by Lita Stone
Birch craned his neck. He took a goofy stance and formed a blade-hand. “Waa yah! Young grasshoppers must know to not start fights that they cannot win. And Scooter-son may well perish if he dare touches Sensei Birch.”
Scooter laughed.
“How the fuck did I end up with you two weirdos?” Shane shook his head.
“Is Master Baker not pleased?” Birch bowed.
Shane thumped Birch’s skull. “Never lower your eyes to the enemy, dumbass.” He waved Scooter off. “We’re done for today.” When Scooter was out of hearing range, he said, “Not sure I’m up for riding.”
Birch sat on the hood of Shane’s truck, his boots braced on the front bumper. “What plagues thee, Master Baker?”
Shane eyed Birch.
“Too much. Got it.” Birch held up his hands. “Toning it down.”
“Not in the mood. Not today.”
“Let’s play a game.” Birch hopped from the hood and onto his bike. “Bet I got you beat.”
“You lost me.”
“Bet my life sucks more than yours.”
“Sure. I’ll play.”
Birch put his helmet on and started the engine. “My wife is fucking my brother. How’s that for messed up?”
Shane pictured himself wringing that cheating bitch’s neck. He took a deep breath, trying to cool his temper. Not what Birch needed right now. “Amy’s as crazy as Aunt Carol. She’s hearing voices.”
“Fucked up, but no contest. I got you beat.”
Shane concentrated on the edge of Sacred Oaks, but all he saw was his fist pounding a faceless, imaginary man. A man named Tobias.
Birch killed the engine. “Voices, huh?”
“Yeah,” Shane said. “She’s losing it.”
“Ya think it’s that schizophrenic stuff?”
“Maybe I can have her committed for testing and they can figure out what’s wrong with her.”
“That might be best.”
Shane straightened. “I’m going to grab a drink then we’ll ride. I need to clear my head.”
The trailer’s door flung open. Scooter dashed down the walkway, waving a large knife. “You’re wrong! She’s not crazy. Tobias is real and he sent her this dagger.”
Shane clutched his brother’s arm and took the blade. “Where’d this come from?” The name TOBIAS was emblazoned into the handle.
“Abe gave it to her. Tobias is real.”
Shane hurled the dagger across the yard. Abe was constantly filling Amy’s head with heebie jeebie mumbo bullshit.
#
Atticus kept his stance against the man dressed in black.
The stranger took a drink and smacked his lips. “Good stuff.”
“I’ll take your word on that, sir.”
The stranger lifted the bottle and swished the clear liquid. “Aren’t you curious?”
“Name.”
“Most call it water,” the strange said. “Some know it as H20. I just know it as boring as fuck, but the side effects sure beat that of a fifth of Tequila.” He gave a nod. “Sober now seven years, four weeks and three days.”
Atticus shook his head, sheathed his sword. “I have no time. Good day.” He turned and strode toward the street, away from the shadows of the alleyway. A loud wet noise immediately followed by a brief but high-pitched squeal made Atticus whirl around.
The man had placed a heavy boot over the remains of the fugitive worm. “How goes the hunt for the Beast?” asked the man before casually taking another sip from the bottle.
“What do you know of the Beast?”
“Come with me, Atticus. I’ve got something to show you.”
“Are a Seeker?”
“Name’s Howard. Now come step inside my van and let me show you something that will interest you a great deal.”
Atticus followed the man down to a cul-de-sac at the end of the street. An unmarked black van was parked in the gravel lot.
The man threw open the back doors to reveal the interior. It resembled a cluttered office with a desk, lamp and coffee pot. Papers were scattered across the desk and more papers and charts were stuck to the side of the van, even on the tinted windows.
“After I learned that Rourn had passed from this world I began re-examining the astrological signs.” Howard pointed at a chart on the van wall. It was divided into several dozen slices with a secondary circle in the center of the main circle. “And I have discovered something that the Templar Courts missed seventeen years ago. Rourn and you were born the same night at almost precisely the same time. You were born under the sign of Champions when the sun, Mercury and Earth aligned.”
