you came!”
“Of course you did, my sweet cub.” Galmoria pressed her lips against Adela’s and trailed a forked tongue down his bare chest, leaving behind a slim red incision. She flashed Isaac a smile. “I’ve never been to the Red Sea on Earth,” she said. “Your poor brother is mistaking me for that petty little insect Lilith. I’m not a thing like her. The wench had pathetic taste and such an insignificant legacy barely even worth footnotes by mortal-kind.”
She turned toward Isaac. “As a welcome home gift, I will let you kill this worthless, disgusting, miserable disgrace of a child.”
Isaac tossed his dagger onto a bed of maggots, and claws ripped from his fingertips. “It is my pleasure, Mother.”
“Lilith soul be damned!” Adela muttered. “I forgive my brothers.”
Isaac punched his claws into Adela’s chest, digging his fingers deeper, grabbing for the rib cage, and clutching at his pumping heart. Squeezing the hot wet organ until it ruptured.
Glamoria cooed as the lacy top shed from her body. For the second time in over two centuries, she exposed her naked breasts to Isaac.
Son and mother circled one another, their bare feet splattering Adela’s pooled blood.
Galmoria rushed forward, hissing, fangs bared. Isaac slipped, landing on the slick bone floor.
They wrestled, squirming for the dominant stronghold. Their bodies rolled among the blood and maggots. Galmoria flipped him. His kneecaps smashed the hard floor and he unexpectedly found himself on hands and knees. She slithered from his blood-soaked grasp.
Something wet and prickly circled his anus--her demonic tongue trying to invade him!
She mounted him.
With the ferocity of a nest of wolverines in heat, Isaac’s guttural roar echoed in the small cavern, waking the slumbering Geminus who commenced to hissing and clawing against their rusty shackles. Galmoria’s cold talons pierced his back. He collapsed to his belly and rolled from under her weight, before snatching a handful of red hair and flinging her into the chamber wall like a living flail.