Tatters of the King (The Warren Brood Book 3)

by Bartholomew Lander

  Lowering himself into a ratty-looking easy chair, Kyle gestured for them to sit on the couch. “I’m sorry it’s such a dump,” he said, his voice slurring a little. “It’s been a rough couple weeks.”

  Amanda did as she was beckoned, and Chelsea stood hesitating a moment longer before sitting next to her friend. The couch’s cushioning felt just a little sticky, and it made her skin crawl.

  For a few moments, nobody said anything. Kyle picked up a shiny can from among several on the table and, finding it empty, crushed it in his hand. He shrugged his shoulders at them. “Well, what do you want?”

  Chelsea’s stomach was roiling. This was a horrible mistake. They could be murdered here and nobody would ever know what happened to them. Goose bumps grew along her naked arms and prickled her spine.

  Beside her, Amanda cleared her throat. “We really hate to bother you like this, but after reading your report, we had to get in touch with you. I mean, after what happened in Grantwood, with their family just up and vanishing, we were worried. You know how everyone says you were looking to capitalize on Mr. Wiser’s report, right? Well, when you mentioned their names in your article, I knew you were telling the truth.”

  He groaned, and his eyes pinched shut. “Is this going somewhere sometime in the next millennium?”

  Amanda gave him a blank stare. “We just want to know what happened to our friend.”

  Kyle waved his hand about as if he could shoo them away. “They came here. Then they left. That’s all there is to it.”

  “That can’t be all there is to it,” Amanda said, fists on her legs.

  He sighed and seemed to take a deep interest in the edges of the evening light blotted out by the curtains. “They showed up on June eleventh. In the morning. Five of them. Kara. Arthr. Spinneretta.” He cringed as he spoke the last name, as though his tongue had turned to vinegar. “Then two more. Mark. Annika Crane.”

  Chelsea and Amanda exchanged a glance. “Mark?” That was her not-cousin’s name, wasn’t it?

  “Can’t tell you much else about him, but he’s one scary asshole. Threatened to fucking kill me if I so much as breathed wrong. The other was a woman. Dressed up like a noir detective. She was just as scary, but for different reasons.”

  “Can you tell me where they went?” Amanda’s expression grew more determined, which sent a tingle of fear through Chelsea’s gut.

  He began to rub his wrist, scratching at an open sore. “Afraid I can’t. If I knew that, I’d have put it in the damn article! No matter how far the media has its head up its own ass, there’d have been someone willing to check the address, if only to further bury me under the shit of mockery. And when they found out it was true, something would have changed. Something would’ve.” He buried his head in his hands. “God, why’d I write that fuckin’ article? Should’ve seen that nobody’d believe Wiser no matter who came to his defense. Not even fuckin’ Carl Ludwig Koch could get anybody to believe something so absurd as a half-spider!”

  Chelsea shifted about, eying Amanda. He doesn’t know. Oh, thank you, God. “Well, there you have it,” she whispered. “He doesn’t know anything. Can we go back home now?”

  Amanda scooted a little further off the couch, leaning toward their host. “Mr. Rogers?”

  He grunted, rubbing his eyes vigorously.

  Amanda took a deep breath. “Can I ask one more question?”

  He looked up at her, eyes tired and bloodshot from his rubbing. “Ask, and then leave.”

  “Have you heard of a group calling themselves the Order of the Yellow Dawn?”

  Kyle rolled his head from side to side. “No. Never.”

  The fear grew into hysteria. Chelsea grabbed Amanda’s arm. “H-hey, Mandy, come on, let’s just—”

  Amanda shook her hand off. “They’re a group that emerged in the last couple months. Down in the Mojave, in a town called Manix. They seem to be posturing themselves as a spiritual movement. But they just put out a video demanding that Spinneretta and her siblings be brought to them before September thirtieth. They said that if they don’t get them, they’re going to unleash a calamity on our civilization.”

  Kyle’s dark eyes were fixed on Amanda’s. “A calamity?”