“That’s correct,” Atticus said. “All according to the prophecies of when the Twin warriors were to be born.”
“I studied yours and Rourn’s birth and the alignments of that night. You were born moments after Rourn, right as the sun, Mercury and Earth perfectly aligned. Rourn was born exactly one minute too early to have been born under the sign of the Champion.”
“That’s ridiculous! One minute should not change Rourn’s status as my Twin.”
“Not true,” Howard said. “Even a minute earlier or later would have changed the legitimacy of the birth.”
“Then who is my Twin?”
“I asked myself that same question. And so I studied another person’s date of birth. Someone who was born twenty-seven years ago. And I discovered that the day he was born there was also an alignment of the sun, Mercury and Earth.”
“A person born twenty-seven years ago? What in carnations compelled you to look at this person?”
“Because he is a Paladin and also my son. His name is Shane Baker and he lives right here in Buckeye.”
“Impossible! How can he be a Paladin if he is not a member of an order?”
“Because I defected with my family. I wanted him and my other children to grow up like normal all-American kids.”
Rourn was not Atticus’ twin. His twin was not even a member of the Order. He hadn’t been trained by the wisest of elders. He was an outsider who knew nothing of their cause, of their culture, of their values.
Atticus gave the charts on the van’s wall a cursory glance before his attention returned to Howard. “Have you been inside that house?”
“Negative. I’m only authorized to watch from a distance and report back. You’re the field operative.”
Atticus huffed. “They only sent me as a one-man reconnaissance team. They won’t let me slay the Beast alone, only track him to his haven.”
“Yeah?” Howard quirked an eyebrow. “But they gave you that fancy sword and a pretty pendant to wear around your neck. Me? I’m a washed-up Dick Tracy living in a rundown van.”
“How did you find out about the murder here?”
“It’s my job to follow bread crumbs from a comfy vantage point. After you reported back that an adult female was missing from the last crime scene I did some digging. The missing woman’s name is Lynn Renee Rice. And that house was occupied by her mother. Look here.” Howard pointed at his computer screen, clicked a few buttons and several high-quality images of a woman were on the screen. She was on a motorcycle racing down the street; she was standing on the doorsteps of the house; she was leaving the scene with fresh blood caked all over her body.
“That’s the Female,” Atticus thought aloud.
“That’s right.”
“Inside the house, there was a message written in blood: Die Beloved Die.”
Howard looked to the computer monitor. “A threat against something or someone...a ‘Beloved’ one.” He typed.
“What are you doing?” Atticus asked.
“I am Googling ‘Beloved’.” After a few seconds, he said, “My God. Beloved is associated with the name Amy, from Latin origins.”
“Why is that alarming?”
“Because,” Howard said, looking Atticus in the face. “She is Shane’s girlfriend.”
“The female Beast wishes to kill this Amy?” Atticus asked.
“It
appears that way. Maybe they know that Shane is of Paladin lineage and want to kill her as an act of warning against all Paladins.”
“Do you know where I can find Amy?”
“Of course,” Howard said. “She was called in to work the late shift at Roxy’s this evening.”
“Then I must go immediately.” Atticus dashed from the van.
“Atticus!” Howard called after him. “Do not tell my son about me.”
Atticus nodded before jumping into his car. “Roxy’s,” he said.
The GPS lit up: “Roxy’s Bus Stop Diner.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Amy had been working for hours, her feet numb, her back burning with twinges, but she had given service with a genuine smile.
Tobias would have Shane’s strong will, integrity, and strength. Tobias would have her passion and patience.
Amy rounded the corner and dumped dishes into a bin under the counter. She rinsed her hands.
Carmen pushed the glass against the Sprite tab on the soda machine. “If mini-Amy’s got your looks and Shane’s temper, she’ll break all the boys’ hearts and burn down this town before she’s two.”
Amy laughed. “I know.” She glimpsed her purse under the stainless steel counter. The pee stick peeked from the side pocket, a faint but discernible plus sign.
