Those Wonderful Toys: Preternatural Chronicles Book 7 (The Preternatural Chronicles)

by Hunter Blain

  “Hey, why’s that one green...and that one’s blue? Aren’t they, like, the same brand?”

  “Tell me about it,” Father Thomes mused, setting his cup down and shaking his head in frustration. “It’s something you don’t notice while in the department store. Yes, same brand, same line. After I noticed some six months post-purchase, I rang the salesman and inquired about the difference. He cheerfully told me it was a design flaw, and that the new ones had the same color digits across the board. He even had the audacity to ask if I wanted to buy a new set.”

  “What’s his name? I’ll correct him for you,” I grumbled, clapping my hands and rubbing my palms together eagerly.

  “Know your audience, my son,” the priest reminded me. “Besides, it wasn’t the salesman’s fault that the company made the mistake.”

  “Errr. Fine,” I let out, throwing my head back in exaggerated, mock defeat.

  “Back to the topic at hand. You mentioned sunlight being the creature’s weakness, and thus will attack at dawn?”

  “Yup. Depweg is sending me a text of what weapons to snag before I go back there and we kick some warlock hiney.”

  My mind flashed to Gabriel telling Depweg and me about the unseen chest at Valenta’s.

  “I might have to stop at Val’s to pick somethin’ up, though.”

  “Oh? Like what?”

  “No idea. But I think I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “Well, is there anything I can do to help? Need me to, oh, I don’t know, bless some weapons?”

  “That’s the thing. If that thing is at the final hideout—and I think he is—the SOB is immune to silver. So Depweg better be having me grab the big boys, know what I’m sayin’? Like a fiddy-cal or minigun. Maybe a ’nade launcher. Yeah, that’d be neat!”

  “I will pray that you are victorious in battle, my son. And when you cleanse this world of the warlocks, the Light will have a decisive advantage, hopefully preventing the final showdown.”

  Something bothered me.

  “Hey, um, you don’t think that Samael would, like, nuke the world if he lost...do ya?”

  Father Thomes sucked in a long breath through his teeth as we let my question hang in the air like a nasty fart in an elevator with no escaping its ferocity.

  “That...I do not know. Perhaps Gabriel would be better suited to answer?”

  I thought about my angel friend, remembering how pummeled his face had been.

  “I, ah, think he has his own problems at the moment.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Apparently, Michael is a huuuuuuuge dick, and he is trying to force Gabriel to fall into line. Or as best as I can gather.”

  “Curious,” Father Thomes said as if to himself.

  “Yeah. Angel-on-angel action right now.”

  “That’s not a pornography joke, is it?”

  Father Thomes and I looked at one another, my face frozen in horror at the question. Then we both burst out into throaty laughter that filled the halls of the church.

  30

  Having filled Father Thomes on the situation, we casually chatted for several minutes. It felt good to catch up with my friend. Apparently, the workouts combined with Doc Jim’s serum had been doing wonders for my friend. His liver spots had diminished noticeably, and even his arthritic hands seemed to have reduced in size, allowing his hands to once again look like...well...hands instead of claws. I don’t know if claws was the best word, because nothing really looked like the hands of someone with severe arthritis. How many times have I said hands?

  Anywho.

  “Alright, Papa T,” I started, getting the text from Depweg I had been waiting for, and looking down to see the time. “I gotta stop at Val’s and then home before heading out to cleanse the world of hell magic.”

  “Very good,” Father Thomes responded as he set his empty cup in the sink to be cleaned later. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “No need. Door’s right here,” I said, pointing just out the kitchen and to the front door.

  “Way of speaking,” he said with a smile.

  “Ah, right. Fancy way of saying bye. Got ya. Soooo...wish us luck?”

  “I’ll do you one better. I’ll pray for you, my son. Give my best to Depweg...and Hayley.”

  At that, we both stood in silence for a moment before I gave a fake smile and made my way to the front door.

