Paranormal Chaos

by Joshua Roots

  The surviving Mystics threw up their hands, dampening the area around them, but their actions were in vain. Apparently they’d learned nothing from the earlier battle. They died in shock, cut to ribbons by a force they’d never encountered and would never have the chance to understand.

  As the main force collapsed under the onslaught, I released the Earth Spell with one hand and reached for the electricity in a nearby streetlight. It popped, winking out of existence as I tore the element from it. The sparks raced toward me, but I redirected them to the darkness above. The makeshift lightning bolts ripped into the night sky with a blinding flash.

  The hail of bullets slowed and the needles in my hand lessened. Then the sound of gunfire ceased altogether, echoing into the distance. For a moment, the Mall was filled with the deafening silence that always followed a firefight.

  Headlights exploded with the intensity of small suns. I squinted, my eyes stinging from the sudden illumination. The pain eased as they slowly adjusted to the light.

  My knees turned to jelly as I gazed upon the scene. All around me, the bodies of fallen Minotaurs lay still, the survivors groaning in agony. Blood covered the ground, soaking into the dirt. The Mall, designed to reflect the beauty of American history, was now nothing more than a horrific killing field.

  A wave of nausea swept over me and I released my remaining control over the spell. The root system collapsed, wiggling back underground like long muddy worms. My hands, cut and bruised, would heal quickly. My mind, not so much. I flexed my fingers, struggling to ignore the residual feeling of enemies dying within my symbiotic grasp.

  Healers and military corpsman emerged from the shadow of the monument and rushed to the aid of the injured and dying. Joining them were hundreds of Normal military men and women from different branches, their weapons raised. They were prepared for a counterattack. Considering the evil that we’d just wrought upon the enemy, the likelihood of that was slim.

  Steve limped over to me, saying nothing as we both surveyed the Mall. This was the reality of war. Not the heroics in movies or the snarky grab-assing in bars. It was violence meted out on a horrific scale. It was hundreds of lives extinguished in an instant.

  I felt her long before I heard her. Her white-hot Skill reached me, then her arms. She enveloped me and I poured myself into her. Time stopped and all that existed was the calm harbor of Quinn.

  Then the dam broke as the weight of my actions finally hit me.

  Quinn traveled with me as I knelt and began sobbing. Tears ran down my cheeks, dropping onto the cold earth at my feet. I’d done what was necessary, but that didn’t make it any less atrocious.

  So I wept. For the dead on both sides, for my friends and loved ones who’d been in harm’s way, and for the awful choices I’d been forced to make over the last few weeks. I cried for Steve, for Pip, and for the nameless Mage who’d never spoken to me. I cried for Europa, Turina and the countless Minotaurs who’d be forever changed by Makha’s actions.

  Once those tears were shed, I wept out of relief. In a final, bloody wave, the short, terrible war had finally come to a close.

  “Warlock Shifter?” someone called in the distance. Quinn eased her grip on me. I swallowed, wiped my eyes, and we stood. My fiancée slipped her hand into mine as Devon and Wells walked toward us.

  “Elder, General.” I struggled to sound more composed than I felt.

  Wells studied me, her eyes filled with calculations rather than emotion.

  Devon’s expression, however, softened. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  I wasn’t so sure I was, at least not emotionally. Not yet, anyway. Instead I replied, “Thanks for not killing us.”

  I caught the barest of grins beneath his beard. “We aim to please.”

  “Speaking of the dead,” I said, “ours in the Underground—”

  He held up a hand. “Will be recovered. The general is already gathering a unit for the mission.”

  “We also have wounded there. A small detachment of Makha’s forces, to include Mystics, are guarding them. They won’t know the war is over.”

  “We’ll plan accordingly,” Wells answered.

  “Let me go in first,” Steve interjected. “I’ll explain what happened. That should avoid any more bloodshed.”

  Her thin eyebrows ticked up. “I’m not so sure that—”

  “I’m the Heir. They’ll listen.”

  She looked to Devon, who nodded.

  “Very well.”

  Steve relaxed. “Thank you.”

  She offered a tight smile, then gazed at the carnage around us, whistling softly. “Hell of a plan, Warlock. Drawing them into the open like that.”

  “You can thank Steve here. He kept saying that Minotaurs are used to fighting up close and they specialize in mazes. It wasn’t till the end that I realized we didn’t stand a chance in the Underground. But here—” I waved at the death all around us. “This is our turf. Our battlefield.”

  “I’m surprised Makha allowed you to lead him here,” Devon said.

  “Makha may have been a brilliant tactician, but his understanding of the world outside was small. This was his first venture into the human realm and he grossly underestimated the Normals.”

  “And Marcus,” Steve added. “We simply preyed upon that weakness.”

  Wells grinned slightly. “Hell of a plan, indeed.”

  A young enlisted kid ran up to our group and saluted her. “Higher is on the horn for you, ma’am.”

  “Pardon me,” she said to us.

  I took a step forward. “Before you go, General. You didn’t nuke their homeland, did you?”

  She paused. “No.”

  “But you would have.”