Tobias was real.
Carmen reached for another glass and began filling it with Diet Coke. “Please tell me you don’t intend to paint your nursery in Pepto pink.”
“Shane would have a conniption.”
“Finally. Something me and the gringo can agree on.”
Smirking, Amy gave her a sidelong look. “He wouldn’t go for it because I’m having a boy.”
“I suppose some superstition told you that.” Carmen took a steak knife from the utensil rack. She pulled at the collar of Amy’s T-shirt, readying to drop the knife between her breasts.
Amy elbowed her. ”You’re supposed to drop a coin not a knife. If the coin rolls to the floor it’s a girl. If it gets caught in the underclothing, it’s a boy.”
Shrugging, Carmen trayed her drinks. “Fresh out of coins.”
“Seven!” Charlie set a plate topped with the special, shepherd’s pie, under the warmer. The old, black man gave Amy a wink. “Mighty nice to hear about your news, Miss Wintry.”
“Thanks.”
A couple of roughneck hunters with their young sons took up a booth on her side of the diner. Mike “Cowboy” Bullock had stopped in on his way to the Bull. As usual he’d worn his white cowboy. He set it on a table near the door. She’d not seen him since he’d given her a lift home.
Mike twirled one end of his handlebar mustache with a toothpick. “Howdy there, Miss Wintry. I hear you’re getting hitched to that no-good Shane.”
“He finally roped me in.”
Mike pointed the tooth pick at her. “You tell Shane if he ever gets out of line I’m gonna tell everyone how him and Birch’s Plan C went awry in Laredo.”
Amy shivered at the memory of Shane and Jamie ending up stoned and naked in a Mexican jail, all while trying to smuggle tequila over the border. She had asked what the heck they had been thinking and they’d said, as if rehearsed: We wanted the worm!
“I think they’ve moved on to Plan H.”
Mike chuckled, his beer gut rumbled.
A young man entered the diner. A good-sized gash in the calf of his green leather pants revealed slim but muscular legs. Long red hair, pulled into a ponytail stretched to the center of his back. A narrow leather carrying case protruded from his hip and past his knees.
Carmen said, “He’s all yours. You still owe me for waiting on the last freak that came in here.”
“That was three weeks ago and I was only working ‘cause Valerie called in.”
Valerie, sitting at a nearby table crunching on pork rinds, piped up, “Sorry ‘bout that, Amy. I was sick as a dog that morning. My break is over so I can get this one.”
The Beast draws near.
Amy flinched. With Vicky, sharing her psyche was easy but with Tobias, his gruff and abrupt intrusions could be quite alarming.
“He’s coming now?”
Carmen looked at her. “‘He’s already here.” Carmen nodded at the guy in leather.
The strange guy approached. His intense gaze moved from Carmen to Amy.
“I think you are the one I seek,” he said. His eyes met hers—a penetrating stare.
Or maybe he was looking at someone behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. Only Charlie cooking. Turning her focus back to the stranger, she found herself still under his scrutinizing gaze. Nervously, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
I must leave to prepare for battle.
The stranger said, “Tell me your name.”
She willed her racing heart to calm, lest she die from a heart attack before the Beast even had a chance at her.
Dear God in heaven. Was this strange man the Beast? He was the man she was to fear? She let out a nervous laugh. Couldn’t be. He was just a teenager, for crying out loud.
“You have a strange aura about you,” he said. “You must be of Paladin lineage.”
“Um. No. I don’t think so. None of my family came from France.”
“I do not speak of those Paladins,” the boy said firmly. “I speak of the ancient lineage of holy warriors that have protected this world since the fall of Sodom and Gomorrah.”
“Yeah, still doesn’t ring a bell.”
“I see it in your aura right there.” He pointed at her belly. “Blazing ghost! A most powerful strength is within you.”
Carmen put down her tray of hot food. “Alright. Run along crazy aura person.”
He brushed Carmen’s hand aside. “Be gone wench!” He snatched Amy by the wrist.
“No you did not,” Carmen snapped.
