The Chaos Order (Fanghunters Book Three)

by Leo Romero

  Trixie was already in the chamber, turning in circles, taking everything in. Dom went and joined her, descending the steps slow, his jaw hanging, his eyes darting left and right in caution as if someone or something was going to jump out of the gloomy, moss-covered stones surrounding him. As he delved into the temple, his mind swam with the awe of history and human ingenuity. Human hands built this colossal pyramid with primitive tools and it had survived till this day, whereas newer homes in Chicago’s South Side were already crumbling, succumbing to the forces of nature.

  But contradicting the awe was something else. His sneakers touched the floor of the chamber and he stopped. A shiver coursed through him; the place had a bad vibe, like bad things had happened inside that temple. Dark things that still lingered in some form of energy that infested the place like ghosts in a haunted house. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear the echoes of screams, could smell the metallic tang of blood, could taste the musk of death on the air, air that held a similar quality to that of a vampire nest. His eyes fell upon the stone slab and those drying bloodstains splattered across it. They looked fresh.

  “Troy said...” Trixie began, staring at the slab. She swallowed. “They cut people’s heads off.”

  Dom shivered. He tore his eyes from the slab, laying them on the fire pit over in the corner; inside were the residues of a fire. In amongst the gray ashes was a bone-white globe. He squinted his eyes, craning his neck forward to get a better look.

  Is that a…?

  He recoiled, showing the fire pit his palm. Man, I don’t even wanna know.

  Alicia stepped up close to the slab, her crucifix gripped in her hand, her eyes brimming with apprehension. Rafa was busy gazing left and right in wonderment.

  Trixie took a deep steadying breath and began pacing around, studying the paintings on the walls. She came to a stop ahead of the left-hand wall. She frowned and pushed her head in closer. “Hey, that guy looks a bit like Troy,” she stated, pointing at the thing painted there.

  Dom went over and glared at it in bemusement. “Looks nothing like Troy. It’s not ugly enough.”

  “Troy said they think he’s some kind of god.”

  Dom gave her a sideways look. “Pff! He’s tripping!”

  “I bet that’s who they think Troy is,” Trixie insisted.

  “Ha! Get real.” Dom glanced back at the guy on the wall. He was a weirdo holding severed heads in each hand. His eyes were that weird swirly type these Mayans seemed to love. His chest was covered in flowers and more swirls. Dom frowned; all of a sudden, in his mind’s eye he couldn’t help but see Troy in his Hawaiian shirt. Dom’s mouth became an O as his eyes fell on the white legs of the guy on the wall. Troy’s bright white chinos then entered his mind. Dom’s face contorted. “No way!” he said to himself. He glanced at the image standing next to the Troy guy.

  “Magdalena,” Alicia said, coming up next to him and pointing at the depiction Dom was staring at. She kissed her crucifix afterward and crossed herself. “This place stinks of evil,” she said and shivered.

  “What was it originally? Incan? Aztec?” Trixie asked.

  “Aztec or Mayan,” Alicia replied. “I don’t know, my father would’ve known, he was the expert. But I’m sure it was intended for sun worship. At some point it became a place of vampire worship.”

  “You think they went from worshipping the sun to worshipping Magdalena?” asked Dom.

  Alicia shrugged. “The indigenous people had their culture torn apart by the Conquistadors. It looks to me like this Unholy Brotherhood took this temple for their own purposes.”

  “So what did they bring Troy here for?”

  Alicia shrugged. “A ceremony? Initiation, who knows?”

  “Initiation?” Dom echoed. “You mean they’re trying to recruit him?”

  “Well, if they think that guy on the wall is him, then it stands to reason they’ll want him on their side and not against him,” Trixie suggested, before turning away to check the other paintings.

  “That makes sense,” Dom said in contemplation. “But, there’s no way that’s Troy.”

  Trixie grabbed her smartphone from her pocket and began taking snaps of the other images on the walls.

  Dom looked over. “What are you doing?”

