Queens of Wings & Storms

by Angela Sanders et al.

  “Too late for that, my little apprentice,” Death shattered Sergius’ dream, making his head droop. “Word is going to spread now that they know you can see them. They will be looking for you.”

  “It’s not like they stopped looking,” Sergius replied, and Constantine agreed. “Now what?”

  “Now we train,” Constantine jumped in.

  “Train?” Sergius asked.

  “Just because you have superhuman powers doesn’t mean you know how to use them.” Constantine walked in circles around Sergius. “You are terrible in a fight, and that will get you killed.”

  “Constantine is right. You need training.” Death cracked his knuckles as he looked towards the ocean. “We also need to increase our numbers. This is going to be a nasty war.”

  “Of course it is,” Constantine replied, wiping dust off his face. “This stuff is nasty. Are you heading back with us?”

  “No, I have deliveries,” Death said softly. “Can you two make it without me?”

  “Of course we can,” Constantine replied, rolling his eyes. “It’s time to test how fast our little Reaper is.”

  “We can?” Sergius squealed.

  “He is all yours,” Death told Constantine, covering his face.

  “Yes, we can. You are a strange boy,” Constantine told Sergius who was bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. “Now, pay attention. We are going to cross the city at a very fast pace. Stick close to me and don’t pass me. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Sergius gave Constantine a salute.

  “Please try not to kill him,” Death told Constantine before disappearing.

  “Ready, let’s go.” Constantine took off at a full sprint without waiting for a reply from Sergius. Within a few seconds, Sergius was running right behind Constantine and keeping up with him. A devious grin appeared on Constantine’s face as he sped up.

  Chapter 10

  Present day- New Boston Road Texarkana

  Constantine took a deep breath and settled himself in the seat. Bob waited patiently looking out of his window.

  “Boss, are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Bob pointed towards the small outdoor plaza in front of Oakland Village.

  The shops were closed this late in the night, but Bob and Constantine could see a group of seven teenagers hovering on the sidewalk. The group stood in a semi-circle facing the buildings.

  “It looks like Shorty’s dealer has migrated to this side of the street.” Constantine leaned out the window. “Why don’t we pay this little group a visit?”

  Before Bob could say a word, Constantine hopped out of the window and was maneuvering his way towards the group. Bob grabbed a few syringes from the truck’s console. By the time Bob made it out of the truck, Constantine was nowhere to be seen. Bob untucked his shirt, messed up his hair, and limped towards the group. Some of the teens noticed Bob, but they dismissed him.

  As Bob neared, the teens in the middle of the group floated off the ground. He looked around the parking lot and across the street. No other human was anywhere in sight. From the small of his back, Bob pulled out his dart gun.

  “Those are some dangerous drugs you are playing with,” Bob told the group in a soft voice.

  “Who asked you, old man?” the tallest of the group shouted.

  Bob covered the distance between himself and the group in less than three seconds. When the youth turned to confront Bob, he had the dart-gun pointed at his face. The teen screamed. Some members of his group tried to run away, but he hit two right in the back with tranquilizers, knocking them to the ground immediately.

  “I recommend not running. The pavement leaves a nasty mark when you land,” Bob told the teens, and his words stopped the others from trying to escape. “Hand me the pixie dust.”

  “We don’t know what you are taking about,” the tall boy replied.

  “Really?” Bob walked over to the two floating teens. “You are telling me this is happening from thinking happy thoughts?”

  Bob grabbed one of the floaters—a red-headed girl—and injected her with the syringe. The girl gasped for air and dropped to the ground. Her friends rushed to her side and helped her up, as Bob administered the second antidote to their floating companion.

  “You know this stuff causes brain damage, seizures, and even strokes, right?” Bob asked as he examined the pupils of the red-headed girl. “Prolonged exposure to this stuff will kill you.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to say can kill us?” the tall one asked.