Chairs scraped along the wood floor as three gentleman, two hunters and Mike, stood.
“Amy? Carmen?” Mike said, “Everything alright?”
Unable to look away from the stranger’s intense gaze, Amy said, “I’m not sure.”
The stranger kissed the top of her hand and bowed. When he looked up, he said, “Your name, it means ‘The Beloved’.” He sounded as if he’d just discovered the fountain of youth and was ready to bathe in the waters.
She cringed, tugging her hand away. “I think you better leave.”
The young man towered over her, his shoulders as broad as Shane’s but his face smooth with youth. “You must come with me.”
The beauty known as Carmen placed herself between Amy and himself. “Are you mental or something? Do I need to call the cops?”
Atticus felt himself grow hard and silently cursed his traitorous body. “I am Atticus, ordained Paladin knight of the holy Order of Abel; and a Twin warrior destined to defeat the Geminus. I have a divine mission, so I demand you step out of my way.”
“Guess that answers both my questions.” She leaned closer. “I demand you kiss my ass and walk up on outta here.”
Her menthol-flavored breath wafted across his face.
The three men remained standing.
Atticus glared at Amy. “There is a child within you that harbors great power. Without proper training and discipline he will be dangerous to everyone around him.”
“How do you know I’m pregnant?”
“I can already sense him. Come give birth to your child within the safety of the compound. Allow him to train to be a mighty warrior.” He reached around Carmen, open palm. “Or else, the Beasts will kill him.”
The raven-haired beauty shoved his arm away. “The fuck you will.”
A man with dark, aged skin rounded the corner. He wore a black apron and white netting over his hair. In one steady hand, he held a butcher’s knife. “Miss Wintry won’t be goin’ nowhere with you, son.”
Atticus stepped backward. He drew his sword. “I will not leave without Amy!”
Gasps fell over the diner.
The click of guns res
ounded. A man took his cowboy hat off the table and placed it on his head. He leveled two pistols. “Well, let’s just see if we can’t persuade you to change your mind, young man.”
Two men dressed in camouflage stood from their dining booths. Both drew pistols.
From behind the cooking line, an elder woman wearing a hairnet thumbed the hammer of a revolver.
Carmen said, “You’re in Texas, dipshit. Should’ve brought a Smith and Wesson.”
A loud crack sounded. Above the dark-skinned man, the air tore open and out dropped a time Reaver, the size of a grown man.
Gunmen spun their weapons away from Atticus. Before they could get off a shot, the spider wrapped mechanical legs around the black cook.
And the man vanished.
“Charlie!” somebody screamed.
Atticus leapt into a high kick, landed on the counter, crouching. And dove onto the gigantic urchin’s bulbous abdomen. Gunshots rang, bullets ricocheted off its metallic hull. Atticus gripped the spider with one hand, pulled his sword back with the other.
The spider reared upward like a startled mare. The left leg pierced a hunter through the chest, through his ribs and out his back. The right leg plunged into the cowboy’s shoulder, pinning him to the wall.
More screams.
Atticus stabbed into the spider’s body. It collapsed beneath him and vanished. He thudded to the floor. A cold, sharp pain pinched inside his calf. He looked down and saw a crystallized prong…or was it a fang. The spider fang twitched and wiggled. It fell to the floor. Atticus grabbed it. He untied the prayer satchel that was around his neck and dropped the fang inside.
Amy and Carmen rushed out the back.
The remaining hunter, a man as wide as a hay stack, blocked the front door. The man’s fist drove forward.
Atticus caught the hunter’s wrist before kneeing him in the gut. Gasping, the man bent. His arm cradled his abdomen. Gently, Atticus gripped his shoulders and helped him to the floor.
He panned the room of bleeding and moaning innocent souls. “My sincerest regrets.”
As he dashed outside, he scanned the parking lot for the Beloved.
Quick footsteps pounded behind him. Something jumped onto his back. Arms wrapped around his throat. Legs clamped around his waist. A flurry of raven hair whipped at his face.