  “I got a hunch these might come in useful,” she replied, checking the clarity of the photos.

  Dom looked up at the paintings. One was of a tic-tac-toe type grid, with different faces in each square. Some had been crossed over. “What am I looking at?” he asked Trixie.

  Trixie shook her head. “I don’t know. But there has to be a good reason for coming here before facing Magdalena.” She nodded her head to the side.

  Dom looked over; he found himself staring at a painting of a half-naked Mayan guy glaring in trepidation at what looked like three levers. The one on the left had been pulled down, the other two were up. Behind the guy were scary, twisted faces, their mouths and eyes round, black holes. Between them and the guy was a shower of black lines heading his way like a plague of locusts.

  Dom’s brow furrowed. “What is it supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Trixie replied, her eyes wide. She took a snap of the painting. “But, we might find out.”

  Dom craned his neck around. He came face-to-face with another painting of Magdalena. He shivered.

  Trixie took more snaps, then checked them. “Okay,” she then said. “I think we’ve seen enough here.”

  “Agreed,” Alicia said, before heading straight for the steps.

  “What now?” Dom asked Trixie.

  Trixie sighed. “Now, we wait to see wherever it is they take Troy next.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Another long ass drive in the dark trunk of a car. He wondered where they were taking him this time. Niagara Falls? How about a trip up to Alaska? Yeah, he’d like to watch those old freaks shiver in the ice and snow.

  They went over some bumps and he smashed his head on the side. He groaned in pain. “Assholes! Watch where you’re going!” he shouted at the darkness. The car continued on its journey regardless. Where the hell were they going anyhow? The goddamned moon?

  He huffed. “Just go along with it, Troy,” he said to himself, mocking Trixie again. “Why don’t you go along with it?” he responded in an angry voice. “Why am I the one stuck in the trunk?”

  You should’ve got away from her when you had the chance, he told himself. Never go back, Troy. Never.

  “Yeah, well, I kinda felt sorry for her,” he mumbled to himself beneath his hood. “The small bit of my conscience that still exists inside this corrupted brain of mine. That little bit of humanity the venom couldn’t take away. Sometimes it’s my own worst enemy.”

  He stopped and looked around the darkness. “Christ, am I talking to myself? I’m going frickin’ crazy here!” He began squirming hard, anger engulfing him. “Hey! I’m going crazy in this goddamn trunk!” he shouted. “Let me out! Hey! Let me out!”

  The car then came to an abrupt stop.

  The momentum sent Troy rolling on his side. He went quiet.

  The lid of the trunk popped open.

  “About time!” said Troy.

  Rough hands immediately grabbed his limbs and dragged him up and out of the trunk. He smashed his chin on the rim of the trunk on his way out. “Careful, asshole!” he sneered. Once out, they took the bag off his head. Troy looked around. They were at some kind of private airfield. Choppers with blacked out windows were lined up, ready and waiting. Troy gazed at them all in confusion. An air show?

  Then, the chanting began to fill the air. It resonated in the black sky as the monks drew toward him like flies to fire. They encircled him before dropping to their knees and bowing profusely. Troy watched them with eyes that were mellowing from anger to calm. He gave them all a rueful smile as they bowed down to him like he was their king. A sudden power rush shot up into his chest.

  “Well, maybe you guys aren’t so bad. You’re freak
ing crazy, crazy as hell. But, you ain’t all bad.”

  The chanting grew in fervor. Troy puffed his chest out, enjoying being the center of attention. “Come on, peasants. Give it up!” he demanded.

  They began chanting harder.

  “Yeah, you know you want to. Give it up, bitches! GIVE IT UP FOR ME!” he boomed.

  Troy faced the night sky and released a contented sigh. I could stand here all night, he realized with a new sense of thrill.

