The Lycan Collapse (The Flux Age Book 2)

by Steven J Shelley

  The glistening, moist walls of dark tissue had been defiled in the worst possible way. It was if something had come through and clumsily scooped the tissue out and left all the resident lycans to rot on the floor. Old friends Jack had mourned long ago, bodies ripe and disfigured from their time enriching the dark tissue, were now tossed to the side like rotten chunks of meat. Jack wandered amongst the damaged pillars, eyes wide with shock and sorrow. This chamber had been the heart of lycan power for centuries. Now it was nothing but a stinking, debased ruin.

  Filled with despair, Jack sank to his knees. The Lycan Society as he knew it had come crashing down in the space of a few hours. He had no doubt that the other chapter houses across the world had been attacked also. A voice in the back of his head suggested that the Berlin Club had plenty to do with this kind of attack. Which meant that the aquila had cut some kind of deal with the hated enemy. But Jack didn’t want to think about politics right now. Overwhelmed with grief, he wanted to mourn. Soon enough grief would turn to anger, anger to rage, rage to cold resolve. That’s when revenge could be contemplated.

  Jack was about to leave when he heard a heavy, slithery, meaty sound from the back of the cercarium. He stood behind a pillar and peered around the edge. There was a long, grey creature back there. It was sliding through the pillars slowly, and hadn’t yet detected Jack’s presence. The creature’s body was slug-like, and pulsed with a strong heart beat. Two small arms dangled from the thing’s upright upper torso. It was the head that caused Jack to break out into a cold sweat. The creature was clearly female, and its hair was a mass of live vipers. Its face was stony and severe, with sickly eyes that glowed yellow in the darkness.

  A medusa. The kind of thing Jack never believed when he heard about them in class. His heart hammering wildly, Jack allowed the thing to slither down the far side of the chamber and back towards the only entrance. He kept the wide pillar between himself and the medusa at all times. If the old tales were true, this thing would be able to turn Jack to stone with a single, direct look. He still couldn’t believe he was actually spying on a medusa, here in the familiar grandeur of the lycan cercarium. It just seemed like all his nightmares had manifested in one night. Jack darted a quick glance in the creature’s direction to ensure that it was on the way out. The medusa had its glistening back turned on him, but several of the vipers on its head seemed to see Jack all at once. The resulting hiss caused the medusa to spin around.

  Jack stepped back behind the pillar, his heart sinking into a deep pit of terror.

  “Well, well, well,” he heard the creature hiss. Its voice was a croaky, wet, reedy horror, a voice from the darkest swamps of the world. “A prodigal son returns home to die.”

  Jack could hear the medusa approaching carefully through the center of the cercarium. No matter which way he went he would expose himself to the monster. The creature that had led the ghoul attack on the chapter house.

  At the last possible moment Jack rolled to the right, grunting at the pain in his legs. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the medusa make a beeline for him. It moved surprisingly fast for such a long, heavy creature.

  Filled with panic, Jack rushed for the entrance but tripped on the slug tail that whipped out to stop him. He fell forward harmlessly, but was compelled to swat at the head that lunged over his shoulder. One of the vipers struck at his shoulder and he turned around in a reflex action.

  The medusa’s glowing eyes confronted Jack and the world was filled with darkness.

  7 - Julian

  New York City, USA

  A lycan’s instinct was to be trusted. Without it, a lycan was not in tune with the energy of the earth. Or so Julian had been warned by Hector Caliri. Right now Julian fervently hoped that Florence’s instincts were capable of reading the situation for what it was. If she let her emotions overwhelm her, he was as good as dead.

  As soon as all hell broke loose at the Hadfield Pavilion, Julian’s first instinct was to stand and fight. Several guests were being cut down by gunfire right before his eyes. The identity of the attackers was a minor footnote in the back of his mind. All he saw was carnage and he wanted to stop it. But Julian Banes was very good at reading the play. There was no chance of victory here, just death.