  Stepping through, I heard the locks click into place, and I wanted to be offended. Then I reminded myself that I hadn’t visited more than a few times in the last two years, so it made sense to lock the doors. Especially after he had been attacked when I was in Faerie for ten years. That, and Depweg had been on vacation the last couple of years, too, so not much reason to just leave his doors wide open.

  My boot stepped off the landing and onto the pathway right as everything went black.

  I had the sensation of hitting the ground when a great weight was lifted off my shoulders.

  Confused, I put my senses on high alert and opened my eyes to see a tunnel in front of me. It had the lapels of a nice, black coat.

  “What the toaster strudel?” I tried to ask, but all that came out was, “Mmmm mmm mmm-mmm strudel?”

  My healing factor kicked into high gear, and I could feel my neck being elongated. Vertebrae popped and nerves sang as the tunnel grew wider and moved to encapsulate my head.

  Looking at the grass as I approached it, I realized my head had been inside of my Lilith-damned torso, and I was pushing it back out like some turtle. Or was it tortoises that did that? Either way, it was a better example than comparing it to someone taking a huuuuuuge...

  “Hey!” I barked as my neck finished pushing my head out and recovered its structural integrity. Next to me was a large round rock the size of a watermelon.

  Rubbing the top of my skull, I pushed myself into a sitting position and looked up to see two gray faces staring down at me. They appeared to be smiling.

  “You motherfuckers!” I cried out, taking off my beanie and adjusting my hair right as another huge rock landed just between my legs, tapping my little John enough to know it had almost been crushed like garlic in a mortar and pestle.

  “Eeep.” Lil’ John cried out and began an expedient retreat inside the safety of my pelvic cavity. Now both heads had mimicked being a turtle...or tortoise.

  “You bastards!” I cried out, getting to my feet and shaking my fists into the air. “So help me, I will toss you through a crack in time and space and erase your bitch asses from existence! Don’t test me!”

  The stone statues didn’t move.

  “That’s what I thought,” I said to myself, patting my coat clean as I strolled to the gate, tugging at my pants in an effort to pull my friend back out and whispering, “Stop it, you’re embarrassing me.”

  Once on the street, I turned and headed for Valenta’s Saloon, unsure of what I might discover there.

  31

  My mind played out different scenarios of what awaited me inside the hidden chest. First, the scenes were simple, starting with modern-day firearms powered by holy bullets. Maybe some nifty blades made from a meteor and forged in the volcano that obliterated Pompeii.

  After that, it started getting ridiculous.

  Laser rifles from the future gleamed with an impractical, reflective glaze that was more to show off for the camera than made for the field. Allowing the train of thought to continue into the tunnel of irrational ideas, I pictured myself dual-wielding two of the guns as they gave off lens flares like some action-packed anime.

  Before I knew it, I was walking through the swinging doors of Valenta’s. It was empty, with only the hum of the lighting providing any semblance that I wasn’t looking at a still image.

  “Val? Ya here?” I called out, looking all around as I made my way to the kitchen.

  “In here,” Val responded.

  Pushing through the kitchen door, I saw Val leaning against the open back door with a cigarette in one hand and a mostly empty bottle of something t
hat looked older than me—and that was saying something!—on the other.

  Seeing my friend this way gave me pause and made me feel uncomfortable, like walking through a puddle in the kitchen while wearing socks, and looking around to see Tim scampering away with his tail between his legs.

  “Val?” I asked as I slowly stepped closer to my friend as if I were approaching a ticking bomb. “Everything okay, man?”

  Val flicked his cigarette out the back and closed the thick door with a little more fervor than what was strictly necessary.

  “No, John. Nothing is okay,” Valenta said without any pretense of his Southern accent. His guard was almost completely down, which worried me.

  “What is it, man? Anything I can do to help?” I continued to tread softly, sensing the agitation building within the powerful angel before me.

  Throwing the bottom of his drink toward the ceiling, Valenta tugged, hard, at the remainder of his alcohol. Once it was empty, he simply dropped the ancient glass on the ground, which—to my surprise—did not break.

