Children of the Storm

by Ken Lange

  The drive to the park isn’t bad. The sun is out, the clouds in the sky are bright white, and there isn’t a single hint of rain. It is New Orleans, though, so that can change on a dime. After parking in the lot off Magazine, I meander over toward the Pavilion to find Loki sitting on a nearby bench. He’s dispensed with the baseball cap and is dressed in jeans and a form-fitting T-shirt.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he nods and gestures to the seat next to him. “Would you like to sit?”

  He’s being way politer than I thought he’d be. Maybe he won’t turn me down.

  “If it’s all right with you, I’ll stand.”

  He shrugs. “Suit yourself. I came to thank you for returning two of our kin to the fold. We’re exceptionally grateful.”

  Oh, goddamn it. If the resigned expression on his face is any indication, he’s going to tell me no.

  “You’re very welcome. Thing is, I feel there’s a but coming.”

  Loki gives me a sad smile. “You’re right. But we cannot help you. I’ve already told you that we want to remain as neutral as we can. We don’t mean you any harm, but we don’t wish to call undue attention to ourselves…especially where the loa are concerned.” He shivers. “Our last encounter with them left us nearly decimated.”

  I crane my neck from side to side. “I remember… I was there, in fact.”

  Shame flashes through his eyes as he quickly averts his gaze. “We’re grateful for your help. But—”

  “But you’re not ready to face them again so soon after being freed. I understand.”

  He nods. “Thank you.” Lifting his gaze to mine, he asks, “What will you do?”

  Taking a deep breath, I swing around and sit next to him. “I’m going to go do some recon after arming my people with the weapons you gave us. Once I know what we’re facing, we’ll go in and do what we can.”

  His voice turns hard. “But a lot of your people will die.”

  Hanging my head, I say, “That’s the unfortunate reality of my business. Hell, given the odds, there’s a good chance I won’t make it, but it’s got to be done.”

  Loki leans forward, places his elbows on his knees, and stares at the ground. “Why would you do this?”

  I get to my feet and pat him on the back. “It’s what I do. Someone has to decide when things have gone too far and do their best to set them right—no matter what it costs.”

  He’s quiet for several seconds. “I’ll consider your words.”

  Whatever that’s supposed to fucking mean. “Okay, thanks.”

  The conversation’s clearly at an end, so I give him a nod and walk back to my car. As I said earlier, this was a shot in the dark and one that didn’t cost me anything. What I hadn’t considered was their feelings about facing the loa after being held prisoner by them. Which more or less makes me a complete asshole. If I make it through this, I’ll have to apologize to them. Right now, though, plan B is officially in effect.

  That basically means I’ve got to spend the next several hours preparing my people for the absolute worst thing they’ll ever encounter. Rick has opened his doors to allow all the Ulfr Hunn at his disposal to come along for the ride. Needless to say, they’ve got a keen interest in giving the loa a bit of payback after what they did to Geanann.

  While I’d love to bring Nicholas and Nora along, they’ve got their hands full with Kira. She’s still getting stronger, but her condition requires constant monitoring. Plus, they’ll be the only ones capable of calming or restraining her if she wakes up in my absence and freaks out about not being part of the Nexus any longer.

  While my thoughts want to dwell on that nightmare scenario, I force myself back on task. I don’t need the distraction right now. My main focus is capturing the Baron, killing his henchmen, and making it home in time for dinner.

  Yeah. Hilarious.

  The plan is simple. I’ll scout the place—probably some shack, considering where it is—figure out what we’re facing then call in reinforcements to make it a party.

  Mind you, they’ve all been armed with the latest and greatest from the shipment the Loki sent us, so that’ll help even the odds. I’ll be using both the LP-12s. Hopefully, I’ll have enough time to clear the Jörmungandr off the field before my people get too close. If not, things are going to get ugly in a hurry.

  There’s a soft knock on the door before Justine pushes it open only to quickly close it behind her. She’s got a weird look on her face as she glances over her shoulder. “Got a minute?”

