Paranormal Chaos

by Joshua Roots

  “Don’t be so shocked. Humans haven’t cornered the market on prejudice. Paranormals are as judgmental and paranoid toward one another as they are to your people. We’re just a lot better at hiding it is all.”

  “Har har.”

  His face spread with a smug grin.

  The conversation lagged and we drifted into our own thoughts. As usual, mine shifted to Quinn. Barely into the mission and already I missed her. I’d been in love before, but it had been a one-way street. This time, however, it felt mutual and real. Solid. Like a home built on bedrock instead of pudding.

  We had danced around the word quite a lot recently, hinting at it from various angles. Maybe it was time to get everything out in the open.

  “You’re smiling,” Steve said. “Gas?”

  I blinked. “Just thinking about relationship stuff.”

  “Ah.”

  He was oddly silent for a long time.

  I frowned. “You okay?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Yes and no.” He stared at the flames. “You asked what happened between me and my clan.”

  I kept quiet, allowing him the freedom to speak when comfortable. The fire danced in his deep, dark eyes.

  “There were a lot of expectations growing up,” he continued, his voice heavy with memories. “I...failed to live up to them. For a long time I thought I was the one lacking, but I soon realized the clan was an anchor, dragging me under. So rather than stay in a toxic environment, I moved on. Cut all ties and left my past where it belonged: behind me.”

  I started to respond, but his ears pricked up. He sniffed the air. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

  “What?” I whispered.

  “Movement.” He smothered the fire instantly with a handful of dirt. It continued to hiss and smoke, but darkness consumed our campsite. I crouched down, listening for whatever Steve had picked up with his radar-like hearing. At first there was nothing, then, in the distance, grunts and yelps as something crashed through the woods.

  “Coming our way,” Steve muttered in a low voice.

  I could barely make out his features in the moonlight. “Hunting us?”

  “Doubtful. Creating too much of a racket. But they are making a straight shot for our site.”

  Beneath us, the ground began to tremble. I jumped as a howl, unearthly and horrifying, echoed off the trees around us. Something was indeed headed our way and it was terrified. And if there was one thing my mother taught me, it was that a scared creature was a dangerous creature.

  Heart pounding, I reached for my pack, feeling for the rough handle of my sword. My fingers connected with the athletic tape I’d wrapped around the hilt for extra grip, and I drew the blade slowly from the scabbard. The mysterious runes etched along each side shimmered softly despite the lack of ambient light.

  Deciding I wanted to be prepared for whatever was coming, I shoved the blade into the dying embers and reached out with my Skill. I called to the fire, asking for its power. It responded gleefully, grateful for the chance to breathe once more. My sense ignited with raw, unrestrained energy as the flames ripped up the blade. The steel exploded with red light, the runes glowing brightly in the dark.

  “Dammit, no!” Steve clamped his hand over mine, but it was too late. The creatures were upon us.

  The ground shook violently, rattling my teeth as a wave of shadows coalesced from the trees. Dark shapes weaved and darted, racing like manic wraiths in the night. They burst into our campground in waves. Flashes of talons and the scent of rotted meat filled the air.

  One of the creatures, still nothing more than a dark figure, charged straight at us. I raised my weapon, but Steve was faster. He gripped the animal and hurled it sideways into the brush. It yelped but recovered quickly and darted away.

  Another came, then another. Steve dispatched one while the second slashed furiously at me. I spun, swiping my blade. It screamed, crashing into the bushes nearby at full speed.

  More beasts emerged from the trees, racing past us like maniacs. The few that redirected toward us quickly veered away, somehow sensing that we were trouble. I heard nothing but the thunder of their feet or paws or whatever.

  Then, like someone flipping a light switch, the noise was fading into the distance. Within seconds, Steve and I were left in the creepy darkness of a forest in total silence.

  “The hell was that?” I whispered.

  Steve shushed me. We were quiet for a moment before the sound of whimpering caught my attention. My buddy moved swiftly to the edge of our camp.

  “Gimme a little more light here,” he said.

  I obliged, pushing with my Skill on the fire running up and down my blade. The heat increased as the flames grew, illuminating the area around us.

  The first thing I noticed was the blood. It covered the ground and soaked into the dirt. Streaks of it ran across tree bark and leaves, trailing in the direction of the fleeing creatures.

  One was not so lucky. It mewled in the brush, breathing heavily. Blood leaked from a long gash on its side. The sickly yellow fur shuddered with each labored breath.

  I nearly gagged at the overwhelming stench coming from the beast, but the fire of hatred that filled my chest purged any nausea from my system. I struggled to control the fury inside me.

  “Mimics.”

  Beasts of instinct, Mimics were named for their ability to replicate the appearances of other creatures. Although many in the animal kingdom had that capability, Mimics were especially adept at it. Short of speech, one could pass even for a human.

  Normally passive, using their abilities simply for survival, a number of them had recently been summoned by a traitorous Elder and used as a tool for murder. Several innocent people had died at their hands, including two of my friends. Just the sight of the creature, wounded and broken, called up the memory of their deaths. I wanted nothing more than to drive my blade through the Mimic’s skull in revenge.

