by Bo Luellen
Magicae: Book Two
The Storm of Garmr
By Bo Luellen
Copyright © 2020 Bo Luellen
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to the role players who gamed in my Paranormal vs. Spy campaigns. The Agents of AEGIS was a concept I came up with after binge-watching Archer, James Bond and X-Files. I went to my tabletop gaming group and pitched them the idea, and instantly they were in. We dived into weeks of adventures, pitting the 1970’s period MIB-style shadow agents against the powers of the unknown. During those games, we came up with memorable characters that we still talk about today. Some of these friends have been by my side in life and at the gaming table for over two decades.
I dedicate this book to:
Larry Fennel
Mitch Langston
Lucy Langston
Sean West
Henry Cribbs
and
Christian Miller aka Roger Quinlynn
“I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light.”
― Helen Keller
Contents
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1: Amanda VI
Chapter 2: Henry VI
Chapter 3: Richard VI
Chapter 4: John VI
Chapter 5: Henry VII
Chapter 6: David I
Chapter 7: Shoshannah I
Chapter 8: Amanda VII
Chapter 9: Richard VII
Chapter 10: John VII
Chapter 11: David II
Chapter 12: Shoshannah II
Chapter 13: Edward I
Chapter 14: David III
Chapter 15: Amanda VIII
Chapter 16: John VIII
Chapter 17: Shoshannah III
Chapter 18: Richard VIII
Chapter 19: Edward II
Chapter 20: Amanda IX
Epilogue
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This first step into the world of Magicae couldn’t have happened without some key people. Thank you to the test group who read my book one chapter at a time, giving me honest feedback. Without your truth, the book wouldn’t be what it is. Thank you: Misty Moore, Cindy & Trevor Messner, Johnny McLain, Alicia & Taj Murphy, Gabriel & January Rider, Sarah Walters, Mary Jane Whisnant, Larry Fennel, Samara Hamby, Susan Melton Turner, & The Magicae Series Book Club
To bring some validity to the subject matter of this work of fiction, I enlisted the help of several experts in their field. The following individuals spent their time helping me to flesh out the details to give the story as much authenticity as possible:
Thomas Lee Harris, Jr, Consultant – Druid, Arthurian Legend
Johnny McLain, Consultant – Biblical
My thanks to my editor, Henry Cribbs. His hard work and dedication to the spirit and theme of my books has helped safeguard my vision.
Cover Art by Christophor Volk. Cover Graphics and Promotional Media by Francessca’s PR & Design. Interior Art by Steve Standeford (Steve’s Instagram - @incompletesaint )
Finally, I would be remiss if I didn’t give thanks to the master authors Bram Stoker, Mary Shelley, Robert Louis Stevenson, and H.P. Lovecraft. Your stories continue to inspire and terrify.
Prologue
New York City, New York - Tuesday, October 23rd, 2018 – 11:31 a.m. EST
His grandson pushed open the reinforced door to their apartment carrying a bag of groceries. Basten Van Helsing turned up the TV in hopes it would draw Nicolaas ’s attention. The young man locked up behind him and dropped the door bar horizontally into brackets bolted to the frame.
This was Basten’s fifth day in his recliner, watching the ongoing news coverage of the crisis in Oklahoma. The 80-year-old man only got up to use the bathroom and get food. The Crimson Brotherhood captivated him and kept him locked, stone-faced, at the screen.
Nicolaas unloaded the groceries and started lunch for both of them, “Grandpa, you need to get out. It’s not healthy for you to just sit there.”
Basten ignored his grandson, as a TV reporter announced, “The dead are now counted at 15 law enforcement, 176 unidentified bodies and 46 alleged members of The Crimson Brotherhood. With the apparent suicide of one of the surviving ringleaders, Tom Chapman, the police are running out of leads. The only alleged cultist still alive and in custody is the comatose Henry Jekyll. This puts the FBI in the hot seat, back to you Bill.”