  The mad monks continued to pray unto him; their god, their savior. Troy soaked it up, the power rush slowly but surely beginning to overcome him, everything else now becoming secondary. This was what he had been longing for: power, adulation, respect. He’d reached his zenith, reached his mount Olympus. This was where he deserved to be and where he always should be: praised, worshipped, adored. Forget Chicago and those losers who didn’t know supreme class when they saw it. There he was a nothing, but here, in Latin America, he was a god. El Sanguinario.

  Screw Trixie and that other chump. This was his time, and he was gonna enjoy it.

  They pushed him toward the choppers and he went willingly, the chanting and adulation continuing unabated. As he drew close to the waiting helicopter, something sharp and painful jabbed into his neck. Before he had a chance to say ‘ow’, the world turned dark and drug-induced sleep overcame him.

  Trixie checked her smartphone again. Troy was moving far and fast, heading south. She guessed he must’ve got into a plane or chopper. She realized that chasing by car just wouldn’t cut it. They needed a plane too. Rafa drove them to the bottom of the mountain where Trixie phoned Dad. Even though it was early morning in Chicago, he was wide awake.

  “Trixie! Where are you?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

  “We’re in Mexico. Listen, Dad, we’re gonna need a private jet from Hermosillo airport.”

  “Okay, no problem. I’ll get Miranda to make all the arrangements. Did you find Lionel?”

  “Lionel’s dead.”

  Vincent gasped. “No! How?”

  “The local cartel got him. We teamed up with his daughter, Alicia and helped them get revenge. In return, we got Lionel’s notes on Magdalena.”

  “And?”

  “We got a lead. Well, Troy got a lead, and we need to follow him, hence why we need the jet.”

  “Okay, leave it with me. How’s Dom?”

  Trixie looked up to see Dom flirting with Alicia. Trixie’s top lip curled up. “Dom’s fine.”

  “Good to hear. Such a shame about Lionel. He was a good man. Those cartels really are a nuisance, aren’t they?”

  “That’s putting it mildly, Dad. So, what’s happening up north?”

  “Same as when you left. Floods and snakes. We’ve had one of these snakes analyzed at the lab, and, just as I suspected, they’re vampire.”

  “Vampire snakes?” Trixie said into the smartphone in a flat voice.

  “Yes.”

  Trixie sighed. “Dad, you mean to tell me the snakes are vampires?”

  “Yes.”

  “And they have venom glands?”

  “Indeed.”

  “And they burn in the sun?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “It’s true, Patricia! They must have been normal snakes once upon a time and then turned vampiric by manna.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. But I have a theory.”

  “Go on.”

  “Magdalena. I’m thinking she’s turning the snakes vampiric and the Chaos Order are releasing them into Chicago.”

  “What for?”

  “The Great Unveiling, Patricia! I wish you’d believe me. The ultimate goal is to have vampires across the globe thus negating the need to hide in the shadows, but each of the siblings wants their strain of manna to be the one that dominates the rest. When Leviah fell, it left a gap, a gap that the Dragons and the Chaos Orders are trying desperately to fill. The only way to do this is to create as many vampires as possible to use as an army. The best way for the Dragons to do this is to use Leviah’s Ambrosia factory. The Chaos Order, on the other hand, are using these snakes to do it their way.”

  “But, from what Lionel found out, Magdalena’s venom was driving people nuts, it was too strong, so they locked her away.”

  “Hmm, interesting. But, people are surviving the snakebites and wanting more.”

  “So, the snakes aren’t carrying Magdalena’s venom.”

  “Not necessarily. I’m convinced the snakes are her doing and the Chaos Order are using them for their own ends. For some reason, the snakes are altering her venom, making it safe.”

  “That would make sense.”

  “And now there’s a full frontal battle going on between the two orders and Chicago is the battleground.”

  “So, what do we need to do?”

  “You need to stop Magdalena from making these snakes. Fast.”

  Trixie sighed. “Well, we’re on our way. Hopefully, Troy’s onto something. We’ll go wait at Hermosillo for the jet. I’ll send you a message with the details.”

  “Okay. You be careful. I’ll let you know when everything’s set for you.”