  “There is no can or may. It will kill you. Just a matter of time.” Bob flashed a light in the pupils of the young man who was not responding. “Another three minutes and you will be wiping the drool of your friend for the rest of his life. He has enough dust in him to turn him into a vegetable.”

  Bob pulled his cell out. The teens rushed towards their friend, who now laid unconscious on the ground. The red-headed cried on his shoulder, her back heaving uncontrollably.

  “Shorty, I need you to swing by with the truck. I have a kid who needs medical attention now.” Bob waited, listening to Shorty’s quick reply, then he hung up.

  “Guess what I found?” Constantine asked, emerging from behind the building and dragging a male pixie by his wings.

  “Let me go.” The outraged pixie thrashed as Constantine slapped him on the ground with his paws. “If you damage my wings I’m going to report you at Reapers.”

  “Perfect, I’ll save you the trip,” Constantine hissed. “I’m the top feline in charge, report.”

  “Oh Gods, no!” The pixie howled. “Constantine, I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”

  “You didn’t recognize me? What?” Constantine growled, spraying spit all over the pixie. “How many talking cats do you know in Texarkana? One! There is only one. Me, Constantine, feline extraordinaire.”

  “I think I’m suffering from brain damage. I hear the cat talking.” The red head covered her head and rocked back and forth.

  “Explain to me how these kids can buy crap from a six-inch pixie, but they are shocked by a talking cat? How does that work?” Constantine slapped the pixie one more time for extra emphasis.

  “It’s because I’m cute,” the pixie answered from the ground.

  “Cuteness is not going to get you out of this,” Constantine told the pixie, only inches away from his face. “You know the rules. It is illegal to sell dust, magic, or any other concoctions to minors.”

  “Minors? They are minors? I just thought they were really short humans,” the pixie rambled.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I would rip your wings off with my bare teeth if they didn’t taste so bad.” Constantine whacked the pixie over the head.

  “This is police brutality. I’m going to report you.” The pixie covered his face with his hands before Constantine could hit him again.

  “To whom? Do you want to talk to Death? I’m sure we can make an appointment for you.” Bob told the pixie as he leaned down to look at him.

  “Death? No way,” the pixie screamed. “Don’t you have a complaints department?”

  “You are looking at it,” Constantine told the pixie. “You are going downtown. A week at the station should help you remember the rules and regulations of Haven.”

  “You are going to take him to the police station?” The tall teen shaky voice showed exactly how nervous he was.

  “Not the human jail, but our Union Station,” Constantine replied with a wink.

  “The old train station? Why?” This time the tall teen sounded more confident, his tone strong and sure.

  “Let’s just say it’s under new management and for a whole new purpose. Look, Shorty is here, so I recommend everyone clear the area.” Constantine dove out of the way, dragging the pixie with him.

  Bob pulled the red-head with him, while knocking the two boys away from the sidewalk just as Shorty made a classic stop in front of them. He stopped inches away from the comatose teen on the ground. The three teens that were standing jumped at Bob, an
d the tall boy’s fists were shaking.

  “What is wrong with you people?” screamed the tall boy.

  “This is coming from the boy snorting pixie dust.” Bob shook his head.

  “Shorty, do you still have the cage?” Constantine held the pixie by his wings in front of him.

  “Of course, Boss. What do we have?” Shorty ran to the bed of the truck and grabbed a small cage similar to those used for catching squirrels.

  “Your dealer.” Constantine handed Shorty the pixie.

  “You little bastard,” Shorty yelled at the pixie. “You had me running up and down New Boston Road chasing your little trail. You are going on ice for this.”

  “You really don’t mean that, do you?” The pixie’s voice broke, and Shorty slammed him in the cage.

  “Oh yes I do. We have an industrial-sized fridge with a two-by-four block of ice that you will be sitting on for a week.” Shorty glared at his prisoner.

  “Shorty, no cruel and unusual punishments. The sentence must match the crime,” Bob lectured his old friend.

