Number of the Beast (Paladin Cycle, Book One)

by Lita Stone

  “You will never enslave me.”

  “Did little Isaac come to fuck mommy or sass her?” Galmoria hovered close to the floor.

  “I come seeking the blessing to mate with my twin.”

  “Have you done what Mother asked and brought The Beloved?”

  “She will be yours soon, but my twin awaits me. I have come to dominate you.”

  Galmoria screeched, the walls shook. “You know what happens to cubs who disappoint.”

  Galmoria hurled a yellow ball of energy. It pounded into his chest and burst, unleashing a swarm of angry hornets. Isaac growled as the flying pests stung at his naked body.

  Galmoria darted from the dungeon. Her scream thundered throughout the lair. “Let the hunt begin, my cub!”

  Chapter Thirty

  Shane squeezed Amy’s hand, “I said I want to marry you, Amy Rae Wintry.”

  Amy blinked as if lost in a dark cave.

  The clatter of dirty dishes had ceased. Incoherent whispers sifted amongst Roxy’s patrons. All eyes focused on Shane and Amy.

  She covered her gaped mouth, staring past Shane. With a grimace, Shane glanced over his shoulder and back at her.

  “I was gonna say yes,” she shrieked. “Geesh.”

  “What?” he asked. What is she looking at?

  Amy waved a hand at him. “I wasn’t talking to you.” She stared away again. “Ground rules! Hush up. I can do this without your help.”

  Who the hell was Amy talking to? He turned her head, forcing her to look at him. “Just say yes.”

  “Somebody get my coffee, dammit!” Robert scoffed and tugged at his tattered overalls.

  “Good God! Gate your hens, Mr. Campbell.” Amy tightened her grip on Shane’s hand. “Oh my gosh! I sneezed three times this morning.”

  “You did what?”

  Squealing, Amy straddled his lap and threw her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

  “Then say yes.”

  “Why the hell not?” Amy’s lips curled into a devious smirk. “I mean, yes!”

  The cafe erupted with applause and shouts of congratulations. Carmen dropped dirty dishes into a tub and ran toward Amy, arms open wide. Amy slid from Shane’s lap and met Carmen halfway. They embraced.

  “Congrats, mami.”

  Roxy poked her head from the kitchen. “Well, it's about damn time, Baker. Thought you were gonna wait ‘til the gal was an ol' maid ‘fore you married her.” Roxy straightened the hair net covering her grayed bun. “Congrats, you crazy kids, but y'all better get back to work ‘fore the place gets backed up more than my brother was last Thanksgiving.”

  Amy wiped tears from her face. She grabbed a pitcher of iced tea and refilled Mr. Campbell’s coffee mug. “Yes, Miss Roxy.”

  Mr. Campbell scowled at his mug of iced tea.

  Shane grabbed Amy by the hand and dragged her outside to the back of the restaurant. With their hands laced, he pinned her against the wall. He captured her lips in a passionate kiss and lifted their arms over their heads. His body rocked tight against hers.

  Amy turned her head and broke from the kiss. “Why now? I mean we’ve been together five years and you not once brought up marriage. I always figured we’d just...”

  Her lips pressed tightly together, as if she was struggling for the right way to tell him that because of his bad boy, womanizing reputation, she figured she’d be living in sin for the better part of her life. Better yet, maybe she thought he’d eventually dump her and move on to his next conquest. Did she really not know how he felt about her?

  Shane gave her a sidelong look. “You figured what?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  He stepped back, unclasping their hands. “There was an accident on the rig. Kevin was killed. I didn’t know him that well, but his wife was eight months pregnant with their first child. It got me thinking.”

  “I knew something was up. I heard a dog howl three times last night.” Her eyes narrowed. “So you proposed because you’re friend died?”

  Shane blew out a breath.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “I’ve waited to hear you ask that question since damn near puberty. I ask you why now and all you got is ‘I got to thinking.’ God knows you’re no Shakespeare but you gotta give me something better.” Amy sighed, looking at the sky. “Ground rules, remember?”

  “What ground rules?” Shane asked.

