by Tena Stetler
His heart thundered in his chest as he saw their actions came too late. The heavy wooden door flew off its hinges as a hulk of a creature strode through followed by several other creatures. He had to bend over to clear the doorway and took a stance just inside the door, feet planted shoulder width apart, his eyes narrowed, gaze moving from witch to witch. “Trent Shandie,” he bellowed.
Peering from an adjoining room, his father was the first to recover and stared with disbelief at the unlikely group of werewolves, vampires, and demons. Trent leaned back toward his wife and whispered, “This is impossible. Dracon, the demon leading this group, was a member of a family hierarchy of demons I took down several years ago, on assignment.”
Rachael stared at him in horror. “The ones that enslaved mortals, taking their land and forcing them to do their bidding?”
“The same, this is not going to end well. Where’s Tristian?”
“I don’t know. Last I saw, he was going into the basement with Corra to bring up stuff for the celebration,” Rachel said quietly scanning the room.
Tristian opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Willing his mind’s eye closed failed, he was forced to watch in horror. It was like everything happened in slow motion.
His mother raised her arms quickly and murmured incantations, she swung her arms down forcefully. Metal spikes rose out of the floor surrounding the group of creatures, then the stakes bent over the top of the group, crisscrossing over each other until the outraged intruders were confined within the metal web. At once, the lodge filled with members of the coven casting spells of destruction, protection, and anything else that came to mind. But they were outnumbered as vampires, werewolves, and demons flooded inside.
Dracon bellowed again, and with a wave of his arm, the metal enclosure turned to ash floating to the floor. The group of creatures encircled and advanced on the witches. “Do you remember me demon slayer?” He growled, his fiery eyes finally locking on Trent standing in the doorway. “You killed my family. I’m here to return the favor.”
Tristian tried to move but couldn’t. His fingers tightened around Corra’s arm. For a split second, he saw the horror on her face before his mind’s eye resumed the scene taking place above them.
A ball of fire appeared in Dracon’s hand, and he threw it at Trent. He forced the ball backward toward the demon, but as Rachel stood at his back, a vampire grabbed Rachel from behind, sinking his fangs into her neck. She flipped around on him, a wooden stake materializing in her hand; she forced it through his heart. The vampire fell to the floor dissolving into a pile of ash. Bile rose in Tristian’s throat from the stench wafting down the stairs.
Trent’s attention locked on Rachel’s wound, just as Dracon formed another fireball and sent it flying toward them. This one found its target, but not before Trent conjured crescent knives and sent them flying in Dracon’s direction. Trent’s aim was true, the knives severed Dracon’s head, blood splatter covered the wall as his cranium hit the surface and slid to the floor, forming a pool of thick bloody goo.
Finally, Tristian broke free of whatever held him in place. He grabbed Corra’s hand and rushed across the basement and up the stairs. Vampires, werewolves, and demons converged on them. Tristian was knocked to the floor and pinned there with a metal table leg driven through his leg, while a vampire grabbed Corra around the waist and disappeared with her.
Tristian sprawled on the floor, pain racking his body, the sickening stench of death all around made his stomach roil as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He saw his parents’ scorched bodies lying lifeless on the floor among several dead or dying coven members. They’d waged a fierce battle, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. Ash of vampires floated in the air, body parts from the demons and werewolves fighting alongside Dracon were scattered around the room. Once their leader was dead, the remaining creatures disappeared, leaving the surviving members of the coven in shock staring at the gory scene spread out in front of them.
Someone bent over Tristian, a sharp pain stabbed through him as metal was jerked from his leg and healing hands placed on his body before everything went black.
****
The throbbing in his head increased as he blinked in the dim light and tried to focus on the large black blob wavering in front of him. His arms and legs were slow to respond to the commands his brain tried to give. Sounds of movement stilled him for a beat, he inhaled and coughed at the dank, dusty air. Propped in a chair, he squinted, now able to make out a hooded figure hovering over him.