The screen faded back to the anchor who continued, “Thank you, John. Today, Tulsa stands paralyzed, with many parents refusing to let their children attend school without armed guards present. With the President calling this ‘the worst example of homeland terrorism in United States history,’ it’s understandable why the fear level is on a high. The people of the Sooner State are clamoring for swift justice, and some are losing faith.”
Basten clicked onto another station, “... Jekyll is still in St. Francis Hospital under 24-hour guard. This is the third attempt on Henry Jekyll’s life since he was admitted. According to sources, the nurses found Tulsa Sheriff’s Deputy Thomas Carter holding a pillow over the face of the suspected serial killer. Deputy Carter is the uncle of one of the dead found in The Preserve. The FBI has restricted the Tulsa police from access to the suspect…”
Nicolaas slapped a tomato slice on some bread, “Well, you can’t blame Carter for trying. The Crimson Brotherhood is pushing that city to the edge.”
The elderly bald man grunted, “You’re too quick to judge. Truth is a relative state. Time can reveal its secrets and cloud the mind to actual events. A keen mind can unravel its mysteries while assuming the intelligence of those involved. A real detective… “
The younger man put some slices of ham on the sandwiches and sighed, “… puts evidence first and opinion second. Yes, grandpa, I know.”
The old man’s face lit up as he yelled at the TV, “Ahh, ich habe dich erwischt!!”
The young man dropped his plate on the counter and rushed next to his grandfather, “You caught who? What are you talking about?”
On the screen, a video was playing footage of a break-in at a funeral home in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. The text at the bottom read, “Embalmer Present During Brotherhood Break-In.” A picture of a shorter woman with dark hair emerged in the corner of the screen. The banner under her face read, “Mrs. Willow Young”.
The station played the grainy video from the night in question. It clearly showed Willow filming from the back of a vehicle with tinted windows. Two men stood over the corpse of a local Tulsa restaurant owner, Lewis Turner. One of them jammed the dagger into the body, and then stood back. The handle of the knife had an octopus looking design that contrasted to the dark surroundings.
A young blonde reporter faded into view, “Funeral home staff member, Willow Young, initially withheld this evidence in fear of Crimson Brotherhood reprisal. Charges were dropped against Ms. Young when she agreed to testify in the trial of Henry Jekyll in exchange for immunity. in return for her cooperation. Prosecutors have passed a stay on the statute of limitations pending Henry Jekyll’s emergence from his coma. If and when Mr. Jekyll awakes, he will be arrested for his suspected involvement as a ringleader in the Crimson Brotherhood. She, along with Professor Amanda Lanyon of Eastland College, David Keller, Thomas Booth, millionaire philanthropist Josh Dyer, and Detective John Utterson will be called to testify. Back to you, Tom.”
The screen faded back to the anchorman who reported, “Another layer of tragedy emerges, as the ME report of Larry Lanyon was disclosed this morning and revealed some disturbing details. The cause of death was a combination of blood loss and a broken neck. The report says that the victim had two stab
wounds on his throat that were caused by an icepick. Larry Lanyon is survived by his wife, Amanda Lanyon, and two daughters April and Nancy. The whereabouts of the Lanyon daughters are still being investigated and the FBI has officially connected the kidnapping to the Crimson Brotherhood.”
His grandfather showed off his white partials with a wide grin, “Did you hear that?”
Nicolaas took a bit of the sandwich, “Hear what?”
Basten pointed at his neck, “Two puncture wounds! Then the neck snapped like a twig!”
He rolled his eyes and sighed, “Grandpa, the ME said it was an ice pick. Don’t go into this whole vampire business again. I don’t think it’s ... “
His grandfather slammed the tip of his cane down on the floor, “No! I’ve seen enough evil to know what it looks like. Where you find darkness, you find the creatures of the night. Go get our car out of storage, and I’ll start packing!”
Nicolaas didn’t move from his spot, “Grandpa, you have to stop doing this. You sit and talk about conspiracies like you’re Quincy Hunt. How many times have we went on a road trip to vanquish some dark evil, only for me to die of boredom in a hotel room. All the while, you skulk around the city, until you get bored. Then we come back here and wait for you to get fixated on yet another stupid adventure. How about we go to Disneyland instead?”
