The Preternatural Chronicles: Books 0-3

by Hunter Blain

  In answer, footsteps echoed from the darkness. I smiled my predatory grin of delight. Both PS and I immensely enjoyed punishing those who would do me harm. I let PS put one hand on the wheel as I relinquished partial control.

  Closing my eyes, I let my senses flow in all directions. I could feel my pupils shift, changing from a purple shade to a dark crimson. An unseen pressure in my gums forced my canines to elongate and sharpen to surgical points. The air became a distinguishable mixture of smells, each with their own trail leading back to their origin.

  I opened my eyes to see three heat signatures approaching from my ten, twelve, and two o’clock. The thermal silhouette from the blood donor in the middle didn’t match his visual body. It was an ogre wearing an expensive glamour. I’d have to reflect on this later, as ogres weren’t your everyday thugs, mostly because it was incredibly difficult to mask their size. Those who could afford such expensive glamours usually didn’t do basic-level dirty work. Ogres were not intelligent beings—but they were good at following the commands of their bosses, at least to the best of their limited abilities. Someone else had probably bought the glamour for him. I suppose it would make sense why they had been waiting for me at my favorite hangout if a nefarious, unseen bad guy was directing them. This gave me plenty of ammunition to chew on. I could probably trace the source back far enough to get substantial answers to at least move the plot along until the next book.

  Now, I knew this was serious and that I shouldn’t play with my food before eating, but sometimes I couldn’t help myself. The thug to my left rushed me impatiently, forcing the other two to follow suit just behind. This caused a staggered approach, which was just fine by me. I lifted my arms above my head and bent them at the elbow, hiding my hands behind my upper back. I focused on my palms and willed blood to flow, molding it into a giant, Looney Tunes–type hammer.

  As the thug approached, I kicked out my leg at preternatural speed into his solar plexus, stopping him dead in his tracks and emptying his lungs for him. As he bent over with a wordless cry of surprise, I said, “Stop! Hammer time!” before obliterating his head in an explosion of skull fragments, blood, and chunks of brain. I took notice that my super strength, well, extra super strength, was diminishing, but I still had enough in the tanks to be considered overkill for these jokers. The supe’s body dropped to the cracked pavement, spasming violently as chunks of loose cement shifted. Val really needed to fix his foundation.

  “Wait, is Gallagher still relevant? I feel like there’s a joke here somewhere.”

  The cranial explosion caused the remaining normal-sized thug to slow in shock. The ogre just behind him continued to lumber forward, unable to slow his momentum as nimbly as his buddy. As the ogre charged into his companion, I stepped forward like a baseball hitter and smoothly slammed my hammer into the chest of the human-sized punk. With the ogre acting as a brick wall, the hammer completely crushed the chest cavity with a glorious crunch that sounded more like a car crash than the shattering of bones.

  The ogre barely felt the impact and took advantage of my precarious position before I could reset. Huge, invisible lunch box–sized fists closed over my head and picked me up before beginning to squeeze. After a few moments of preparing to mimic the Play-Doh toy where the dough grows out like hair, I was acutely aware that my head was still intact and that my brain wasn’t squeezing through invisible fingers. As a matter of fact, I was closer to being comfortable than in any sort of pain.

  I really need to get me some more angel blood, you know, for emergencies. Or after a really long day. Or just because…

  You know what? I can feel your judgment, and I reject it completely. I mean, have you tried blood? Didn’t think so. Back to it.

  To an outsider, it would have looked comical to see a normal-sized dude lifting another one off the ground with one hand. To those with eyes that could see through glamour, it was probably still funny, especially considering the ogre was straining so hilariously hard to pop my cherry. His teeth were about to fracture, and veins throughout his entire body threatened to bust like geysers.

  Feeling perfectly at ease, I separated my hands and willed my bloodhammer to reshape into two gladius-style swords made for stabbing. Even though my head was enclosed in his fist, his glamour was still in function, and I was able to see through his hand. Damn, this really was a top-notch spell. I was almost flattered. Almost.