  The aquilan literally swept Florence off her feet and soared through a plate-glass window. Instead of climbing into the night sky he swooped into a rubbish-strewn cul-de-sac where he let a furious Florence down.

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t tear you to shreds right now,” she growled. “Those gunmen were all aquilan.”

  Julian looked at her intently, his thoughts crippled with fear and shock. His apparent shock was probably the only reason Florence hadn’t torn his throat out.

  “Tell me what the fuck is going on!” she repeated.

  “I don’t know!” Julian said. He was humiliated and ashamed to admit it. He still couldn’t comprehend what had happened at the Ball. He’d seen his brethren step forward and kill innocents in cold blood. But then it hit him, and he knew there could be only one reason for such senseless violence. “I think Hector has made a play for the dark tissue.”

  Florence looked into his eyes, perhaps searching for the truth. She seemed to accept that his logic, as painful as it was, seemed to fit. No one had expected the aquilans to attack so boldly, so mercilessly, but there was certainly a clear motive.

  “I need to get back in there,” Florence spat. “I’m sworn to protect the Mother.”

  And with that, the tawny werewolf prowled back into Fifth Avenue and toward the main entrance.

  “Florence, wait!” Julian called after her. “There’s nothing you can do!”

  Julian cursed under his breath as he followed her. Lycans could be so stubborn!

  As he turned the corner he could see Florence being approached by two aquilans from the air.

  “Halt, lycan!” one of them roared. It was Dennis Maygar, one of Julian’s close associates. They’d studied together under Hector’s tuition as soon as they’d been divined. The other was Rindell Jones, an aquilan he’d met a few times. Both were his kin.

  Florence spun around to face the aquilans, who landed several yards away from the werewolf. The pair drew vicious-looking sickles from scabbards at their waists. Catalonian sickles, made from pure silver. Lethal to lycans. Hector must’ve found a source for these weapons.

  “We were told there would be two lycans skulking around outside,” Dennis spat. “I believe the other one has already been taken care of.”

  Julian winced. What had they done to Jack Foley? To her credit, Florence showed no fear at all.

  “A pity you need those blades to fight a werewolf,” she said contemptuously. “So much for a fair fight, eh?”

  “Whatever gets the job done,” Rindell grunted, moving to the side with the obvious intention to flank Florence.

  “You need to pick a side, brother,” Dennis said with a glance at Julian. “I’m sure Hector will forgive you if you help us now.”

  Julian blinked, cold dread gripping his heart. “Forgive me for what?”

  Rindell snorted. “For losing your heart to a lycan. How pathetic.”

  Julian looked at Florence, then at his old friend Dennis. “How did you know…?”

  “So it’s true,” Dennis said with a smirk. “You’re a liability, Banes. Always have been. Why don’t you sit this one out and we’ll deal with you later.”

  “The hell you will,” Julian said firmly, anger welling within him. “Florence Underwood is under my protection and I will not see her harmed.”

  Rindell shrugged, spinning her sickle theatrically. “Simple. You both die.”

  Julian uttered a primitive grunt and launched himself through the air toward Rindell, the closest foe. One thing he’d learned as an aquilan was that one beat of his wings could propel him very quickly over a distance of twenty yards or so.

  He cannoned into Rindell and sent her flying backwards. That left him open to attack from behind, and Dennis didn’
t hesitate in swinging his sickle ruthlessly. He felt a stabbing pain in his right wing as the blade tore through the fibrous membrane. He howled into the night - the pain was unlike anything he’d experienced before.

  Florence appeared behind Dennis and ripped at his throat. Blood splattered to the ground as Dennis tumbled forward and away from Florence’s reach.

  “Their wings,” Julian gasped, his pain threatening to consume him. “With enough strength they can be torn where the membrane joins their collar bones.”

  “With pleasure,” Florence growled with primitive fury.