Basten stood up and puffed out his chest, “While I’m still alive, we go where I say we go! Maybe after, we go to Disneyland.”
The young man shook his head and smiled, “Okay Grandpa. You win. We are going. I only ask that you keep on your meds and not hit the sauce too much. The All-State Jiu-Jitsu Tournament is next week, and I’d like to be back by then. Do you think you could resolve your imaginary monster hunting by then?”
The withering man stood up as straight as he could, “Kleinzoon, I’ve worked hard to prepare your mind and body for what is to come, but you can’t see past the phone that is constantly in your face. It is time for me to stop coddling you! It is time for you to understand what it truly means to be a Van Helsing!”
The older man reached over and grabbed an onyx colored walking cane with a silver handle. He adjusted his stance to face his grandchild and tapped the stick hard on the floor. The young man rolled his eyes and took the sign that he needed to get moving. As he gathered their things, the elder took out a white handkerchief and polished the gleaming handle until the initials “AVH” shined in the New York sunlight.
Basten admired the initials of his ancestor and announced, “Today, I tell you all Nicolaas . It’s time to join the family in the hunt.”
Chapter 1: Amanda VI
Tulsa, OK - Friday, October 19th, 2018 – 1:10 a.m. CST
She held the pistol on the intruder as he gave a calm, “Please, Mrs. Lanyon, let’s not lose our composure. I’m not here for this, I simply want to know...”
Amanda opened fire on the Brotherhood member, putting four holes in his chest. The blood showered onto the wall behind him, and his body shook from the impacts. The noise from the shots deafened Amanda, leaving only the sound of a high pitched whine in her ear. She waited for the man to fall as he staggered in place for a moment, but then the drunken swaying suddenly stopped. Marcus lifted his arms like he was a puppet on a string and systematically straightened each of his limbs as if someone was controlling him. To her horror, he stood straight up and regarded her with a serene expression on his face.
Amanda turned from shock to terror as she realized he wasn’t going down from the slugs. She screamed and unloaded eight more 9mm rounds into Marcus. A messy collection of holes accumulated on his chest and discarded shell casings bounced off the kitchen counter next to her.
The large black man stayed motionless until the gun clicked empty and then sang softly to her, “I’ve got no strings to hold me down, to make me fret, or to make me frown. I had strings, but now I’m free. There are no strings on me.”
The man’s hand flashed upwards and snatched the gun from her. The motion was quick, powerful and precise, with brute force hidden within the blur of speed. Her hand felt the cruel bite of his iron grip, as the weapon was stripped from her.
Marcus put the pistol back in his shoulder holster and warned, “Now, Mrs. Lanyon, that was foolish and costly. My clan has a rule, blood for blood. You owe me a debt, and as much as I adore your passion, I am compelled to collect.”
The smell of gunpowder was thick in the air as she watched his eyes turn to a golden sheen. The bullet wounds in the chest stopped flowing with blood, and the skin healed before her eyes. On the kitchen wall behind him, the crimson spray fell away and landed as dirt on the floor. As she tried to inch away along the counter, she watched the blood at his feet transformed into dark earth.
She heard the front door open, and the voice of her husband rang out, “Honey, it’s us. We heard a noise. Are you okay?”
Larry Lanyon burst into the kitchen, trailed by their daughters Nancy and April, and yelled at Marcus, “Who the fuck are you?”
Amanda’s heart sank, and she gave a desperate shout, “Get out! Get the kids and leave, now!”
Marcus looked at the three new arrivals, as they appeared in the kitchen and bemused, “Now things seem to be getting messy indeed. My name, Mr. Lanyon, is Marcus Holmes, and I’m a member of the Crimson Brotherhood. Your wife has put you in a very precarious position I’m afraid. You see, I need information from her, but she has decided to be difficult. That will cost someone.”