  “Never mind,” she ground out.

  Shane’s eyes widened. “Well, who the hell were you talking to?”

  “I could tell you but you wouldn’t like the answer.”

  He held her at arm’s length and looked her up and down.

  “What’re you looking at?” she asked.

  “I was picturing you in a strait jacket. If we add some lace it’d make an eccentric wedding gown.”

  Amy socked him in the chest. “That’s not funny.”

  Carmen’s voice cut through the back lot. “Get your skinny ass back in here before Roxy comes out here with a frying pan.”

  She gave him a forced smile and headed toward the restaurant.

  “I love debating the finer points of hotdog relish versus regular relish,” he said.

  Amy paused, her back to him.

  He said, “I love that you put garlic in your hot tea every morning.”

  Amy turned around. A blank expression on her face.

  “I love you,” Shane said.

  She shook her head. More tears fell.

  Shane scoffed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Roxy screamed from inside the diner.

  “I gotta go.” Amy disappeared inside the diner.

  The screen door squeaked in protest as it swung shut with a clang.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Atticus placed Rourn’s journal and the wilted rose on a shelf. He checked his email where he discovered a message from Elder Cai:

  The vast woodlands called Sacred Oaks is believed to be a pathway for the righteous and evil to pass unto this dimension from the infinite universes spread throughout the spectrum of space and time. All of these myriad galaxies form the multiverse that consist of every possible alternate reality and course of time.

  According to recorded Mexican Texas history, a cult opened the portal in the 1830s. The leader, Joseph Rawlins, an eccentric book seller and self-proclaimed scholar, established the Ministries of I'gnonid, a secret society and organization dedicated to the enlightening of life, the human condition, and focused on alternatives outside traditional Christian rhetoric; he obsessed with finding a way to travel through space and time and into other worlds and dimensions.

  Joseph orchestrated multiple occult rituals in attempt to control the randomization of the cosmic elements in order to manipulate his destiny and fate in the universe. Through the assistance of other cult members he conducted strange and esoteric ceremonies.

  On November 11th, 1833, there was an orgy of debauchery ending in a mass cult suicide. His fifteen year old daughter, Sera Rawlins' body was discovered raped and drowned in the pond near the house.

  Joseph was never found.

  On November 13, 1833, a tear in the universe’s rift opened an astral gateway beneath what is nowadays referred to as Sera's Pond. This gate links time, space, and alternate planes allowing the transit of cosmic entities to pass to and from the portal.

  Act with caution, Atticus.

  A distant clang resounded from somewhere downstairs. The dinner bell. Atticus descended the stairs, intending to eat quickly then, with or without the Order’s permission, head for Sacred Oaks.

  As he reached the bottom, Atticus saw Trish speaking to a young woman. The woman’s black shorts stopped high on her thighs, revealing her shapely legs. Rings of gold, large enough to double as bracelets, hung from her ears. Hair—shiny as silk and dark as a crow’s feather—poured over her shoulders.

  “How much do I owe you?” Trish asked.

  Atticus blew out a breath. Bloody locusts! She was
the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  “Roxy said you’ve got credit,” the beauty replied.

  Atticus felt his groin swell. In horror, he glanced at his green leather pants, tight against his obvious arousal. He cupped his hands over himself, unable to peel his eyes from the prominent breasts peeking from her white T-shirt.

  When her eyes met his, he feigned interest at the ‘Wanted: Roarin’ Roxy” poster.

  Trish scoffed. “Roxy’s a sweetheart. I’ve not had credit in weeks.”

  Atticus wiped his brow, scanning the lobby and nearby dining room. People talked and went about their business as if this almost-naked woman was not lingering in their presence. He felt his face warm with heat and pulled at the collar of his tunic.

  “You won’t believe what just happened.” The beauty grinned. “Shane just popped the question.”

  The raven-haired lady sipped from a Styrofoam cup. When she swallowed, Atticus’ erection twitched. With the back of his hand, he wiped sweat from his forehead.

  “Get outta town,” the owner of the establishment said. “That’s great. I’m happy for Shane and Amy both. I mean, she did accept?”