  But as I watched it gasp for breath, my burning anger was slowly turned to sympathy. This was not the same beast that had murdered my friends. It was wounded and in pain. From an injury I had caused.

  The fire inside me dimmed as sadness replaced hate.

  “Dammit,” I muttered, suddenly sick with the thought I’d nearly killed an innocent creature.

  As if reading my mind, Steve placed an enormous hand on my shoulder. “We didn’t know, dude. They came out of nowhere and were attacking out of fear.”

  “But why?”

  “Something flushed them out. As to why they came to us, it was the fire. Most creatures associate flames with safety.”

  Oh hell. This poor creature had merely been seeking protection. Instead it had found pain.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, kneeling before the Mimic. The flat, plain face turned to me. Large gray eyes stared back.

  “Filthy creatures,” someone said from the shadows.

  Steve and I spun. I swiped my sword upward, fear dumping adrenaline into my system. The light of my blade flared bright once more, showering the entire campsite with a red glow.

  “Lower your weapon,” the Centaur said, brandishing a long spear. She was tall and beautiful with a smooth porcelain face. Her hair had come loose from her braid and her leather breastplate was splattered with mud. She had a muscular hindquarter that was sleek with sweat.

  Two more Centaurs emerged from the shadows, each with arrows notched into powerful bows.

  I obliged the lady.

  “Listen, I’m sure—”

  I barely had time to register the sound of an arrow being loosed before the feathers tickled my face. I gasped as the arrow slammed into the Mimic, burying itself deep into the wounded animal’s chest. It squealed, then exhaled slowly as the last of its
life was released.

  “What the hell?” I shouted, turning back to the trio. “It wasn’t a threat anymore.”

  “Exactly,” the woman replied. “Better to end its miserable existence than to let it survive to attack us another day.”

  “That’s murder.”

  “Hardly. These mongrels are abominations. They’re not from our world and are therefore afforded no quarter. They further violated nature by crossing into our lands uninvited. They’ll not do so again.” She peered darkly at us. “Which begs the question, why are you on the edge of our territory?”

  I started to respond, but Steve took a step forward.

  “We request an audience with your chief,” he said in a voice I’d never heard before. It was authoritative and commanding, not derisive and snarky. I stared at him, surprised more by his tone than his words.

  “Do you?” the lady Centaur asked with a laugh. “And why should we listen to you?”

  Steve inhaled deeply. “Because the human brings warnings of dissention and war. One that may be avoided if your people are willing to listen.”

  She chuckled. “War isn’t uncommon. You should know that better than me, Minotaur.”

  “Very true.” Steve maintained his bizarre political tone. “But this one will involve the humans. Your solitude is being threatened by the actions of my people. We’re here to stop them.”

  She crossed her arms. “And who shall I say is making this request?”

  “I’m Steve of the Asterios Clan. This is Warlock Marcus Shifter, ambassador for the Delwinn Council.”

  She turned to me. “You’re from the Skilled?”

  I took a page from Steve’s sudden shift in tone. “Yes, and I’m here on behalf of my leadership to meet with the mighty Centaur clan. If you’re willing.”

  The Centaur stared at me for a long while. My heart raced. Had I been formal enough with my greeting? Not formal enough?

  “Very well,” she finally said, much to my relief. “I’ll see if our chief will be willing to speak with you. In the meantime, you’ll stay here with my two guards as your overseers. If you depart this camp, they’ll kill you. I’ll return in the morning with news.”

  “Thank you,” I replied. “And please pass along the Council’s thanks for the chief’s consideration as well.”

  “I shall.” She whispered to her companions, saluted us with her spear, then trotted off into the darkness. Her two friends took up positions on either side of us, glaring as they watched us sit back down.

  “Asterios?” I asked as we stoked the fire back to life.

  “There are a lot of different families within the clan. Asterios is mine.”

  “And here I thought Minotaurs only had singular names. Like rock stars or fashion gurus.”

  He gazed at me but didn’t say anything more.

  “Nice of you to jump in and handle the situation,” I said, switching topics.

  He relaxed a little. “Humans don’t have much influence in these parts. Minotaurs do. I figured it was better for me to take the lead on that one.”

  Damn, that was smart.

  I glanced at the Bobbsey Twins. “I suppose we have nothing better to do than wait.”

  Steve reached into his fanny pack and removed a bar of chocolate. “Want to make s’mores in the meantime?”

  Chapter 6

  One Hell of a Hand Basket

  “Body of a boy and horns of a bull, Pasiphae’s child was named Asterion. But he became ferocious, unable to find nourishment in the milk of his mother. Only the flesh of man seemed to sate his appetite.”

  —The Legend of Ariadne

  If sleeping on the Underground train was difficult, trying to do so under the watchful eye of two very large, unfriendly Centaurs was impossible. After an awkward hour of trying to have a normal conversation, Steve drifted off and began snoring loudly. I wiggled into my thick sleeping bag and gazed at the stars. Occasionally I’d glance at the Centaurs but received nothing in return except neutral expressions.

  Creepers.