  “Like what happened in Grantwood. You must know about the lockdown. About how many people died and vanished.” She expelled a breath and clasped her hands together. “I think this is the same cult that caused the lockdown. And I think you can imagine how the media’s taking this.”

  He narrowed his eyes, his gaze falling to the filthy carpet. The narrow bands of light falling across him cast half of his face in shadows. “Cult.”

  “If nobody’s taking any of this seriously, then what happened in Grantwood is going to happen again. And right now, we’re the only ones willing to see this whole situation for what it really is. So it falls to us, Mr. Rogers.”

  His expression hardened into a look of disgust. “Us?”

  Amanda breathed out slowly. “Listen. How much have you lost by going public?”

  “You have to ask?” He sent one arm across the end table, knocking a row of empty beer cans to the floor. Chelsea jumped as the cans clattered, her heart pounding in fright. “My career is over! Who the fuck’s gonna hire the nutjob who tried to cannibalize Wiser’s book?”

  But Amanda just closed her eyes, calm as a Zen master. “You can get all that back.”

  Kyle was hunched over, hands on his knees, neck thrust forward like a tortoise’s. Nobody spoke for a long time, confusion momentarily thicker than the alcohol in the air. The smell was beginning to make Chelsea dizzy.

  Finally, Kyle tilted his head to the side. “How?”

  Amanda licked her lips. “We go to the cult.” Chelsea shook her head violently, but Amanda wasn’t looking. “If we find the cult, then there are two possibilities. The first is that somebody, somewhere, listens to them and brings Spinneretta or one of her siblings to them. If that happens, then we’ll have found her. You’ll have all the proof you need to show the world that you’re not a liar, not a nutjob.” She took a deep breath. “The second is that nobody brings them what they want. In which case, we can stop them from unleashing whatever disaster they have planned. And assuming I’m right and this is the same cult, in the process we can find something there to vindicate you. So either way, you’ll be able to prove to the world that facts are facts.”

  “Jesus, girl,” Kyle said. “Are you fucking stupid? We’re not talking about the Girl Scouts; we’re talking about a cult. Do you really think they’re just gonna let you get close enough to do anything about it?”

  “I do,” Amanda said.

  He threw his head back in exasperation. “Oh my fucking God, I can’t believe I’m even having this discussion. Assuming that this cult even has that disaster power in the first place, how do you think you’re going to stop them, huh? You’re a fucking kid.”

  “A kid whose grandfather was a leader in that cult.”

  His head snapped back toward her. “Your grandfather?”

  Amanda reached over her shoulder and opened her bag. She rummaged about and then withdrew the thick tome. She held it out toward Kyle, revealing the canvas cover. “This book was his. It’s their manifesto. Their bible. Before he disappeared, he was one of the leaders, one of the archons as they liked to call themselves. I can use that connection as leverage to get us in.”

  The corners of Kyle’s lips twitched. “You’re serious? You’re seriously going to go join up with a fucking cult? Just to find your friend?” He scoffed. “Well, you’re free to do whatever you want, but what does that have to do with me? Why should I get involved in your little suicide mission?”

  Amanda hugged the book to her chest and cocked her head to the side. “Well, if you don’t mind that an incredulous nation stole everything from you, then feel free to stay. It doesn’t involve you, after all. But if you want to take back your life, then I see little choice for you.”

  He studied her expression, and Chelsea again
found herself tasting the humid tension in the air. “Let me rephrase that question,” Kyle said. “Why do you need me? Why can’t you just go by yourself, if you have all the leverage you need?”

  “We could,” Amanda said. “But now we’re on a time limit. We don’t have transportation, and the police may be looking for us. And besides, if we three are the only ones who can do anything about this, then it makes sense to work together. What do you say?”

  Kyle glanced off toward the wall. For an eternity, nothing moved. When he began to tap his fingers across the end table, Chelsea jumped in fright again. At last, he began to speak in a low rumble. “You want me to become the accomplice of a pair of runaways, huh? What does that make me, a kidnapper? This is just about the most insane thing anyone’s ever suggested.” He let out a low breath. “But if we find something there. If we find evidence, then . . . My God, if they thought I was crazy before, this seals the deal. But you know what? It’s not like my life can get any worse. You girls wanna go to Manix?” He chuckled and shrugged. “Fine. What the fuck ever. Let’s go to Manix.”