  Pushing past me, I got a nose full of stale clothes, acrid cigarette smoke, and powerful alcohol.

  Stomping to the door that led to his underground storage, Valenta threw open the hatch and stumbled his way down the stairs, his feet clanging on the metal in an erratic cadence.

  In direct contrast, the soles of my boots barely made any noise as I slowly descended belowground, giving the near-frantic Val a wide berth.

  Once below, I saw Val was already at the end of the storage containers and was yanking one off the shelf to clatter unceremoniously to the ground. The lid popped open, and my eyes locked on the box, eager to see what was inside. Anything that could ruffle Valenta’s feathers like this had to be something of note.

  Inching closer, I licked my lips in anticipation as my breath came in shallow gasps from around a tight throat. I reminded myself that I didn’t need to breathe and the action was simply a reflex.

  Closing my mouth, I straightened my back, relaxed my shoulders, and walked toward the chest.

  Inside...was nothing. It was empty, and I scrunched my face as I bent over and peered inside, my eyes roaming the four corners.

  “I...I don’t get it,” I admitted, straightening my stance and looking at Val, who had an expression of fire.

  “It’s empty!”

  “Yeah, um, I can see that.”

  “It’s not supposed to be empty!” Valenta’s chest was heaving.

  “What...what was in it?” I asked, fearful of the answer.

  “MY FUCKING ARMOR!” he bellowed, making the walls shake and lights dim for a moment.

  “Your ar...oh Lilith,” I drawled, covering my gaping mouth as I understood what he had just said. His celestial armor had been stolen.

  Something bugged me, and I dropped my hand from my face as my expression morphed into one of confusion.

  “Wait...Gabriel said he had put something here for me, Locke, and Depweg,” I told Valenta as I looked up to meet his gaze. “You don’t think...”

  “Gabriel? No,” Val said, his tone dropping from a ten to a three at the mention of his brother. “He wouldn’t have done that. If he said he put something here for you, that means...” Val’s words dropped off as he scanned his boxes with a concentrated focus. “There.”

  Val walked to a seemingly random shelf and pulled a relatively small box that was tucked between two larger chests.

  It looked old. Like biblical times old.

  Valenta gingerly carried the box in both hands as he approached me. Etched into the lid was John on!

  “Okay, that’s not cool. I just came up with that, like, two years ago, so how could it be etched into this box that looks like it’s older than Christ? And second, the stupid O is supposed to be capitalized!

  “That doesn’t make grammatical sense,” Val retorted absently, his focus still on the strange box.

  “I know it doesn’t! But that’s the point! Kinda...and if I were to be honest, I didn’t really come up with it. It was a friend on the Facebooks, Leslie.”

  “A friend on social media came up with a slogan for you? That seems...odd,” Val said, his attention shifting from the unknown box to me and my strange admission.

  “Yeah, I have a fan club. They’re called the Abattoir of Johniacs. Neat, huh?”

  “I’m more perturbed that people created a club dedicated to you.”

  “Well, to be fair, they have great taste. And besides, if that rich wizard guy can have his Den of Freaks, don’t I deserve a little love?”

  “Can we focus on the box, please?” Val asked, rolling his eyes.

  “Oh, right. Wonder what’s in it?” I asked, licking my lips again and running my hand down my beard.

  “Open it, fool.”

  “Ah...good...good idea,” I admitted, reaching for the lid.

  Seeing how dusty it was, I gave a quick burst of air...right onto Valenta.

  “Damn it, John!” Val barked, looking down at his now gray chest.

  “Oops. Um...sorry ’bout that,” I said, taking hold of the lid in both hands and lifting it up.

  I was surprised to see it was on a hinge, like an oversized jewelry box.

  Surprise stole my tongue as orders were sent to pull my eyelids as far apart as possible while letting all the muscles in my jaw relax.

  Val regarded the contents, not saying a word or reacting.

