He supposed he could get used to the taste if he had to...and he would. For after all, once the Triad and Originals were taken care of, humans were next on his list.
After he’d emptied the Bender and tossed the shell of his body away, he made a point of gathering his Cartesians, all of them, to instruct them once more on their method of attack.
Earlier he’d noticed that one Cartesian had literally pushed one of his legs through the rift, which made it all the more vulnerable to the Benders. Of course, the action that followed only confirmed his orders, for the overzealous Cartesian had been one of the first to get zapped by the Benders.
Not wanting to take anything for granted, he planned on going over how his Cartesians should attack so there wouldn’t be any further errors.
So far, none of his Cartesians had dared to lean over the edge of a rift far enough to cause them to fall out. For one thing the Benders did not know, and if it was up to him, would never know, was that if a Cartesian fell from a rift to earth, it became nothing more than an animal. Its protective scales would shed like that of a snake, only its scales would never return. Covered only in fur, it would be vulnerable to any form of death. A bullet, an arrow, a hammer blow to the head. Once on the ground, a Cartesian couldn’t make its way back to any dimension. It was doomed to fight out its remaining days on earth, hiding from any and all who hunted its kind.
His army needed to be reminded that the rifts were their haven, their protection. From a rift, a Cartesian had all the power it needed to conquer anything.
Reviewing the mistakes made in the recent kill, he couldn’t help thinking of the Bender who’d been skewered instead of the Triad. A look of shock had been the man’s death mask. The kill had been so instantaneous, had happened so quickly and unexpectedly that the Bender never uttered a sound, save for one scream before he was impaled. Nothing followed. No more screams. No yells for help. Black and white, immediate death.
That had left him with some regret. He would have liked to hear the gurgle of death, screams of pain, to have seen the Bender attempt to fight his way free of the Cartesian, and then, when that was unsuccessful, watch him writhe in the throes of death. But he’d been denied it all. The only screams and cries he’d heard had come from the Bender left behind.
He knew to expect one of two things to happen. When an enemy lost one of their own, the rest of its team either dispersed from the weakness of having lost one member, or they grew stronger and became more vengeful. Determination on steroids to annihilate whoever or whatever had killed one of their own.
Unsure yet as to which to expect from the Benders, he could only wait and see. Of course, he hoped the former would happen and not the latter. If weakened by the death of their team member, the Triad and Originals would be left to their own devices.
He’d think positively. Sadness, extreme sadness had a way of eating away at humans until they were little more than shells of their former selves. If that happened to the remaining Benders, he’d have much to rejoice over. They might remain in the city, but their grief might cause them to become lax, which was perfect, as far as he was concerned. There’d be no more hunting, searching for missing Originals. He’d simply collect them all and take their powers unto himself. Once the missing ones were consumed, it wouldn’t take much effort to collect the rest. The weakened Benders would weaken the Triad who’d become dependent on them.
Now that he thought about it, the Cartesian who’d missed the Triad and killed the Bender instead had done him a favor. The process would speed up now.
He already had big notions and big plans. Much bigger than anything the small Bender lying like a ragdoll at his feet drained of life, of the essence of anything and everything he once was, might have come up with.
Oh, yes, this death, although regrettably not a Triad’s, would more than likely give him what he craved with his whole being faster than he could ever have hoped for.
He’d bet on it.
He was getting closer, so close to his goal. It took all of his mental powers to keep his excitement in check. He knew the Triad faced serious roadblocks, were at a total loss regarding any plan of action, especially now that humans had been brought into the picture. He couldn’t have been more excited.
It had been his plan all along. Well, not the summation of the plan, but the journey toward it.
He was pleased with his work and the work of his ever-growing army. Create chaos, mayhem and destruction. And all was happening gloriously, independently and collectively. It created more rifts, more opportunities to get to the Originals and the Triad.
He had to admit that he carried a tinge of disappointment with one of his soldiers. The one who’d come inches from grabbing a Triad. That soldier had been stupid, allowing itself to get distracted and let the Triad slip away. Oddly enough, the stupid wench had all but killed herself after that. Running into a muddy river without a clue of how she’d retreat from its depths.
He’d watched in amusement as she thrashed, flailed, yelled, her head dunking into the water again and again. Each time she managed to surface, less of her head appeared.
Then, of course, the Bender who took out the distracted Cartesian, the one that had come so close to capturing his prize, jumped into the water to save her, protect her, take her away. He couldn’t think of a son of a bitch he hated more, except the other Benders keeping him from realizing success faster than it was occurring.
Except for the river incident, the Benders had kept the Triad so far up their asses his army hadn’t been able to squeeze in for a shot, a taste of any of them.
The Originals, though, were a different story—sort of. His soldiers, his pets, his creations had managed to get some of the Originals. And the taste of the first Original capture had created such a feeding frenzy among his creatures, it had taken him some time to get them back on track—in line.