  The quolls, once meek and timid, have become great, muscular beasts with snapping maws and bladed legs. With the old artifacts, it is a simple matter to twist their genes and improve upon the divine creatures’ forms. Where once they hid from the behemoths on the plains, they now hunt them down with a noble savagery befitting an apex predator. The proud decorum of the beasts makes them worthy of their position as my servants.

  But here I am left now to wonder: if the artifacts can so easily twist creatures into beings of such majesty, dare I then to dream that I may do the unthinkable? That I may create more like myself?

  Chapter 15

  Race Condition

  The asphalt was a dark blur out the side window. Evergreens flashed by in clouds of teal and jade. The Ford sedan screamed past a motorist in a beige pickup truck, and Annika’s jaw tightened further. “Who goes sixty on the damn freeway? I swear to God, it’s like the entire world is out to get me today.”

  From the passenger seat, Arthr gave her a smile. “Hey, it’s not so bad, right? I mean, it’s not like—”

  “Cram it, Optimist Boy.” At the command, Arthr fell silent. Annika cranked the wheel to the left, and the vehicle lurched to the side. A bright blue convertible vanished behind them.

  For a short while, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the drone of wind beating on the glass. Then, the screaming lead guitar to some death metal song erupted from Arthr’s pocket. Only one person that could be, Annika thought. She cringed and held out her hand. “Give it to me.” He stared at her for a moment before relenting. She slid the digital switch to the answer position as the car leapt across to the other side of the road again. “Hello, Mother,” she said.

  There was a beat of silence on the other end. “Annika?” May said. A sob punctuated her question. “What the hell are you doing with my son? I go to the store for a damn hour, and I come back to find that he’s gone too? What are you thinking? Why are you doing this to me after all I’ve been through?”

  But the sympathy Annika may have felt for the woman was all dried up. “All you’ve been through? Now you listen to me, May. I’m the one who’s been putting her life on the line time after time for you and your family. I’ve had guns held to my head. I’ve had literal monsters at my throat. I’ve outrun exploding chemical fires that have probably given me a dozen forms of cancer. Don’t you give me that all I’ve been through bullshit! You think you have things bad there, sitting on your ass in your safe little cottage? Let’s forget whose leverage got you that comfy second chance in the first place. Look in the fucking mirror, May. You’re the one who can’t even keep your flight-risk children under control, so don’t bitch at me for cleaning up your goddamn mess!”

  Desperate sobs answered her. Regret dug deep into Annika’s chest. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said. “I know this is all hard on you, and I promise that I didn’t intend to steal your third dumbass. But he has something I may need, so I’m borrowing him.” She took a deep breath that steeled her conviction. “Don’t worry, May. I’m going to fix this. Either all your children are coming back, or none of them are. Now let me work.” She ended the call and tossed the device back to Arthr, who fumbled to catch it.

  “Is she mad?” Arthr asked.

  “Nope. She’s thrilled that she and your father can finally start over in hopes the galactic dice will give them children with some semblance of self-preservation. Godspeed, cursed woman.” She paused. “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t have hung up. I’m sure she wanted to talk to you, now that I think about it.”

  Arthr stared out the passenger window at the forest streaking by at a hundred miles an hour. “Annika?”

  “What?”

  “What are we going to do when we find them?”

  “Well, first I’m going to put my gun in Spinzie’s mouth. Then I’m going to pull the trigger. The fuck do you think we’re going to do?”

  He shook a little. “I mean, why did they run away? There must’ve been a reason. Do we need to be worried about something?”

  Her jaw tightened. “Oh, there’s a reason alright: Spinzie is the stupidest person in the history of mankind. Whatever she thinks she’s accomplishing is immaterial.” She let out a hot sigh. “You know what? I’m going to take a hacksaw to her legs as soon as we find her. All of them. Let’s see her run away after that.” The image it conjured in her mind was almost too compelling. She started fiddling with the buttons on her GPS, and a map materialized.