  I gesture at the sofa. “Everything all right?”

  She shrugs. “No, not really.”

  Gesturing at the bar, I ask, “Want a drink?”

  Her gaze cuts over to the bar then back to me. “I really do, but it’ll have to wait.”

  I shrug. “Okay. What’s on your mind?”

  She sits on the couch and sighs. “Just wanted to let you know that the new emissary from Xiwangmu has arrived and asked to see you.”

  Christ, talk about bad timing. “Who is it?”

  Her tone turns curious. “He says his name is Zao Jun. The weird thing is if he’s the new envoy from China, how is it that I’ve seen the man before?”

  I arch an eyebrow. “You have?”

  She nods. “Yeah, I can’t place where, but I’m positive I’ve seen him…here in town, even.”

  I check my watch. “Ask him if he can come back because I’m sort of busy at the moment.”

  Justine gestures at the door. “He said you’d say that and is literally waiting on the other side of the door to talk to you. He swears it won’t take more than a minute.”

  Hanging my head in defeat, I wave at the door. “Fine, let the man in.”

  She gives me a weak smile. “Sorry.”

  I shake my head. “Just let him in and I’ll handle it from there.”

  She walks over to the door, pulls it open, and waves him in.

  Zao Jun is a short, stocky man with long black and gray hair tied back in a ponytail and a matching beard that comes down to his chest. He’s wearing a chef coat with his name stitched above the left breast pocket and he’s carrying what appears to be a lunch box. Guess he came prepared to wait.

  Bowing at the waist, I say, “Greetings, Zao Jun. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  A crooked smile crosses his lips. “And you, Star Born.” He gestures at the chair behind the desk. “Please sit. I’ve got a few things for you.”

  I tap the face of my watch. “Sorry, but I’ve got somewhere to be—”

  He shakes his head. “Not right this second you don’t. You can take two minutes to humor me.”

  It takes more effort than it should to push down my annoyance, but I sit at the desk. “You’re right, of course. How can I be of service?”

  Zao Jun smiles. “It is I who’ve come to be of service to you.” He sets the box on the corner of my desk, pulls out a covered dish, and pushes it toward me. “This is from my wife Asa, whom I believe you met late last year.”

  I blink. “From the restaurant down the street?”

  He nods. “Yes. She’s a phenomenal sushi chef.” After crossing the room, he pours two tumblers of whiskey before returning and giving me one. “Here. This will help wash it down.”

  I laugh. “Sure.” Picking up the first piece of sushi, I respectfully incline my head in his direction. “Thank you for being so kind.”

  He gives me a dismissive wave. “Think nothing of it.”

  The first bite sends a jolt of energy through me and my right eye shivers slightly as the world around me becomes more focused.

  “What was that?”

  Zao Jun’s expression is satisfied. “As I say, it’s a gift from my wife.” He taps the bag next to the box and sighs. “And this is a gift from me. Before you ask, it’s a tea, my own special creation. I cannot guarantee that it’ll work for you, but if it does, the world will be open to you once more. Do not drink this until you’re sure you have a few days to recover.”

  Chuckling, I p
ick up the bag. “That might be a while.”

  He shrugs. “We’ve got time. Now that the formalities have been handled, I’ll let you be on your way.” He removes a card from his pocket and sets it on the desk. “Call me when this foolishness you’re currently involved in has ended and we’ll make the final arrangements for Xiwangmu’s arrival.”

  Not waiting for an answer, he closes his box, gets up, and walks toward the door.

  Chapter 21

  While the sun being out earlier was a nice treat, now it’s become the enemy. It’s uncomfortably hot, and the humidity is just stupid. In short, I’m a sweaty mess and there’s still a way to go. Oh, and thanks to the storms we’ve been having lately, the entire area is one giant mudpuddle. I don’t know what else I should’ve expected—this is a swamp, after all—but it doesn’t make things any more comfortable.

  Due to the size of the group behind me, I’ve quickly outpaced them. I’m only supposed to have about a ten-minute head start, but that’s likely doubled, which, given what we’re up against, is probably for the best. It’ll give me time to nail down exactly what we’re facing, and if luck holds, allow me to whittle down their numbers.