  Using the position of his head as a center, I thrust one blade upward and the other down and to the left, aiming for his throat and liver. The ogre saw the attack coming at the last moment and tried to move. Instead, he screamed loud enough to make the ground rumble as one sword hit close to home. Still grasping my skull, he threw me away and I flipped through the air and landed on my feet just in time to see a chunk of pavement being hurled toward my face. I ducked out of the way with ease and immediately saw why it had been surprisingly no trouble to dodge. One of my blades had found an eyeball, and the ogre was now a cyclops.

  I let my swords melt into whips as I strode over to where the beast was spinning in circles, throwing his fists out in a tantrum. Ogres were pretty stupid and weren’t adequate at articulating their frustrations—but what they lacked in intelligence they made up for in raw power. The ogre grabbed another handful of the foundation-impaired concrete and prepared to hurl it my way, using his remaining eye and new lack of depth perception.

  Flinging my wrist, I wrapped a whip around the thug’s throat, his real one. I let my other hand fly forward, entangling his legs, and pulled back with that arm. He fell to the ground with an earth-shattering, “Oomph,” the chunk of rock that had been intended for yours truly landing on his forehead. I barked out a laugh as if I were watching a cartoon.

  I willed the whips to shorten as I approached, like reeling in a fish, while keeping the pressure tight. The fun was over, and it was time for answers. I brought my hands together and let the whip from my right hand merge with the one on the left so only one hand held both manifestations. With my free right hand, I extended my palm toward the ogre’s actual head, fingers outstretched. With a focus of will, I sent my essence into his head. My consciousness flew from behind my eyes and down my arm, using my essence as a train track to my destination between the ogre’s eye sockets. I flowed through the barrier of his mind in my incorporeal state and began to search for answers.

  There wasn’t a lot there. I mean, I knew they were all brawn and no brains, but this was like a warehouse with a single file cabinet in the middle. Not to boast, but I had an entire city, complete with a castle, within my head where I stored pertinent information. One downside about having perfect recall was that I remembered everything I had ever experienced or learned with complete detail that didn’t deteriorate over time. This accounted for a lot of useless information that needed to be filed accordingly. Otherwise, I’d simply go insane with all the raw information floating around like a tornado of random thoughts. I still remembered what I had said the day man landed on the moon.

  “Neat.”

  Back to the empty ogre brain. I went to the file cabinet, which was illuminated by a lone spotlight overhead, and opened it in search of who had hired him. Only a crudely drawn image of a man wearing a black cloak was in the particular file I was searching for, aptly named “Kill Fat Vampire.” I was pretty sure the picture had been done with crayons as well. I wasn’t expecting much, and yet, I was still disappointed.

  Hey, wait…fat? I may have a powerlifter’s build, but I was far from fat (he tried to convince himself). Besides, dadbods were in.

  With an eye roll and accompanying sigh, I pulled out the file and tore it to shreds before dropping it on the warehouse floor. I released my grip, and my essence reversed the roller-coaster ride until I flew back into my own mind. PS waved and gave a thumbs-up in question if I had found anything. I shook my head once, and his shoulders slightly slumped in frustration.

  The ogre had stopped struggling at my invasion of his mind. It had never been done to me, but I co
uld surmise that it was like a prostate exam; you didn’t want to move for fear of making it worse. I might be off on my comparison, but it was close enough.

  Instead of killing my would-be assassin, I retracted my bloodropes while turning to walk to where I had set my bottle of goodness next to the back door. Picking it up, I turned around to see the ogre, still in glamour, sit up and hold his head as if a massive migraine had just invaded his skull. He looked up at me with an expression that seemed to ask, “What just happened?” My own shoulders lifted in answer, suggesting I had no idea, before I set off into the darkness.