A gravelly voice whispered, “Good, you’re awake. I’ve woven a camouflage spell around you. We need to scatter, you know what to do, but make it quick. Once the spell wears off, you’ll be discovered. You need to get out of here. It’s not safe.”
“Who are you? Where are my parents?” Tristian croaked as visions of the attack floated in and out of his mind.
The man pulled his hood farther over his face. “Dead. The creatures slaughtered most of the coven. It’s best if you don’t know who survived. Now, do as your father instructed in an emergency.” He shoved a phone in Tristian’s hand. “I’ve got to go; good luck.” The man took a few steps then turned around. “Don’t go home.” He emphasized each word, then he was gone.
Tristian raked his fingers through his hair, then with a trembling hand pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He dialed the number and waited, hoping he’d written the number down correctly at his father’s insistence. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d ever have to use it. After the fourth ring, a female voice answered.
“Hello.”
“Mrs. Coppervale?” Tristian asked in a shaking voice.
“Yes,” Freesia Coppervale said pleasantly. “Who is this?”
“It’s Tristian…Tristian Shandie. Is Angie safe?”
“Yes, dear, she’s outside with Willow.” She paused. “Do you want…”
“No…need to talk to your husband, please,” Tristian said trying to control his shaking voice.
“Of course.” Freesia hollered for her husband. “He’s coming. What’s wrong?”
“Something terrible has happened. Don’t let Angie know… I really need to talk to Mr. Coppervale, now.”
Birch Coppervale picked up an extension. “Hi Tristian, what can I do for you?”
Relief flooded through him at the sound of Mr. Coppervale’s voice. “The coven celebration…was attacked by creatures. My parents are dead…along with most of the coven. I don’t know what to do, told the house may not be safe. You gotta help me.”
“Son, where are you right now? No, don’t answer that. Are you in a safe location?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t get to them. I was in the basement helping Corra get… Oh, no. Where is she?” He pushed the thought out of his head. He had to get to a secure location, make sure Angie was safe. “Bodies are scattered all over. Don’t know if anyone survived. I woke up under a camouflage spell woven by a stranger to avoid detection. He gave me a phone, and I called you.”
“Who gave you a phone? Is someone there with you?”
“No. He left. Didn’t leave a name. Told me to get out of here. Not safe.”
“Okay, okay. Let me think—I want you to go straight to the airport using normal means. Call me when you arrive. Make sure you aren’t followed. Are you able to maintain that camouflage spell?”
“Maybe, but the magic could be detected.” Tristian got to his feet shakily, walked to the window. With a hand, he wiped a clean spot in the dirty windowpane, peered out recognizing his location.” It’ll take me about thirty minutes to get there from…”
“Don’t tell me, get moving,” Birch ordered. “Now.”
Tristian disconnected the call, stepped into the fading twilight, and hailed a cab.
****
Birch Coppervale walked out into the room where his wife sat, hand covering her mouth, blinking back tears. Rachel and Trent were like family.
Freesia quickly wiped her hand over h
er face and put on a mask of normalcy. White as a sheet, she stared at Birch and then over to where Willow and Angie were playing outside. “What are we going to do?”
“We are going to get Tristian here as fast as possible. I need the members of the Faery Council to convene in Grandmother Lillie’s house.
“I figured. I’ve already notified Lillie; she’s alerted the council members. They should be there when you arrive.”
“Good. The magic is strong there. Can you keep the kids occupied until we get a handle on this situation?”
“I can. You have a plan?” Freesia asked nervously.
“I believe so. We’re going to need a lot of traveling faery magic. It’s not safe for him to board a plane. If whoever did this is still around, we don’t want Tristian bringing them here,” Birch said, formulating a plan as he spoke. He looked at his watch, twenty minutes to go.
With a flick of his wrist, he joined the other council members convened in Lillie’s house. Birch explained the situation as he knew it and asked for the council’s help. Without all the facts, the council was reluctant to act.