  “Of course.” The beauty turned and waved. “Adios, Trish.”

  “Bye, Carmen.”

  Holy rattlers! Atticus inhaled. A combination of sweet and salty aromas made him growl. He hadn’t been this hungry since losing his way in the Guilded Safari Retreat four years ago. He eyed the dining room. With plates and silver in their grips, a crowd had gathered. Shaking his head, he stomped back up the stairs, cursing his traitorous hormones. Food could wait.

  #

  After Shane had left, a tour bus of senior citizens stopped in. They were on their way to Mountain View, Arkansas, for the outhouse races. The diner was slammed for two straight hours. Amy made over a hundred dollars, but the devil if her feet didn’t ache.

  Exhausted, she waited outside Roxy’s until Scooter pulled up, driving her Escort. She gave him a thumb-to-the-wind sign to get out and let her behind the wheel. She kicked off her sneakers and tossed them in the back. At the sound of a DJ relaying the news, Amy turned the radio up.

  “Strange news out of the woods again, folks,” the DJ said in a slight jocular tone. “Local wildlife and fishery discovered the bodies of two men in the western region of Sacred Oaks this morning. The most bizarre part of this story...y’all brace yourselves for this one now: Cause of death...hypothermia. That’s right, y’all. They froze to death...in Texas.” The DJ played the intro tune to Twilight Zone. “As an FYI: yesterday’s heat index was 131.”

  “That defies any logic whatsoever,” Scooter said.

  “The bodies have been identified as Chris DeWalt and his younger cousin, Jacob DeWalt.”

  A chill sliced Amy’s abdomen like a guillotine blade. “Oh my God,” she breathed out.

  “I take it by your reaction that you knew the recently deceased?” Scooter asked.

  “Yes. Sort of. But it doesn’t matter. He wasn’t a friend.”

  “Was he an enemy?” Scooter pressed.

  “I don’t have enemies.” Amy gave Scooter a sidelong glance, and noticed a fresh scratch down the side of his cheek. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Is someone giving you problems again at school?” Amy pulled onto the two-lane road.

  Scooter exhaled. “I said nothing happened.”

  Amy nodded, biting at her lower lip. “Well, your brother made it in today.” The statement more of a cautionary one.

  “Great. Thanks for the heads up. Will you drop me off at Zack’s house?” Scooter stared out the passenger window.

  Shane wouldn’t be happy about Scooter getting his butt whooped again and she wasn’t going force the poor guy to listen to one of Shane’s hot-headed lectures about standing up for himself and being a man. Not again.

  After she dropped Scooter off at Zack’s house, a wave of emotion washed over her. Tears filled her eyes. Silently, she scolded herself for being so damn emotional. Was it from the heavy night of drinking? Had the news of Chris’ bizarre death brought out the emotions and waterworks? If she put any stock into what her body was trying to tell her then she knew something was off. Something new and strange and not-quite-right was festering inside of her.

  She had just gotten engaged to the only man she’d ever loved. Why wasn’t she ecstatic? It should’ve been the grandest, most marvelous, day of her life.

  What reasons is there for this much despair?

  Vision blurred from a steady stream of tears. Struggling for a breath, her lungs heaved against her ribs, hiccupping in rhythm with her uncontrolled sobs.

  She thought back to Shane’s proposal, and the smirk on his face as he teased her about getting married in a strait-jacket lined with lace. Pursing her lips, wishing she could do it all over again, she’d hit him much harder. In the face.

  No.

  The family jewels.

  What afflicts you?

  “You killed Chris...didn’t you?”

  The insect dared to touch the Beloved and the blasphemy cost the price of its life.

  “Chris wasn’t an ‘it’. He was a person, not an insect. How could life be so petty to you?”

  My motives are not of your concern, female!

  She slammed her palm on the steering wheel. “Stop calling me that!” With a growl, she muttered, “Men.”

  I am no man.

  “Dammit!” She wiped tears from her eyes. “Go away. I need space.”

  Your tone is of great insult to me.

  Amy turned on the radio. Rock ’n’ roll. Loud.