  “Fine, a day in the fridge and the rest in the basement.” Shorty stuck his tongue out at the pixie and put him in the truck. “Okay, who needs medical attention?”

  “They all need to be examined, but that one on the floor and the red-head need their stomachs pumped,” Bob ordered. “Everyone in the back of the truck, now.”

  The tall teen tried to protest but Shorty and Bob both pointed guns at his face. Tall and his quiet companion helped the red head into the truck. Bob and Shorty dragged the other three knocked-out boys to the truck. Once everyone was loaded inside, Shorty peeled out of the parking lot, heading towards downtown.

  “I hate to admit it, but Isis is right. Shorty is a menace to society in that truck,” Constantine announced, watching Shorty burn rubber down the road.

  “You gave him the truck,” Bob told his boss.

  “Not one of my brightest ideas, but he does get to places faster now.” Constantine laughed at his own joke and Bob joined in.

  “Do you think we scared away our little werewolves?” Bob asked as they marched back to the truck.

  “We are not that lucky, my friend.” Constantine reached the truck first and leap back in through the window.

  Bob made himself comfortable in the driver’s seat and went back to scanning the area. The drive-thru line at Whataburger was still as long as when they’d left. Cars continued to arrive at the location.

  “This is one busy place,” Bob said, leaning against his window.

  “It’s all about convenience, not many places are open twenty-four hours in Texarkana,” Constantine replied. “Some of our night creatures are taking full advantage. I’m surprised a few of them haven’t opened any late-night establishments.”

  “I heard Abuelita is planning to extend her hours to accommodate the late crowd,” Bob told Constantine.

  “That is the best news ever! Mexican food available during our stake-outs? She needs to hurry.” Constantine licked his lips and rolled in his seat.

  Bob laughed. “So boss, what happened to your vampire war? I have a feeling it doesn’t end there.”

  “I wish that was the end, and we had a happily ever after.” Constantine sat back up in the seat. “The battles raged on from town to town. Death was really good at making Reapers, but for every one we made, they raised fifty vampires. Our numbers were dwindling, and we were becoming less selected in our transformation process. We needed more bodies. Those were dark times, but we didn’t realize they were only the beginning.”

  Chapter 11

  Late summer 476 AD- Rome

  The smell of burned flesh was thick in the air. Dawn was only a few hours away, but the vampires kept fighting like it was merely sunset. Constantine had three pinned against a wall. They were recently made, still clumsy and struggling to master their full powers. Hunger moved most of the new ones to action, and the smell of spilled blood drove them nuts. After five months of fighting, Sergius was an expert at decapitations. With only a single swing, vampires’ heads rolled and bodies crumpled to dust.

  The fighting was brutal that night. The Reapers had decided to change their plans and went on a full-scale assault. Their first target was a large residence in the center of the city. Based on their informants, one of the wealthy citizens was aiding the vampires and allowing them to stay at his home. Upon their arrival in the house, they found that the citizen wasn’t aiding the vampires…he was one of them.

  “Constantine, they are heading underground. We won’t be able to fight them there,” Julius yelled from the second floor.

  “We have three Reapers down.” Sergius tossed one of the injured Reaper over his shoulder and dragged the other two. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Torch the place,” Constantine ordered after ripping apart his three vampires. “Set up a perimeter around the house. Cut down anyone trying to escape.”

  “On my way.” Julius ran to the first oil lamp near the stairs and lit the curtains on fire.

  He whistled across the house and Reapers scattered through doors and windows, each one knocking candles and lamps down on their way out. Constantine helped Sergius drag the injured reapers out of the house. Over twenty Reapers all covered in blood and bruises surrounded the house, waiting for their enemy to appear. Julius was the last one to leave the house.

  “How many vampires were left?” Constantine asked Julius as he reached them.

  “At least twenty in the cellar.” Julius dropped on the ground next to one of the wounded Reapers. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Stop the bleeding on Amos’s arm.” Sergius pointed to the unconscious Reaper next to Julius. “As long as the bleeding stops, he will be able to heal himself.”