  In the meantime, I’ll keep following the satellite feed to what amounts to an overgrown shack atop one of the higher bits of land out here. As much as I hate to admit it, the Baron’s plan to keep a secret base of operations out here in the sticks is brilliant. No one bothers to come out this far unless they have one hell of a reason. It’s so deep in the bush that it reminds me of Louisiana when I first arrived here. It’s all wild, overgrown, and there’s no hint of the civilized world anywhere.

  Thickets blanket the area with an interspersed tree here and there for good measure. Mostly, though, this is a sea of greens, browns, and varying shades of gray. If I didn’t know where I was headed, it’d be easy to get lost. Eventually, I near the edge of one of the denser bits of foliage and come to a stop. My phone says I’m still a half mile from where I need to be, but my eye tells me something else. Slowly, I ease through the brush and take a knee to scope the place out.

  Sure enough, there’s the Baron’s shack on a budget. Seriously, this thing must’ve been put together with scraps of random crap found out here. It’s a mismatched bit of redneck engineering. There are various pieces of a couple different trailer houses, several sections of multicolored vinyl siding, and another part is just covered in graying brush that’s been cut special for the occasion. I’m not exactly sure how they managed it, but there are a couple of windows and a door, and the roof consists of newish bits of tin carefully placed over the entire structure with a healthy amount of overhang on all sides.

  From where I’m lying, I count twice as many Jörmungandr as predicted, and probably three times that in wraiths—at this distance, it’s hard to tell if they’re mutants or the real deal. The only thing not in play in large numbers is the Geist. Joy. I’m starting to think we may not have enough ammunition for these guys.

  Lifting my phone, I take several photos and send them back to the others, along with a lengthy explanation of what we’re in for. A half second later, Rick messages me back.

  We’re at least twenty minutes behind you…probably thirty. I know this will be incredibly difficult, but if it’s at all possible, don’t do anything stupid. If that’s an impossibility, at least wait for us to get there.

  That’s cute. Ha, ha, ha.

  I glance back at the nightmare situation and sigh. They need to hurry the hell up. The last thing I want to do is face these guys on my own.

  A twig snaps behind me, and I roll over to find the Baron standing there with one of the Jörmungandr sitting next to him like an obedient dog.

  And just like that, things have gone to hell.

  I wave. “Afternoon, Baron. Fancy meeting you here.”

  He points at the gun on my leg. “Remove it slowly.” I comply, and he gestures at the other one. “That one too.”

  I glance at the second weapon and frown. “Do I really have to? I feel a bit naked without it.”

  He folds his arms, and the giant worm lurches forward a few inches. “I insist.”

  “Fine.” I toss it onto the ground at his feet. “Happy?”

  He nudges it with a toe. “No, not at all. Are you alone?”

  I push myself up to my feet. “This was supposed to be a recon mission, so yeah, I’m on my own.”

  He grins. “Good.” Pointing at the shanty, he says, “If you don’t mind, it’s a bit bright out here. Let’s take this inside and have a proper conversation.”

  Standing my ground, I shake my head. “Unless you’ve got AC, I’d much prefer talking out here. At least there’s a breeze. I’m going to assume it’s stuffy in there.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of being an asshole?” I shake my head, and he frowns. “Move.”

  The LP-12 is strapped to my vest. I’m a little shocked he hasn’t noticed, but then again, it looks more like something out of a science fiction movie than an actual weapon. The thought of pulling it and leveling these guys is tempting. There’s a better than average chance I could take them both. But it’s the what-happens-after that’s keeping me compliant. The moment the first shot is fired, everyone inside the matchbox in front of me will flood the field. It’ll probably take them less than thirty seconds to find me, and sixty seconds later, I’d undoubtedly be worm food. Not a good option. My best hope is to keep this moron jabbering for the next twenty minutes and pray Rick gets here in time.