  “Okay, Dad.”

  “Take care, Patricia. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Daddy.”

  PART FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Don Vasquez stared at the surface of his desk with despondent eyes, his head bowed. He was riddled with shame and embarrassment; he’d lost face with his brothers and sisters of the Inner Circle in the same way he’d lost Tijuana. He was the Don of Mexico, the overseer of every major Mexican cartel. It was his responsibility to make sure the Mexican territories were kept under control, to protect his vampire lieutenants he’d put in charge of each cartel. Víbora had been his son, one of his lieutenants. Vasquez allowed him to turn, gave him his blessing so he could lead Los Verdugos under his instruction. And Vasquez had failed him. The Order’s operations were under threat, and it was down to him. He wasn’t sure what his punishment would be. He hoped it wasn’t severe.

  Even though the meeting was taking place via the Internet, Vasquez could feel the stares of the other dons on him like sunrays. He wanted to ask for forgiveness, but didn’t even know how to express himself. He sat there in silent dejection, his laptop open ahead of him.

  In the end, Don César prompted him. “Speak, Vasquez,” she said. “Why have you requested this conference?”

  Don Vasquez placed his palms on the surface of the table and splayed his fingers; they were trembling. “We have lost Tijuana,” he said in a soft voice, his head falling down further, his chest slumping. “I’m sorry,” he added.

  “Yes, we know,” came César’s immediate reply. “There are sudden uprisings going on all over our territories. They’ve been inspired by the news of Tijuana.”

  Don Vasquez frowned.

  “We’ve lost Monteria,” Don Emilio informed him.

  “There are wars on the streets all over Honduras as well,” Don Ramirez added.

  Don Vasquez gazed at the images of the dons on his laptop screen, open-mouthed. He wasn’t the only one suffering under this pushback. It came as a relief. But, he still felt it was him to blame; it was under his jurisdiction the uprisings began.

  “This is to be expected,” César said, giving Don Vasquez renewed hope.

  He stared right at César’s image. “Expected?”

  “Yes,” César affirmed. “The prophecies of the Unholy Brotherhood speak of uprisings and unrest amongst the peasants before the Chaos takes control.”

  “What do we do?” asked Vasquez.

  “We hold our positions until we take Chicago. Once we do that, we’ll have the firepower to take down the rest of the orders. We must stay strong, get every soldier we have at our disposal to defend the territories.”

  “How is the operation going?” Emilio asked.

  “Ramon and his guys have the Bloods’ building surrounded. It�
��s only a matter of time before it falls to us,” answered César. “Our time is nigh, we are one, we are strong. The power of the Unholy Mother will not let us down. We’ve all been blessed with her curse. And so we have to believe that she will guide us. The timing of everything now occurring is significant. The fall of the Blood Order; the uprising of the peasants against us. It was all foretold exactly like this by the Brotherhood. We must stay strong. Be vigilant. Up our defenses, hold fort until Chicago, and ultimately the northern lands, fall.”

  A calm washed over Vasquez. He was relieved to hear of similar troubles across the Americas; it alleviated his stress. And if his troubles were part of the plan foretold centuries ago, then he was pleased he lost Tijuana. If it was part of the prophecy to lose some territory, then so be it. Small sacrifices to pay for the huge rewards heading their way. Victory in their battle against the other orders. The Unholy Mother would guide them; his faith was unbreakable. Ramon would get the first strike on the gringos, then they’d all fall like dominos from there.

  He stared at the other dons, his apprehension melting. He knew he could rely on them, and the Unholy Mother. Like César asserted: she wouldn’t let them down.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Ramon stepped through the water; it now reached beyond his ankles. Snakes slithered through it left and right, using it as a conduit for traveling through the streets of downtown Chicago. Just ahead of him was the Bloods’ tower. He’d laid low until the protection of night arrived before he headed all the way into the Loop. Once there, he found that the overhead sky had been blanketed in dark, thunderous clouds. He gazed upon them in delight.