  The fire was nothing more than crackling ash by the time the purple haze of dawn filtered through the trees. I gnawed on some jerky to stave off the hunger clawing at my belly, then brushed my teeth using water from one of the plastic jugs in my hiking bag. Realizing there was one more morning ritual to take care of, I walked toward the trees.

  Which was stupid because the tip of a sword appeared before my face.

  “Whoa, buddy,” I said, struggling to keep all my fluids inside. “Just heeding the call of nature.”

  “Lady Ochlea insisted that you not leave this camp.”

  “About that, I’d rather pee in the woods than where I am sleeping.”

  The Centaur glanced at his partner, who nodded.

  The first one grunted. “Very well. I’ll escort you.”

  An awkward few minutes later, I returned to find Steve wide-awake.

  “Enjoy your romantic walk?” he asked as the Centaur clomped back to his post.

  “Had to piss. Which was loads of fun with Meat-Gazer there hovering over me.”

  He gave the guy the once-over. “Lucky you.”

  “My bathroom needs aside, how are we looking?”

  “The fact that we survived the night is a good sign. Normally they don’t attack folks outside of their borders, so us staying here in neutral territory may have helped.”

  Fear shifted the jerky around in my stomach. “They pursued the Mimics out here.”

  “Centaurs are like honeybees. Leave them alone and they’re fine. Mess with their hive and they’ll chase you. The Mimics likely crossed the borders without realizing it. The survivors will steer well clear of the region in the future.”

  His simile made me miss my hives at the Homestead. Not that there was anything to do since the bees were all bundled up for the winter. Still, I couldn’t wait for spring to arrive so I could check on the girls.

  The cold of Maine bit at my nose, reminding me that was a long ways off.

  “The fact that the Mimics were moving as a pack bugs me,” I said. “They’re normally solitary creatures. Then again, a lot has changed lately. As the world shrinks, Mimics, like many other species, may begin banding together for protection.”

  “Kinda like what we’re trying to do out here.”

  I grinned. “Exactly so.”

  My smile disappeared as a low rumble filled the air. I wanted to reach for the comforting handle of my blade, but common sense told me to keep still. Either one of the guards would put an arrow through my face if I did anything that could be interpreted as threatening.

  Thankfully, the wait wasn’t long. Lady Ochlea galloped into view followed by half a dozen compatriots. They were all armed to the teeth, sporting a wicked mixture of bows, swords and spears.

  “Going for intimidation, I see,” I muttered.

  Steve chuckled. “That’s how paranormals roll, dude.”

  Further conversation was cut off as Lady Ochlea slowed. She’d bathed and changed into an elegant leather coat of green and brown. Her silky wheat-colored hair hung loose below her shoulders while her lips were painted a dark red.

  They didn’t have makeup out here. Did they?

  “Minotaur. Human,” she called, trotting into our camp. “Your request for an audience has been granted. Gather your belongings and follow us.”

  I dipped my head. “Thank you.”

  Steve bowed slightly as well, but his eyes stayed locked on the woman.

  We struck camp quickly, then fell in line with the Centaurs. We trudged through the muddy forest toward the wood-and-rope bridge Steve had spotted the night before. As we approached, Lady Ochlea halted.

  “Leave your equipment here, human.”

  “I mean no offense,”
I replied, “but I’m uncomfortable with the thought of being unarmed.”

  She blinked in confusion. “I’d never ask a weaker species to disarm. Your baggage, however, is a different matter. That must remain behind. It reeks of salted meat and unnatural balms. I’ll not let it befoul the pristine forests of my homeland.”

  Surprised, I dropped the backpack at the edge of the bridge, then adjusted the sword on my back. The Centaur waited till I was set, then led us over the water.

  In the human world, people’s homes carried a natural barrier. Even Normals, who lacked the magical abilities of the Skilled, were able to passively impart their persona into the walls of their houses. How it happened no one knows, but the barrier created a layer of protection between humans and supernatural predators that used to, and sometimes still do, prey upon them. The longer a person lived in that home, the more layers were imparted. It was the reason why hotel rooms always felt so cold and empty while castles practically reeked with the aura of their previous owners.

  My town house sported the equivalent of magical claymores and barbed wire. In addition to the standard layer my persona imparted into the walls, I’d added my own concoction of spells. The protective barrier was so powerful that the one or two times something inhuman tried to get at me, it was sucked so dry of magic it couldn’t do much more than fart.

  Which made it real easy to kill.

  Stepping into the Centaur homeland made the barrier of my town house feel like it was nothing more than papier-mâché. The magic of the perimeter met me the moment I reached the end of the bridge, and pressed hard against my senses. It was like running into a wall of molasses. As an invited guest, I was able to push through, but not without a great deal of effort. The barrier sealed behind me, smothering my Skill with energies far older and more mysterious than anything I’d dealt with before.

  I slowed as my senses realigned to the pressure of the Centaur magic. “Wow.”

  Steve huffed. “Yeah, these folks don’t mess around.”

  “Mind yourself, human,” Lady Ochlea said from above, “and you’ll have no issues. However, any unprovoked attack on my people will render you powerless.”