  Once out of sight, I went into full stalk mode and watched from the shadows. Ogres didn’t have super awesome night vision like some of the more predatory supes did—they simply didn’t have to stalk their food, whatever they ate. I shuddered as I randomly thought about an ogre eating a unicorn in giant, crunching bites.

  After a few more moments of confusion, he stood up on shaky legs and began walking toward the front of the saloon. Fingers slid loosely along the wall, searching for stability, while his other hand cupped the empty eye socket, which oozed blood. It coated his invisible hand, creating a crimson outline that floated above the man-glamour.

  Stepping back toward the building, I leaped on top of the roof. My feet landed with barely a sound as pebbles lightly crunched underfoot.

  As I approached the edge of the building looking over the parking lot and main road, I heard the purr of an expensive engine approach. My vision crested the roofline, and I could see Mr. Ogre approaching the back window of a stretch limo. The pitch-black tinted window began rolling down, and excitement built in my chest, as I was about to see who wanted me dead, or so I thought. The ogre had other plans, as both his hands grasped the roof above the window for stability. His glamoured body blocked the passenger. It was as if my unlife was a movie.

  I spread out my senses and focused on hearing.

  “Is he dead?” a hushed voice whispered.

  “Huh? Who?” was the ogre’s confused response. “Who…who you? Why eye hurt?”

  There was a moment of silence and then realization.

  “Drive,” said the mystery guest, speaking with the same barely audible voice. The window began to roll up as the limo pulled away. The ogre, still confused, kept his hands on the roof for balance and tripped over his own feet as the vehicle moved forward. He hit the ground and sprawled out, giving the rear tire total access to one of his arms. I stifled a laugh as the limo bounced over the mound of muscle.

  The window had almost rolled all the way up when two red eyes peered out from beneath a black hood, looking toward the noise I had made. We locked gazes while the window completed its ascension, breaking our brief but intense connection. Then the limo accelerated gracefully down the street while I stood, stunned.

  “Who the hell was that?” I asked myself. Probably someone wanting to claim the bounty on my booty.

  I took a step off the roof and landed smoothly on the pavement below, my black trench coat billowing like a cape as I did. Ignoring the confused ogre who was struggling to stand up, I strolled down the street toward my lair. It was time to go have a drink and watch Aliens.

  4

  The cemetery was inky black except for a lone light at the old front gate. The crescent moon provided enough illumination for my preter-eyes to see and make my way to my mausoleum. The enchanted bottle of Jack swished audibly in the silence of the graveyard while my footsteps alternated between dirt and grass, crunching with every few steps.

  I put my free hand on the cold, white stone of the slab that acted as my door, and pushed to the side. The marble slid easily, as I had installed wheels on the opposite side after Depweg had moved in. Not that he wasn’t strong. Oh no, quite the contrary. Depweg was probably just as strong as I was, but with the caveat that it was only while in werewolf form. As a man, he was as strong as several mortals and could leap entire parked cars in a single bound—but a pure slab of marble was still a pure slab of marble.

  I entered my gauche mausoleum and slid the door back into place. There used to be a titanium beam that I could lower to further secure my hidey-hole, but after my home had been attacked so easily, paired with Depweg moving in, I thought it unnecessary. Especially now that Locke was gone. To beef up home protection, we had set up security cameras throughout the cemetery that had motion detection, night vision, and even infrared, all in 60 frames per second and 4k quality.

  When the door was back in place, LED lights sprang to life along the floor and illuminated the room where I had had a custom marble throne made in the center. There had been a coffin at one point, but it had been knocked over when my home was attacked.

  I walked past my marble throne to the back wall, where I pressed a false stone panel that activated the hydraulic system attached to a false door hidden at the back of my huge chair. With a hiss, the door rose from the floor, revealing a stone stairway that I then descended. Once upon a time, torches had been placed along the walls in such a way that I could excite the molecules of the wicks and set them alight, but once again, Depweg. The line of LEDs in the throne room above also graced the sharp edges of the stairs, providing adequate, but not overpowering, illumination.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I approached the newly installed iron door with a handle that was wrapped in thick industrial rubber. After our last home invasion, my roommates and I had taken more precautions by adding iron to our defenses to prevent divination or magical attacks.