An old faery sitting in her rocking chair in the far corner of the room listening to the debates said, “I can scry for the young man’s location using my amethyst, but I need an object from him. If you can get me that and a map of Maine, I assume he is still there, we can get you on your way, Birch. You can intercept him before he reaches the airport then bring the both of you back here. Greatly lessening the chances of discovery.”
“Good plan, Grams,” Birch said eying the other council members.
The old woman smiled pensively and said, “Provided this council of scaredy cats, oh, excuse me, of faeries, can reach an agreement to provide the magic.”
“I’m sure—” Birch began.
The old woman narrowed her eyes, continued as if Birch hadn’t said a thing. “A young man’s life is on the line while you dilly-dally around. Who of you wants his blood on your hands? Tristian isn’t faery blood, but his sister is among us, and they are like family to the Coppervales. Birch and Freesia promised to look after the young ones in the event something happened to their parents. A faery’s promise is their oath. The young man needs our help.”
The debate among council members quickly died down after the old faery’s words, all agreed to provide the magic necessary. Birch located a map. Freesia calmly asked to borrow Angie’s charm. After a quizzical look, Angie freely took the gold charm from around her neck and handed it to her. She’d proudly shown off the charm after she’d climbed in the cab with Willow and her family. Within a few minutes, Tristian was located, and Birch was on his way.
Tristian stepped out of the third taxi he’d taken, a few blocks from the airport and checked for magic signatures or someone physically following him. Still feeling like it was all a nightmare. Detecting nothing, he stepped up on the sidewalk, just as Birch appeared beside him.
“Tristian, it’s Birch, don’t be alarmed.” He touched Tristian’s shoulders and said, “I’m taking you to safety.”
Once on Irish soil, Tristian described what he had seen and heard. Inside the Coppervale’s cottage in Ireland, with Birch and Freesia beside him, Tristian broke the news to Angie of their parents’ death without relaying the gruesome details, naming a car crash the culprit.
Days later, Birch pulled Tristian aside. “I’ve received a couple of phone calls from your father’s employer, Bruce. He said there are a few things he needs to discuss with you regarding your father’s benefits and wishes in the event of his death. When you’re ready, Bruce would like to talk to you. He is willing to meet you in Maine or to arrange for you to join him in D.C. My contacts in the U.S. indicate it is safe for us to return. Your home is intact, and all the protections cast by your parents are still in place.”
“For how long? A day a week, or could they be waiting for our arrival?” Tristian shot back. “And why would my father’s employer know how to contact you?”
Birch placed his hand on Tristian’s shoulder. “Son, there is never a guarantee for the future. We take it as it comes and deal the best we can. I’ve booked a flight back to Maine for all of us under different names just as a precaution. As far as Bruce is concerned, apparently Freesia and I are listed as contacts in case of an emergency. Probably set up long ago before you were of legal age.”
“What am I going to do? I don’t know anything about raising a young girl. Mom and Dad are gone, how am I going to support both of us?” Tristian shook his head then put his face in his hands. “What about Corra and the other coven members? Is it safe to contact them?”
Birch’s voice was calm and reassuring, “Let’s take one thing at a time. You were told not to contact any of the coven members. Correct?”
“Yes. But…”
“Freesia and I will help with whatever you need. Eventually, things will get better, I promise.” Birch pulled out a file from his briefcase, handed it to Tristian. “Your parents gave me this in case—of an emergency. It’s instructions for you.” He closed his eyes. “It won’t be easy. There are a lot of things you need to understand. But we’ll get through this together. I promise.”
****
Tristian stepped out of the limo, walked across the sidewalk, and pulled open the door to The Wycked Hair Salon. His eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. All the magic signatures he sensed had him on guard, as a stocky silver haired man walked over to him, hand outstretched.
“You must be Tristian. I’m Owen, Bruce’s right-hand man and salon manager. Welcome. We’ve been expecting you. How was your flight?” He smiled, in what Tristian assumed was an attempt to put him at ease. It didn’t work.