  A minute later, I’m guided to the center of the shanty. There the Baron sits atop a hobo’s throne made out of rusty cast iron skillets, pieces of wood, an old cushion, and other random bits of strangeness. Being out here in the sticks has the man putting on airs. Either that or he really thinks he’s some sort of royalty. Guess he’s king of the bumpkins…but I doubt even they’d claim this moron.

  Flicking a bit of dirt out from under my nail, I say, “Okay, we’re inside. What would you like to talk about?”

  The Baron grimaces. “First off, you need to understand the rules here. Do not speak until you’re spoken to, understand?”

  I let my gaze meander around the room at the wraiths crowded there. “Will playing by your rules keep me amongst the living? Or are you going to try to kill me no matter what?”

  Chuckling, he leans back in his seat. “There won’t be any try involved. You’re going to die here today, after you answer my questions.”

  I lift my hand and scratch my eyebrow. “Way to give a man incentive to keep his mouth shut. Are you completely stupid?”

  He darts forward and punches me in the gut hard enough to knock me into the wall a few feet away. “Enough of your impudence.”

  For the record, that hurt. The man is a lot stronger than he looks.

  Dusting myself off, I get to my feet. “Okay, okay…I get it. You’d like me to be polite and play along. Fine, I’ll give it a shot.” In a bored tone, I ask, “What is it you’d like to know?”

  The muscle along his jaw twitches and he clenches his fist. “Where did you get the weapons you used against us at the funeral home?”

  Guess he’s not a total moron after all. “They’ve been in development for the last year. Why do you ask?”

  He pauses. “So, they weren’t created for the loa explicitly?”

  I place my hand on my vest just above the LP-12. “Of course they were. Someone figured out your weakness, but up until the other night, we had no reason to bring them out. Now that we do, you can bet your ass we’ll be hunting every renegade loa that follows you or Ethan. When we find them, we’re going to put a bullet through their skulls. Simple as that.”

  He gives me a blank look before returning to his throne to tap out a message on his phone. A couple of minutes later, he tucks it away. “So, you’re familiar with the schism within the loa?”

  All he has to do is keep talking for another ten minutes and this dynamic will change. Hell, there’s a good chance I might even survive
this.

  I wobble my hand back and forth. “You’re making it sound like a friendly dispute. The way I understand it, you guys lost the war and were banished here. To top off your stupidity, you’ve allowed Ethan to piss off Heidr, which means no more proper wraiths.” Leaning forward a bit, I push as much sarcasm as I can into my tone. “How’s that working out for you anyway?”

  His face contorts with rage. “Careful, child.”

  The wraiths have been slowly closing in throughout our conversation. I move my hand down to the clip on my vest and remove a bullet, because this has apparently reached its end. Which isn’t good for me, considering how far out my people are. Guess it’s time to make an impression.

  Moving my hand down to the LP-12, I place my back against the wall. “Or what?”

  He darts across the room instantly, slamming a forearm into my chest, putting me through the rickety structure. Pulling the LP-12, I shove the single bullet into the barrel of the weapon and fire, hoping to create a shotgun effect and take out several of them at once. My elbow catches on a piece of wood, and the shot goes wide. The bullet, however, splinters, ricocheting off every metallic surface it encounters until a few pieces dig into the Baron’s cheek. That’s the last thing I’m able to see before hitting the ground and skidding to a halt.

  Rolling to my feet, I fire three single shots, one for each of the Jörmungandr nearest me. To my great pleasure, the rounds tear through their armored casing and they stop, turn, and burrow into the ground. That still leaves a crap-ton of them, though, and a host of wraiths that are pouring out of the building to greet me.

  I tug a grenade out of my pocket and toss it into the hole made by yours truly. Granted, it’ll do absolutely nothing to the regular wraiths, but it might mess up the Baron’s day just a bit more…and that’s the best I can hope for at the moment.

  While the LP-12 is exceptionally potent, it only carries nine rounds per clip, which means I’m down to five. I’ve got two spare power packs in my vest but having to reload the thing in the heat of battle with no cover fire means death.