  My Fortress of Solitaire was made from a number of freight containers I had procured on the cheap from Florida. They had even included shipping on the house to sweeten the deal; no mind freaking required. Using my X-Men power of blood manipulation, I had created some hefty, industrial-sized shovels that looked like they belonged on a big yellow machine, and cleared out enough earth to make my home. Now Depweg had his own freight car. I had had to create another massive hole, then set the metal beast into it, and finally redistribute the dug-up soil all over the cemetery to avoid suspicion. Though the place was run down, there was a groundskeeper that kept the grass trimmed and weeds pulled.

  Frankly, I was glad the parent company that owned the cemetery did have an employee, because I siphoned utilities such as brand-new, high-speed internet, electricity, and water from the main lines of his modest cabin. Not that I needed to drink water or anything—it was just nice to take a hot shower after a long night. I did suppose that Depweg required water to survive. Probably. I’d never had a dog before. What I could tell you though was that buying doggy food and water bowls hadn’t been received quite how I had expected. The early dawn after I had bestowed my caring gift to my best friend, I had opened my coffin to find it filled with hundreds of garlic bulbs. He knew that garlic was a myth perpetuated by mortals to provide them with a false sense of security and control when dealing with vampires—but my coffin still stank to this day.

  Grabbing the rubber handle, I pulled the door toward the landing and entered. Once inside, I reached for the opposite handle and secured our home with the heavy clang of some industrial-strength locks.

  “’Bout time, man,” Depweg said from the couch with a mouth full of popcorn. “We were about to start it without you.”

  “Yes, John, what did take you?” Da asked. “Didn’t get into any more scraps, I would hope.”

  I didn’t answer as I placed my adult beverage on the counter. My silence prompted Da to turn toward me from his favorite recliner and shoot daggers at me with his eyes.

  “You didn’t…” Da said in disbelief, as if asking a lactose intolerant friend why they kept eating the delicious ice cream.

  “It was a hit, orchestrated by a man with glowing red eyes and an affinity for Sith apparel.” They both stared at me. I expected my movie references to go over some people’s heads, but not these two.

  “HE HAD A SITH HOOD ON! Lilith damn it, you guys are dense!” I said in exasperation.

  Depweg, being of a military mind, asked that I explain t
he events of the evening in adequate detail. Da interrupted before I could start and suggested I kept to only the most pertinent of details. A juvenile smile tugged at one corner of my lips.

  I explained the entirety of the evening to Depweg, who inched to the edge of the couch, listening intently with a furrowed brow, popcorn temporarily forgotten. I was touched he cared so much about my well-being.

  “You’re an idiot,” Depweg said coldly. Turning his attention to Da, he asked, “Does iron and silver work on angels? Specifically, can they divine John’s location right now?”

  “Why are you asking him? He doesn’t kn—”

  “Silver, no. It is a holy metal,” Da spoke with authority, believing he was an angel instead of the faerie he clearly was. It drove me mad sometimes. I wasn’t the type of person who played along with what people identified themselves as. Live and let unlive, but keep me out of it. Then again, he was a friend, and I had an obligation to put up with some shit, just as, I was positive, he coped with a lot of my own unique mannerisms that some people would find unbearable. Their loss.

  Da continued, “Iron, on the other hand, cancels all magic. So, to answer your question directly, no, they should not be able to divine John’s location in here.”

  A thought tickled my mind just behind my forehead. “What about just outside the door?” I asked out loud, both to them and to myself.

  We sat in silence for a few moments before the proximity alarms started shrieking in warning. Without a second’s hesitation, Depweg set his popcorn on the coffee table and flipped the TV from the paused opening scene of Aliens to another source. Several boxes filled the screen, showing every camera broken up across the 80-inch Samsung glory.