  For the first time their opponents showed hesitation in their eyes. Rindell was still somewhat rattled by Julian’s frontal attack, while Dennis was spitting gobs of blood to the ground. Like lycans, the aquila were able to self-heal at a rapid rate. The only way to kill them for good was to tear their wings free.

  Julian looked at Florence and met her gaze. She nodded. They had some kind of understanding, a bond that would hold them in good stead during this battle.

  Florence passed wide in might have looked like a possible attack. Knowing it was a feint, Julian hung back until the last possible moment before launching himself a second time, this time at Dennis. He struck the aquilan flush in the rib cage, narrowly avoiding his sickle.

  With amazing dexterity Florence ‘caught’ Dennis as he was sent tumbling backwards. With a snarl she wrenched one of his wings free, The crunching sound was like a dagger to Julian’s ears but there was no time to mourn the loss of his old friend. He squared off against Rindell, who advanced upon him quickly.

  He ducked and swerved out of the sickle’s path but was left off balance. Rindell was about to cut him open when Florence barreled into the female aquilan and knocked the sickle to the ground. A close quarters brawl between an aquilan and a werewolf usually had only one ending. Despite Rindell’s disciplined, well-trained defense she couldn’t stop Florence’s choke hold. The tawny werewolf took advantage of her superior position to tear off both wings at once. She was splattered with aquilan plasma for her trouble. Grimacing, she turned to Julian.

  “That stuff doesn’t smell good,” she said. Julian stood silently contemplating the bodies of his former comrades.

  “I’m sorry,” Florence said. “I was insensitive.”

  “It’s ok,” Julian said distractedly. “I’m just trying to absorb all this.”

  “Well at least there’s no question I can trust you now,” Florence said with a smile.

  Julian couldn’t help but smile back. Florence was an experienced warrior and was used to a little levity after battle. He had to admit it worked, and took his mind off the horror he’d just seen. Plus, he was certain Florence was only half-joking. He never wanted to lose his old friends, and the thought of going against his people, his species, made him feel sick, but at least Florence would have no problem trusting him now. As soon as the Masquerade Ball turned into a bloodbath, Julian knew he would need to explain himself to her.

  “Can you fly?” Florence asked urgently. “The city isn’t safe anymore.”

  Julian eyed the tawny werewolf. She’d made no effort to shift back into human form.

  “You don’t want to see what’s happening at your Chapter House?”

  Florence gave Julian a strange look. “Do you know anything about Hector’s plans?”

  Julian glanced at the dead aquilans. “I would’ve told you already.”

  Florence nodded. “That’s true,” she said thoughtfully. “I very much doubt Hector would look to hit us here at the Ball and leave the chapter house alone. As much as it pains me to say it, there’s no point going back there… yet.”

  “We should go to ground for forty-eight hours,” Julian suggested. “Any suggestions? All the aquilan safehouses I know are obviously no good.”

  Florence furrowed her brow in thought. “I know a place,” she said eventually.

  “Then hop on,” Julian said with trepidation. He wasn’t sure if the painful wing wound would affect his flying. As soon as Florence was secure he launched carefully, rising to around twenty yards in elevation before veering sharply to the right. The pair careened off an office building and ended up tumbling across the street.

  Florence was the first to rise, offering Julian her arm. All he could do was turn away as he blinked back tears. He felt broken and humiliated. What good was an aquilan if he couldn’t fly? This night was fast becoming his worst nightmare.

  “I’ll help you recover, Julian,” Florence said. “That I can promise you.”

  Julian nodded, filled with fresh hope. There was something reassuring about these lycans, that was for sure.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “We do it old school,” Florence said. “Besides, Hector probably has plenty of birds in the sky running a perimeter.”

  Florence and Julian took to the streets, careful not to arouse too much attention. Florence located a ‘thread drop’ in one of the local post office boxes. These boxes were routinely filled with clothing so lycans could shift back into human form without drawing attention to themselves. Julian stood guard while Florence shifted and changed into jeans and a sweater. Their next stop was the Port Authority Bus Terminal. Julian said nothing as Florence purchased tickets to Madison, New Hampshire.