As always, his Cartesians were allowed a taste, a small morsel of their captures as a reward before the capture was brought to him to devour. He alone absorbed every ounce of energy that the victim possessed. It not only caused him to grow in his own power but also allowed him to create new Cartesians. That was how he’d grown his army, one new Cartesian at a time. And now they stood at the ready, eagerly awaiting his command. Hundreds of them developed, molded by his own hand. His beloved creations.
After centuries of trial and error, he’d perfected their looks and abilities. Their appearance, in many ways, mimicked his own. He wanted his creatures to create such fear and a sense of foreboding that the sight of them alone would stop a prey’s heartbeat, leave it motionless and easy to capture.
For the most part, that strategy had worked, but mostly with the subspecies of the Originals. Vampires, werewolves and the like. But the fear factor had proved useless when it came to Benders. Those meddling infidels had been meticulously trained to purposely seek out his Cartesians, not avoid them. Not once, in ten generations of Benders, had he seen any Bender freeze or hesitate at the sight of his hideous beauties.
In fact, the opposite seemed to occur. The Benders seemed to glory in the sight of the Cartesians, anxious, heart racing with excitement as they aimed what looked like toy batons at his creations and pushed them out of this world’s dimension.
To make matters worse, the Benders appeared competitive, all eager to be the first to send a Cartesian to the farthest dimension possible.
So far, this generation of Benders had managed, on one occasion, to send two of his Cartesians back seven dimensions. This meant it would take decades for them to make their way back to him. They’d have to claw, tear, rip through the tiniest hole in each dimension to return. Since other dimensions were not as active and restless as the one now containing the Originals and Triad, rifts were more difficult to locate. This problem alone caused a severe time lapse for the Cartesians that had been pushed back that far.
Fortun
ately, no Bender, thus far, had accomplished the ultimate goal—shoving the Cartesians back to the eleventh dimension from which there would be no return. The eleventh dimension contained nothing but a void, a place that had no rift potential whatsoever.
And the Benders’ second goal, capturing him, the leader of the Cartesians, had always been an act of futility. His army made sure of that. He was their leader—the master and god of his glorious monstrosities.
Capturing him and pushing a Cartesian to the eleventh dimension hadn’t happened in the past Bender generations, and he sure as hell wouldn’t allow it to happen with this one.
The current Benders assigned to protect the Triad and Originals were proving to be quite ingenious, however. Much more so than the ones who’d fought before them. Enemies though they were, he had to give credit where credit was due. The electrical domes the Benders had created to protect the Originals in their safe places had been a well-thought-out plan and, for a while anyway, an effective barrier.
Ingenious as it was, however, he’d discovered, albeit by happenstance, that the electrical currents of the domes could be affected, minimized. And the key to doing so was simply to allow nature to take its course.
The sexual distraction of the Triad owing to the Benders seemed to be one catalyst, and the second was allowing the Originals that had gone missing to do what they did best when left to themselves—attack humans.
The Nosferatu that had thirsted for the drunken harlot in that dark alley could have been easy pickings for his Cartesians. For a while, the Nosferatu had been left to its own meanderings. He’d watched as it found its prey and had lured her into the alley.
In that moment, he’d been torn between having his soldiers snatch the Original then and there and watching the kill of the human. Then, once the Nosferatu was engorged with the woman’s blood, he’d have his Cartesian snatch it from the same dark alley.
His curiosity had won the coin toss. He wanted to watch the kill, thinking that once it was glutted with blood, capturing that particular Nosferatu might prove to boost its overall power, thus allowing him a bigger bang for the capture.
Sadly, neither had occurred.
Once again, the opportunity had been lost at the hands of a Bender. As disappointing as that had been, it did wind up being quite the fascinating show. Nosferatu against Bender—then watching an Original leader kill one of its own. He’d watched with glee as humans gathered, witnessing the event—creating more chaos. More problems.
It was then he realized that the increase of chaos somehow affected the electrical domes, causing their power to wane. That had been an unexpected bonus.
And now that humans were involved, he anticipated all hell to break loose. He couldn’t have asked for anything more perfect.
Now the Triad, who had already been running from pillar to post, protecting their sequestered Originals, hunting for the ones who’d gone missing, which had been his master plan, would come unglued. This was one way he would get all he wanted, demanded, which was supreme power over all. To do so, he had to set the stage to make it happen. Create turmoil, weaken and distract the Triad, confuse the Benders.
With humans thrown into the mix, one having seen a Nosferatu in all its glory, many witnessing the death of that Nosferatu by its leader, soon the entire city would be in a state of commotion.
Man would wind up killing man. Original would kill Original.
Once that mayhem heightened, all would be his for the taking. All the Originals, the Triad, every bastard offspring hiding beneath the Originals’ skirt—vampires, werewolves, the rest of the netherworld. He’d even cleanse his palate between consumptions with a sorcerer or two. No, he’d definitely take all three. And, of course, the Triad Elders were on his checklist.
Finally, he’d have it all. After all the years of working, waiting, his plan was coming to fruition.