  “How bad is Lucas?” Julius asked, holding Amos’s arm with one hand and ripping a piece of his clothes with the other.

  “Not as bad as he looks.” Constantine smelled the wound on Lucas’ shoulder. “His muscles are already healing themselves. He will be back to normal in three days, but we need to cover this wound.”

  “Let me finish here and I will take care of that.” Sergius finished bandaging the leg of the Reaper he was carrying.

  “Fangs on the roof!” a Reaper shouted from the left flank.

  “Don’t follow,” Constantine ordered.

  “We are not taking him out?” Julius glanced over his shoulder at the crouching figure on the roof.

  “If you said twenty are still in that house, the one on the roof is just a distraction.” Constantine pointed to the right side where four figures were sneaking out a window. “Any questions?”

  “On my way.” Julius pulled two small daggers from his pants and sprinted across the grounds.

  Three more Reapers followed him as silent as the night. Before the vampires could assess the situation, the Reapers were on them. Julius decapitated the first one using both of his knives. His companions speared the other with their scythe, and the vampires were dispatched in record time. Julius ripped another piece of his clothing off and crept to the open window in the lower level. He lit the material on fire and threw it down the lower window. The flame quickly spread and screams erupted from the lower levels. Within minutes, a slew of vampires were rushing out the building.

  Reapers attacked from all sides of the house. The vampires trying to escape the house were experienced fighters, which made the battle more intense and dangerous. A few of the Reapers were knocked down, others were cut, and some tossed yards away.

  Sergius joined the battle after bandaging his companions.

  “Nico, guard these three!” Constantine shouted as he ran to the battle. “Don’t let any of those blood suckers near them.”

  “Not a problem.” Nico position himself in the center of the bodies and spun his scythe with expert precision.

  A vampire escaped the front line of Reapers, knocking two of them out. He headed for Sergius, who was busy battling two other vampires by himself. Claws extended and fangs ba
red, the vampire flew to take his kill shot. In mid-air, Constantine intercepted him bringing him out of the air with his feline power. The vampire and Constantine rolled on the ground several times, each trying to gain an advantage over the other. Constantine’s tail wrapped around the vampire’s leg, pulling his attention away long enough for Constantine to find an opening. Before the vampire could react, Constantine ripped his neck off.

  From the cloud of dust, Constantine emerged to dispatch two other vampires trying to escape. The vampire on the roof blew a loud horn but nothing happened. As the last note left the instrument, the first rays of sunlight broke through the night. The vampires screamed in agony as the sunlight engulfed them, tearing them to shreds. The Reapers stepped away to give the sun room to finish its work.

  “This was part of your plan, right?” Sergius asked Constantine, holding a Scythe he picked up from one of his peers.

  “Of course,” Constantine answered, not looking at Sergius.

  “Right.” Sergius laughed. “What did you think the alarm was for? A retreat or back-up?”

  “That is a very good question. Too bad we won’t be finding that out today.” Constantine rubbed his paw on Sergius’ clothes.

  “Do you really have to clean yourself on me?” Sergius asked, pulling his blood-covered clothes away from Constantine.

  “I’m not licking vampires’ dust. That is disgusting.” Constantine gave himself a brisk shake, scattering dust everywhere. “Besides, you are already dirty.”

  “Have you considered wearing clothes to avoid the dust and blood on your fur?” Julius asked, joining Sergius and Constantine.

  “Please tell me he was hit in the head and lost his mind.” Constantine pointed at Julius with his claws. “Can you possibly imagine covering this amazing coat with that?”

  “At least your coat wouldn’t be getting dirty all the time,” Sergius added with a shrug.

  “What side are you on?” Constantine rolled his eyes and marched back to Nico.

  “I’m sure we can get a toga in your size,” Julius teased as he followed closely behind Constantine.