  “Yes.”

  Damn.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me.” She didn’t wait for a response, she simply marched off.

  Devon watched the General walk back toward the lights. “You have an unconventional way of thinking, Marcus. And a stunning ability to piss off almost any authority figure.”

  “That is also my superpower.”

  His beard twitched, but I couldn’t tell if it was a smile or a frown. “Well done” was all he offered, then followed in the wake of Wells.

  “That may be the first compliment that old jerk has ever given me.”

  Quinn gripped my hand. “Hopefully it won’t be your last.”

  I pulled her to me once again. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything, not the least of which was managing that concealment spell. It saved the day. But how’d you cover so many people for so long?”

  “I had some help.”

  I frowned.

  “Devon’s not all bad,” she said.

  I looked at the old man as he chatted with a Marine officer in the distance. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Face set in stone, Steve stepped toward the battleground. “Guys, we have one last piece of business to attend to.”

  Quinn kissed me. “You two go. I have to get back to Millie anyway. She demanded I tell her you’re okay.”

  I held her tight, soaking in her warmth once last time before releasing her.

  “I love you.”

  She gave my arm a squeeze, then jogged back toward the monument.

  Man, I was a lucky guy.

  Sadly, I was one of the few that night.

  My stomach roiled as Steve and I wound slowly through the killing field. Some bodies were nothing more than shattered husks. Others, disturbingly peaceful in death.

  “Such brutality,” I whispered.

  Steve nodded. “We had no choice.”

  “I know, but no matter how necessary, war is always terrible.”

  Always.

  We found Makha abo
ut a hundred meters from the base of the Washington Monument. His breath was ragged, and blood seeped from several holes in his chestplate. His eyes swiveled to us as we approached.

  “Treachery,” he wheezed.

  I gazed down at him. “Victory.”

  I thought I’d feel more emotion, but by then I was too spent.

  He tensed in pain.

  Steve knelt, taking the Alpha’s hand.

  “Tricked,” Makha rasped. “Cut down by lesser beings.”

  “You failed to study your enemy.”

  Makha coughed, his chest rattling. “I am the nuktheria. Showed you a weakness.”

  Steve shook his head. “No, Makha. You are the Minotaur. Only you never left the Labyrinth.”

  The Alpha’s eyebrows pinched together.

  “Our species must learn to adapt to the world as it is,” Steve said, “not force upon it the one we remember. Cooperation and tolerance are what it means to be civilized.”

  Makha’s jaw clenched. Then he nodded slowly. “Hail, Alpha,” he whispered.

  “Hail, Alpha,” I replied.

  His eyes fluttered and he gasped. His hand spasmed several times, then he went still.

  Steve sat there for a long time, his body still as a statue. I stood behind him, waiting. Eventually he placed the warrior’s hands on his chest and slid the large broadsword under them. He pressed three fingers against his heart. “May the gods welcome you home.”

  Then he stood, pulling himself to his full height. Head high, he scanned the battlefield, soaking in the death and destruction we’d caused. When he spoke, his voice was strong and commanding.

  “This was a high price to pay for victory. I’ll make sure our scholars don’t glorify this tragedy.”

  “But they should remember it. We all should.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Lights flashed in the distance as sirens began to draw near. With the Minotaur threat neutralized, the city would slowly return to its old self. By morning, the bloodstained ground and the stories of survivors would be all that remained of the battle.

  I looked up at my friend. “So. Now what?”

  The new Alpha inhaled deeply. “Now we figure out how to patch our worlds back together. But this time, we do it as friends.”

  Chapter 23

  Recovery

  “In Camicus, Minos’s riddle of the seashell was solved and he knew Daedalus was there. When he demanded the head of the great inventor, King Cocalus convinced the man to take a bath. There, under the vengeful hands of Cocalus’s daughters and the inventor himself, Minos, the great king and enslaver of the mighty Minotaur, met his end.”

  —The Legend of Ariadne

  A month later, both the human and paranormal worlds were still trying to pick up the pieces. We’d buried and mourned the dead, mended shattered homes, and reunited survivors with loved ones. Weapons, many of which like mine were family heirlooms, were recovered and returned to their owners or the next of kin.

  Bit by bit, the various species had worked together to repair the devastation. Through it all, we struggled to deal with the shock of how close we’d come to being defeated by Makha.

  And how much we all had to lose.

  The Council chamber was blissfully warm, a welcome break from the miserable cold outside. Yet despite the snow and chill, the number of attendants for the first day of this summit was surprisingly high. Dad smiled at me from his spot among the Elders while Jethrow nodded from one of the tables close to the front. I nodded back, thankful that time had allowed the rift in our friendship to heal.

  Hundreds filled the balcony above the chamber floor. Dozens of familiar faces looked down at me. My old pal LaDell, Mick and his fiancée, Elsa, Arbent, Helga, Alistair and countless others. Even Ray the Canadian truck driver sat among the sea of beings. It was startling to see so many of my own kind in attendance, but the sheer number of nonmagical spectators was stunning. I smiled at the sight of Click, Clack and their father, the three of whom seemed to soak in their surroundings with awe and joy.

  Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of a new world for all of us.

  Buried among the crowd was Mom, who beamed. Dressed in her whitest formal leathers, she waved unabashedly. Next to her, Quinn, decked out in a similar Huntress outfit, winked. I waved back at the pair, grateful to have such strong, amazing women in my life.

  “Good afternoon, everyone,” Devon said, pulling my attention to the front. The murmuring quieted and everyone turned to the Elder. “To those who have been here before, thank you for joining us again. To our newcomers, allow me to be the first to formally welcome you to our chambers. We are honored that so many new paranormals are in attendance for this historic conference.”

  Light applause rippled through the room.

  From my seat at the far corner, I had a sense of déjà vu. But unlike the previous meeting when we hosted the core allies of the paranormal world, there were dozens of new species occupying seats. I was pleased that the Centaurs, represented by Chief Phrixus and Lady Ochlea, had chosen to come. They stood tall and proud in their makeshift paddock and each sported long scars along their flanks. I’d heard several tales about their heroic actions during the defense of their homeland. If even half of them were true, Steve had been frighteningly accurate with his prediction of the battle.

  Joining us for the first time were the skittish Pixies. The tiny humanoids flitted back and forth across their table, chattering with one another in squeaky voices. I was glad they’d also agreed to participate because it meant we were reaching a new level of negotiations with some of the more obscure or isolated species.

  Even more startling than the Pixies, however, was the small pack of Werewolf representatives. Each sported thick winter coats that shone in the artificial light. Their black eyes scanned the room while their snouts, most of which were peppered with gray, sniffed the air. Notoriously wary of humans, they’d shocked the entire paranormal world by volunteering to attend before Devon had sent the formal invitation.

  Sadly, the Vampires had once again declined the invitation. Maybe someday they’d accept, but for now, they’d opted to remain secluded.

  Guess you can’t win them all.

  One creature I was overjoyed to see among the paranormals was Gol’dath. The Troll was beat to hell, one arm in a sling and cuts all over his body, yet he grinned wide. How he’d managed to survive was still a mystery, but he’d agreed to share his war stories with me over several mugs of strong ale.

  The other leaders who’d fought the war were in equally rough shape. The Dwarf king leaned back, his leg wrapped in twenty pounds of gauze and resting on the desk. The Fae queen was a darker shade of blue in some areas while the Satyr crone had added several scars to her lined face.

  Even the head librarian for the Bookworms looked like he’d seen some action, most likely during the retreat to the caverns. He’d fared much better than the others, escaping with only a swollen lip and blackened eye.

  Seeing him, I thought of Pip. My heart ached. The poor guy had deserved better.

  Of all the leaders, it was Lady Galesh who stood out the most. Her flawless skin was unscathed and her demeanor no different than before. She gazed upon the room with cool, distant eyes. Yet despite her haughty posture, I could sense uneasiness bleeding from her as the scowls of the other leaders bore into her.

  Then there was Steve, who was seated on the other side of the chambers. Dressed in a jerkin of expensive leather and his horns polished to a shine, he radiated power and leadership. Attendants in their finest wool and leather surrounded him, poised to jump at his every command.

  His security detail, on the other hand, stood rigid behind him. Chief among them were Lythos and Enneticia, both of whom continually scanned the room for any threats. I highly doubted anyone would mess with Steve or h
is people, especially with the war officially over. But as my buddy once told me, sometimes it was smart to be paranoid.

  I tried to get his attention, but he was busy writing something. As I watched him furiously put pen to paper, I wondered what the future held for him and his people. By killing Makha, he’d officially claimed the position of Alpha. No doubt that would require him to return to his homeland. He’d be an amazing leader, but the thought of losing my brother caused my soul to ache.

  But maybe that kind of sacrifice was part of the growing-up process. Some had to let their loved ones go. Others took on the yoke of responsibility, carrying the burdens of their people for a while.

  He finished his task, then held his paper up at me. He’d written the word Ass and an arrow pointing at Devon. I snorted, covering my laughter with a loud cough.

  “These past few months have been bloody for all of us,” Devon continued, giving me a withering glare as I reclaimed my bearing. “Every creature in this room has suffered great loss. We’ve all witnessed the devastation and experienced the death that comes in the wake of combat. War is always horrific, always ruinous. But sometimes a new and better world can rise from the ashes of destruction. It’s for this very reason that we have invited you all here today.”

  He signaled to the side of the chambers. Dozens of pages filled the aisles, handing out thick reams of yellow parchment.

  “Over two decades ago, the Skilled forged a treaty with the Normals, officially ending persecutions that had lasted countless generations. The two societies had long since resolved their differences, so the treaty was nothing more than an act of formality. A chance for both sides to step into the light and publically address one another as friend. At the time, reconciliation with the Normals was the most important step in reshaping our future and, in an effort to please everyone at once, we including the paranormals at the last minute.”

  A kid barely out of training shoved a huge stack of parchment into my hands, then moved to the next table. I glanced over the document, admiring the long, scrolling Latin.