Oddly enough, the closer he came to accomplishing his goal, the more bittersweet if felt to him. He so enjoyed watching the Triad and Benders running in circles, chasing their own tails, accomplishing little more than adding to their own frustration.
As he often did, he wondered what pleasure he’d experience when consuming a Triad. He imagined the taste to be as exquisite as the finest chocolate, something to be savored on the tongue. He’d allow it to melt slowly so every morsel would be experienced to its fullest extent. He’d take his time, let the sensation wash over him. Allow the scent of it to fill his nostrils, his lungs.
Even now he could almost feel it on the flat of his tongue, washing through him, rolling over all his senses. And once that time came, which he knew would be oh-so-soon, he imagined the height of the sensation to be greater than any human orgasm ever experienced.
The completion of it, the longing and desire he’d carried for it, finally meeting. How could anything compare to such glory?
No human emotion, need or desire could possibly match something of that magnitude.
And the culmination of it was so close, just within reach now.
In the meantime, he still had work to do. More heartache, worry and desperation to create for the Triad and the foolish Benders who followed them like puppies.
He anxiously awaited the perfume of their terror, their uncertainty to waft over him like the fragrance of an entire field of summer flowers.
Little did the Triad or Benders know that their own fears and indecisiveness, their own questioning of themselves as the Triad’s powers continued to diminish—all of it was their own worst enemy.
Soon there would no longer be the waving of hands, lighting of candles, useless charms and incantations. All would belong to him.
Once again, feeling as giddy as a child awaiting a much-desired treasure, he forced himself to stay in check. To remain stoic, strong.
He’d only allow his Cartesians to see him as a pillar of strength, a force never to be questioned. Whose orders were to be followed without a second’s hesitation.
He must always be seen as their master, not a foolish twit who succumbed to emotion.
And soon, very, very soon, the world would view him the same way. Master of all that existed.
And every knee would bend at his feet.
Chapter 13
Taka Burnside knew she was going to be in big trouble with the other two Elders, Arabella and Vanessa, but she couldn’t just sit around doing nothing anymore. The police had returned to their house not long after the Triad left. And once again, they’d stood in silence, hiding, not answering when the police beat on the door over and over, seemingly forever, trying to get someone to answer.
That had scared Taka. She didn’t want to go to jail. She didn’t want to be hanged by the neck in a tree or burned at the stake. And it would happen, she was sure of it. The past would revisit the world of witches.
Despite what Vanessa and Arabella told her about being overly dramatic, Taka knew better, and she knew what needed to be done. Arabella and Vanessa just didn’t have the courage she did.
Taka had to wait quite some time after the triplets left before Arabella and Vanessa had gone to bed. It was about two in the morning before Taka felt it safe enough to move around without stirring the two awake. She’d quickly dressed in a pink polyester pantsuit and white orthopedic shoes. She’d slicked her hair down with a comb, then grabbed her white faux leather purse and sneaked out of the house. She’d gone through the back door, since it didn’t squeak as loudly as the front door did when opened.
Her mission was clear, her steps sure. She intended to find Gunner Stern, the sorcerer that Arabella claimed they could trust. If Arabella trusted him, then they had a real possibility for help. At least there was some merit in finding out. Arabella’s word counted for something. She wasn’t an airhead.
Taka knew that if Vanessa and Arabella thought anyone in their group to be an airhead, they’d point t
o her. But nothing was further from the truth, as far as she was concerned.
It was true that occasionally words kind of slipped out of Taka’s mouth before she’d thought them through. And sometimes she had an issue with expressing what she meant in the right order. But she had a brain. A good one. And she planned to use it to do what must be done.
As she made her way through the Garden District, counting on streetlamps and moonlight for direction, she hoped her knees wouldn’t give out from the long walk ahead. The trolleys didn’t run at this hour of the day.
Keeping her head up and her attitude positive, Taka kept a single mantra running through her head. Feet, don’t fail me now!
She planned to find Gunner, explain that their issues were much bigger than the problem he’d reported to Arabella, then ask for his help.
She knew that in doing so, she was spitting right in the eye of the Elders’ protocol, the one that insisted on a majority vote when faced with a decision of this magnitude. And she knew that asking a sorcerer for help was no small matter. Taka had little doubt that Vanessa and Arabella would be furious with her. They might even consider dismissing her from the order of Elders.
Right now Taka didn’t care what they did to her. Arabella was taking far too much time to make a decision. Something needed to be done now before all they knew and loved was destroyed. The Triad, the Originals, the humans in this city.
How long could they stand in silence in their home, hiding like mice from a cat, every time a police officer pounded on the door?
As far as Taka was concerned, everything they’d attempted so far to help the Triad and the Originals had failed miserably. They couldn’t simply sit around wishing, hoping something would change.
The one thing that had really set Taka on this quest was the fact that all the leaders in the Circle of Sisters around the country had collectively set a spell in motion to help them, and nothing had happened.
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