  Inside were three items, two of which I was familiar with and picked up before pocketing them in my trench coat. The third one, however, was an enigma.

  Part of me knew what it was, but the remainder of my conscious thought refused to believe I was staring at what I knew it to be.

  It was a crown of thorns sitting atop a pillow of weathered red velvet.

  “Is that...” I breathed out as a fingertip inched toward one of the thorns.

  Val slammed the lid shut, like Richard Gere did in Pretty Woman, and I played my part perfectly by yelping in surprise and then letting out a feminine, “Oh! Ha ha ha ha!”

  Val just stared at me.

  “Sorry. Saw an opportunity and took it.”

  “Focus, John. You need to keep this safe,” Val said, pushing the box toward me.

  “You trust me with it?”

  “No,” he responded tersely before changing his tone and continuing, “But Gabriel does.”

  Taking the box from him, I regarded it with awe and asked, “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  Val took in a breath to speak before I cut him off.

  “Let me guess, I’ll know when I’m supposed to know. That right?”

  “It is Gabriel,” was Val’s only response.

  Tucking the box under one arm, I nodded once at my friend and brought up my phone.

  Selecting the Maps app, I chose my location before shifting to the teleport function.

  “Thank you, Val. Let me know if you find out anything more about your armor.”

  “I think we both know who took it,” Valenta growled as his gaze dropped to the floor and his hands clenched into white-knuckle fists.

  I wanted to say his name, but didn’t feel like giving the sonofabitch the satisfaction of using my breath on it.

  He had tried to steal my armor using Joey. Now he’d found his replacement set.

  “I’ll get your armor back when I tear it off his corpse.” My voice was cold and as hard as stone.

  “Good luck, John. If Gabriel is giving you these artifacts, I believe you’re going to need all you can get.”

  With a face that felt frozen in a scowl, I nodded once at my friend, and pushed the button.

  32

  Before the light finished washing over me, I had already begun striding toward my home from where I’d arrived in the back.

  My face was set for war, and I knew what had to be done.

  Stepping through the back door, I started making my way to the armory when I stopped and looked down at the box still nestled under my arm.

  I didn’t know how I wa
s supposed to use the Crown of Thorns or when, but I would know when it was time...and now was not the time.

  “Where to hide this?” I whispered to myself as I made a clicking sound with my mouth, deep in thought.

  Scanning around the mansion as if I could see through the walls, an idea came to me, and I went to my bedroom.

  I needed to hide the box where no one would possibly think to look.

  Opening my door, I entered my enormous master suite, and was swarmed with the feeling of comfort. There was nothing in the whole world like your own bedroom, even if you rarely used it.

  Walking to my chest of drawers, which I intentionally called “chester-doors,” I opened the top to reveal a cornucopia of dark-colored boxer briefs.

  Moving the box into position, I was about to cover it with my undies when another idea came to me, and I slowly pivoted to look at my nightstand.

  “Oh...no...” I let out as I pulled the box out and made my way to my bedside table, feeling uncomfortable at what I was about to do.

  Reaching down, I grabbed the knob and froze in place. Looking up to the ceiling, I whispered, “Um, forgive me, and stuff,” before pulling open the drawer.

  Inside was an unspeakable array of adult toys that Lily and I had used in the past. Some were still new in their boxes, never used before because...because Lily and I had to part ways suddenly, right at the height of our love.

  I wanted to allow myself a moment of self-pity, but I had indulged in that for the past two years. Now was not the time.

  Shaking my head, I made a hole in the forest of silicon and placed the box containing Christ’s Crown of Thorns inside before covering it completely. It was like a burial plot, but instead of dirt, it was dildos, vibrators, cock rings, various flavors of lube, and other assuredly blasphemous items.

  When you lived to be as old as Lily, or even me, you found ways to get creative and not feel shy about it.

  However, covering something as sacred as the Crown of Thorns with sex toys did make you say to yourself, “Wait a minute...is this wrong?”