Larry let out a bellow that filled the room and charged at the black man. The overweight, aging former linebacker hit Marcus with his entire body weight. Both of their children screamed as they saw their daddy slam into the stranger that had invaded their home. Larry managed to move the intruder no more than six inches across the slick linoleum floor. He seemed to be unable to drive his target to the ground with his practice tackle that had served him so well in college. Holmes grabbed the back of the big man’s neck and pulled him off his waist, like a cat with a kitten. Her husband made a howl in pain, while the skin on the back of his shoulders was bunched up into Marcus’s grip.
The Brotherhood man held Larry up off the ground, and Amanda flew to his defense. Before she could reach them, the powerful assailant struck her in the chest with a crisp open palm. The blow felt like a car wreck, slamming Lanyon back against the cabinets, and knocking the air out of her.
Larry thrashed against the iron grip as Marcus turned to Amanda and beamed a wicked grin. The upper canine teeth grew downwards and extended out slightly. The elongated fangs fit perfectly over his lower cuspid’s and looked inhumanly white. His mouth was dripping with yellow mucus as he turned back to his captured prey. With a lion-like snarl, Holmes plunged his teeth into the thick round neck of Amanda’s husband. She gave a blood-curdling shriek, as Larry’s eyes rolled back into his head and April and Nancy wailed for their dad. The skin complexion of the vampire’s victim turned to a pale opaque, and his arms fell slack to his side.
Marcus drew away from his meal and let out a satisfied moan. With a flick of his wrist, he broke the neck of her dying husband then flung the large man across the kitchen. Larry’s wrecked body struck the same wall that had once been covered by the vampire’s blood. As Amanda’s husband crashed down into the mystical dirt that covered her floor, a collage of wedding photos bounced off the wall and crashed to the ground. The father of her children stared blankly at the ceiling, as a pool of blood poured onto one of the broken pictures. The red liquid leaked past the shattered glass and covered a photo of the two of them eating wedding cake.
Marcus moved with astonishing speed and grabbed both of her children by the backs of their necks. Her daughters stopped screaming and fought against the pain and tightness in their throats to continue breathing. Amanda cautiously worked her way around the counter and held her aching chest. Marcus turned the girls towards their mother and kneeled down between them.
He wrapped his murderous arms around her daughters and granted, “You’ve lost a husband, but
those can be easily replaced. Now, daughters, on the other hand, oh, those not so much. I will allow them to continue living, and all you have to do is tell me everything, from the beginning, leading up to tonight. Come now, Mrs. Lanyon, haven’t you done enough damage to your family? It’s time to do something to save what you have left.”
She held her hands up in surrender and recounted everything that had happened up to that moment. Marcus stayed transfixed on the story, with his hands around her daughter’s throats. Amanda spoke about Henry Jekyll, her meeting with Utterson, becoming a member of the task force, and the raid on the Preserve. Marcus requested specific details about the incident with Mr. Purple and the Athame Dagger.
When she was done, he observed, “My, you have been through it. I appreciate your delinquent, yet straightforward retelling. I had initially intended to let you live, but now things have become much more complicated. I will hold onto these two lovelies... “
She beseeched, “No! I did what you wanted! Please!”
Marcus stood up, yanking the girls off their feet by their necks and continued, “…As long as you offer no further assistance to any law enforcement, they will be returned to you in one year. That’s one month for each bullet, Mrs. Lanyon.” He hugged her daughters close to his chest and told them, “Say goodbye to your mother, girls.”
Nancy gave a petrified whimper, and The Vampire shot out towards the front door in an impossible flash of motion. Driven by fear and paternal instinct, Amanda clutched her chest and forced herself to move through the pain to go after him. Only seconds behind him, she chased Marcus into the living room and saw the front door was wide open. The cold wind was blowing hard in the night, and fallen leaves from her maple tree were tumbling into her house. Amanda gripped the oak door facing and look out at the empty lawn. Marcus, April, and Nancy were gone from sight, and only the barking neighbor’s dog was evidence of something alive on her block.