  Miles stretched without a word. She pulled onto the dirt road leading to the trailer.

  You will marry the one you call Shane. For it is his feats that are critical in the saving of worlds. If you do not then the course of time will be forever altered. And all universes will be enslaved by the King and Queen of Beasts and the Empress. Nothing more will mortal-kind be than food, labor and playthings. All your modern civilizations will crumble; your mass weapons be reduced to the lethality of sticks and stones; and within a century all mortal-kind will be extinct.

  Amy turned into her driveway. She shut off the engine. “I really wish you were a figment of my wild imagination. I’d rather have just dealt with the pissed off rat spirit than listen to your ravings of the end of all universes.”

  I will depart and give you this ‘space’ which you speak of.

  Amy scooped up her purse and sneakers, and leaned against the car door. “I do love him.”

  This I have known.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  That brazen beauty would render his doom, Atticus thought. He pulled his leather pants up, gathered his sword and fastened his belt.

  As he descended the stairs, Trish ran toward him with a camera in hand. Before he could utter a word, she had blinded him with a flash as bright as the arcanium blast he’d used at the crime scene. She waved a flimsy sheet that had ejected from the contraption.

  “Oh, sweetie! Sorry. I just had to get a pic of you in that get up.” She pointed to a corkboard plastered with photos of people standing over slain deer and hogs.

  Trish tacked his picture next to a fat bald guy holding a silver can in one hand and a string of fish in the other. “Now when you snag that big ol’ beast you’re after you just bring him back here and we’ll put your picture on the trophy wall.”

  “Yes ma’am.” While the notion was utterly absurd, Atticus could not help but smile at the thought of him ‘snagging’ the Beast and getting his photo taken with its head on an iron pike.

  The feast was served on paper plates with plastic utensils. He served himself and sat across from an elderly couple. Skepticism abandoned him when he tasted the succulent seasoned beef. It was more spectacular than anything he had ever eaten at Eagle Hall.

  The old man took an upside down bottle from the center of the table and squirted red goop on his meat.

  “What substance is that,
sir?”

  The old man stared at him. “Ain’t you ever seen ketchup before?”

  “May I try some?”

  “Sure.”

  Atticus shook a drop onto his plate. He tasted it on the tip of his fork before lathering the meatloaf with the remainder of the tangy but sweet substance. Halfway through his feast, he ran dry and looked for another bottle but could not find one. Sighing, he pushed the remaining food away and headed for the door.

  Outside, he stretched his arms, popped his neck before jogging out the gated driveway and toward Sacred Oaks.

  What better place to seek insight on his prey? Perhaps he could witness a new fiend surface from the cursed waters and touch the Earth for the first time. He had not slain a foe. The warrior in him yearned for the virgin kill.

  At the edge of the thick woods, Atticus searched for an animal trail that would serve him. He soon found one that deer frequently traveled. Trees were scraped and missing bark, obvious signs of a buck; and the soft dark soil was imprinted with hundreds of tracks.

  Like any other woods, Sacred Oaks was alive with chirping songbirds, a cawing crow, and numerous locusts and grasshoppers.

  “Rotten root!” He swept a thick spider web from his face.

  The further he ventured into the forest the more dense the woods became. He could no longer see the soil through a blanket of crisp leaves and dried pine needles.

  The forest canopy blotted out the mid-afternoon light. Atticus feared not the dark, and he welcomed the coolness. The Beast was as lethal in the day as well as the night.

  An owl hooted as if to mock him.

  “Hush,” Atticus said in a harsh whisper. “I will kill you then nail your carcass to the tree, you ominous pest.”

  He came to a pond filled with murky water. Bullfrogs croaked warnings. Crickets chirped their gossip. Sparrows and crows watched from the ancient ash and oak.

  “Listen to all of God’s creatures,” Elder Cai had said. “Even the bees and the spiders have wisdom to bestow.”

  With his legs planted wide on the dried pine needles and leaves, he held each hand out—palm out—in front of his body and circled them counterclockwise.

  In his current stance, he opened his soul to all planes.