He paused, stared at the older man in disbelief. After all I’ve been through—how was my flight? Shit. Unsure of his footing under the circumstances, he masked his emotions and attempted a blank expression. “Fine.” He gave Owen’s hand a strong shake. Dad always said you could tell a lot about a man from his handshake. The last thing Tristian wanted was these people to think he was weak or unable to handle himself. Confidence, that’s what I need to exude. He straightened his shoulders and looked Owen squarely in the eye for a beat then turned his attention to the stairs.
A tall, muscular man silently descended the steps two at a time from the mezzanine to the main area. He strode across the floor right hand extended. “Tristian. I’m Bruce.” He pursed his lips. “Nice to meet you. Wish it was under better circumstances.”
Tristian nodded, surveying the Salon with incredulity. Witch’s, demons, werewolves, the place was a melting pot of creatures, mixed with mortals. Then he turned his gaze to the mezzanine. The man standing in front him was a magical being, but the signature was masked so he couldn’t get a read on him.
“Please join me in the office.” Bruce motioned Tristian toward the stairs and led the way. Once in the office, Bruce closed the door, nodded to the navy-blue leather chairs arranged in front of his large glass-top desk. He eased down in one of the leather chairs as Tristian sat in the other one. “I am so sorry for your loss. Your father was a great man and will be missed terribly.” He ran his fingers through his shoulder-length hair, paused for a moment as if assessing the young man sitting before him. “How are you doing?”
Tristian snapped, “How do you think I’m doing?” Suddenly, his shoulders slumped, his brave façade faded. “Sorry…it’s too much.” He blew out a breath and wished Bruce would quit staring at him as if he was a bug under a microscope. “I’m okay, considering.”
“Life’s dealt you some terrible blows. I’m afraid I’m not going to make it much better.”
The sheer raw power that suddenly rolled off Bruce shook Tristian to his very core. Realization dawned as Bruce dropped the disguise of his magic signature. Tristian’s gaze hardened and locked on the demon sitting beside him. “I understand there are things I need to handle regarding my father?”
“Handle. Not exactly…” Bruce paused for a couple beats. “However, it’s imperative to
your continued existence that you understand exactly what happened to your parents, and why. Your father was my enforcer. I am the Demon Overlord of the Western Hemisphere. Together we made sure everyone played by the rules.”
Tristian sucked in a breath and swallowed hard.
There was a light tap on the glass door to Bruce’s office. “Owen said I was to join you?” A tall older man with salt and pepper hair strode into the office glancing from Bruce to Tristian.
“Yes. Paul this is Tristian, Trent’s son.”
Paul’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know he had a family. Guessed he had a wife hidden away somewhere as he seemed more settled in recent years.” He blew out a breath and turned his attention to Tristian. “You look like your father, a bit taller and muscular, but…” Shaking his head, he looked from Bruce to Tristian. “I’m really sorry for your loss. Your dad was the best partner I’ve ever had.”
“Yes, he was,” Bruce said. “Now we have to protect Tristian, while he learns to protect himself. The creatures that killed Trent, saw Tristian, made the connection, according to the coven. They’ll come looking for him to exact revenge.” Bruce leaned back in his chair, pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.
“So how do you intend to do that?” Paul asked his jaw muscle twitching.
“If he is willing, you’ll mentor him, as Trent did you.” There was no negation in Bruce’s voice.
“I have to go back home. Our neighbors won’t know what happened to me. They were part of Father’s plan,” Tristian protested.
“I’ve already explained the situation to the Coppervales. They will look after the house and its contents until such time it’s deemed safe for you to return. Birch agrees with our assessment.”
“May I consider the offer? I have to return to college to finish my…” He scanned the stony faces of Bruce and Paul. “My life as I know it is over. Isn’t it?”
“Unfortunately, if you want to stay alive, I’m afraid so.” Something caught Bruce’s attention. He glanced toward the door.