  Arthr watched her punch in the data. “Colorado Springs?”

  “She had a bus schedule in her search history. Assuming it’s still on schedule, our best chance to catch them is in Colorado Springs.”

  “How long will that take?”

  She gestured at the console. “The GPS says fifteen and a half hours.”

  “Fifteen!?”

  “Yup. Hope this was what you wanted when you demanded to come with me. This thing doesn’t take reckless velocities into account, though, so we should have time to at least get something to eat on the way.”

  Arthr nodded and then turned to look out the window again. His spider legs ruffled beneath his jacket. “Hey, uhh, mind if I take this thing off? It’s hot.”

  “We have enough problems without you having your damn legs on display when the police inevitably pull us over.” But when she saw Arthr giving her a sad look out of the corner of her eye, her heart softened. “Fine. Do what you want.”

  He smiled. “Thanks.”

  As he peeled his jacket off, Annika punched the power button on her stereo. At once, the synth-piano intro of Caramell’s Bara Vänner filled the vehicle, erasing the roar of the road beneath them. She hoped it would calm her nerves, though at this point it was unlikely. When the dance beat started up, she felt Arthr’s eyes on her. “Something wrong?” she asked.

  He was quiet a moment. “I dunno, I just didn’t expect you to like this kind of music.”

  She started tapping her fingers against the steering wheel to the beat. “Like it?”

  He started. “Uhh, yeah, totally. Just, never heard this particular track before.”

  Damn, you’re an awful liar. His artificial enthusiasm made her stomach churn. She was not looking forward to the next fifteen hours.

  “Spins, wake up!”

  Her eyes shot open. The dream she’d been having vanished in a flash, leaving only a single grotesque image in its place. She righted her slumped posture, feeling a rush of relief from her cramped muscles. Her neck creaked and her shoulders rolled in a half-hearted stretch. Though it wouldn’t last long with the uncomfortable seat, she was momentarily content. The bus was about half-full, and it was the fullest it had been since they got on in Duluth. Once they got to Colorado Springs, they’d transfer to a second Wayfarer that would get them to Las Vegas. Then, there would be only one more leg of the bus trip before they reached their destination.

  “Spins?”

  She snapp
ed her head around to Kara. “Huh?”

  Kara frowned in the seat beside her. “When’s the next rest stop?”

  Spinneretta closed her eyes and reached into her pocket. She groped about for the folded piece of paper and passed it to Kara. “Check the itinerary. Why? Don’t want to use the bathroom in the back?” Not that she could have blamed her; she’d been once, and it was foul.

  Kara shook her head as she tried to decipher Spinneretta’s handwriting. “I just want to get Cinnamon something to eat. She’s getting restless.” She prodded the duffel bag on the floor with one foot, and the whole thing shifted about. A lethargic crackling sounded from within.

  “Did you already give her that chicken from last night?” The question caused Spinneretta to stumble. The hell? Is it night or morning? It was impossible to tell from the scarce but colorful highlights suspended in the darkened sky.

  “I have one piece left, but I don’t think she really likes it.”

  “Well, I don’t want her dying of starvation before the next stop. Just give it to her. She can choose what to do with it.”

  With a reluctant sigh, Kara fumbled for her backpack under the seat. She unzipped the largest pouch and took out a parcel wrapped in a grease-stained paper towel. She unfolded it, revealing a golden drumstick from The Jerkin’ Rooster at the last hub. She bent down, unzipped the makeshift Leng cat-carrier, and dropped the hunk of meat inside.

  Spinneretta’s eyes flicked up to the seat across the row. A large woman in a black, misanthropic hoodie was watching Kara with a scowl. Spinneretta coughed, hoping to partially obscure the crackling that again flowed from the gap in the duffel bag. The woman rolled her eyes and shook her head, her lips flattened into a judgmental line. When she averted her gaze, Spinneretta let out a minute sigh of relief. The last thing they needed was someone seeing their stowaway. She then turned her attention back out the window. The sky out the right side was still black, which she decided made it West. “What time is it?” she asked.