  The pair had bad coffee and old danishes as they waited for the service to begin. There was no sign of pursuit by the aquilans. Julian couldn’t get the image of those gunmen at the Ball out of his head. How could the aquilans have committed such atrocities? And, more importantly, why was Julian kept out of it? Did Hector think he was soft or just plain unreliable? These were questions he hoped Hector himself could answer one day. When Julian got the opportunity to bring him to justice. For now, sleep beckoned.

  Once the bus arrived Florence and the aquilan wasted no time in commandeering the back seat for some much needed rest. His mind filled with troubled thoughts, Julian snatched a few hours sleep as dawn flirted with the eastern sky.

  Madison, USA

  When he finally opened his eyes fully and sat up the bus was cruising through fields of green. Dairy country. Florence stirred, rubbing her eyes tiredly. She seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. It was easy for Julian to forget that she had lost everything also. Except her losses were permanent.

  “How you feeling?” he asked softly.

  “Like I need to brush my teeth,” Florence said blearily. “Aside from that, on top of the world.”

  Julian nodded and smiled. Florence would open up when she was ready.

  Within half an hour the bus had pulled into the weed-ridden stop at Madison. Florence beckoned for Julian to follow her out.

  “The lycans own a farmhouse here,” she explained as they headed down the main street of a quaint New Hampshire town. They passed through to the open fields on the east side of Madison. A salt-laden wind pushed through from the direction of the pink sky.

  “Atlantic is only half a click that way,” Florence said.

  Before long they turned down an elm-lined avenue and east again down a dirt track. The red brick lycan farmhouse was nestled in a grove of yew trees. It looked comfortable enough, if a little decrepit.

  “Hasn’t been used in a while,” Florence commented as the door almost came off its hinges.

  Once Florence had seen to the old, rusted fuse box and Julian had collected some firewood for the open hearth, the farmhouse was very liveable indeed. Florence found some trashy paperback novels on a shelf and handed a particularly bad one to Julian.

  “You lycans don’t keep lore in your safehouses?”

  “Probably too great a risk,” Florence said defensively. “We don’t want just anyone coming in here to learn about us.”

  “You’re not great at sharing, are you?” Julian asked. “Lycans in general, that is.”

  Florence gave Julian a hard stare. He reminded himself never to get on her bad side.

  “Lycans have good reason to be wary,” she eventually said. “We’
ve collected plenty of enemies over the centuries.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Julian said with a placating gesture. “And I must admit that the Mother’s decision to refuse Hector has since proven to be the right one.”

  Florence nodded sadly. “Not that it did us any good,” she said with a sigh. “Use this time wisely, Julian. Rest up by the fire and we’ll see if we can work out a way to fix that wing of yours.”

  Julian did indeed spend much of the day perched by the fire. It was difficult to push the cataclysmic events of the previous night out of his head. Florence seemed restless, pacing up and down and hesitant to use her phone even though she clearly wanted to. At length she said she’d run a perimeter of the property but Julian suspected she just needed to be on her own for a while.

  When he was alone, with nothing but the crackle of the fire to keep him company, Julian thought he might tease out some of the strands of the madness of his current situation. Just what did it all mean?

  Firstly, his mentor Hector must have seen something in him early on, otherwise the older man would never have committed to teaching him the ways of the aquila. Just when did Hector lose faith in Julian? Or was it more likely that Hector knew that Julian would never agree to such wanton violence against the other Flux species?

  Whatever the case, there was no going back to the aquila now. Which made Julian an outcast. On the surface, that represented a miserable situation indeed. But was it really? Julian had felt very close to Hector and had some good friends among the aquila, but the reality was that he’d only been aquilan for two years. One of the first eagle men to be divined under Hector’s guidance, Julian remembered his awakening as if were yesterday. Just how much emotional investment had he made in Hector’s aquilan regime? Not so much that Julian felt the same as Florence, who had effectively lost her family.