The Warlock Weapon (Hattie Jenkins & The Infiniti Chronicles Book 7)

by Pearl Goodfellow

  We studied the names and their corresponding numbers. Plenty of names we recognized from Shade and Eclipse’s earlier recon: The Krackplain’s, The Beastells, The Whitekills, and several other prominent Warlock family names. Next to the names was a row of numbers: From low to high, separated by just a dash.

  The rows went something like this: Name: Wartington. Se: 23,433 - 32,567.

  “Shame Shields’ name isn’t on here,” Eclipse said.

  “I noticed the absence of both Kramp and Bloodstag, too,” Onyx observed.

  “What do you think that means?” Fraidy said, pawing at the numbers columns.

  “I don’t know,” I confessed. “Maybe the amount of stones delivered?” I tried, feebly.

  “Looks more like a ‘range’ of goods delivered,” Carbon said, yawning. “Like, the Wartington family were given a batch of stones from a larger batch of rocks, I mean. So, Wartington’s got inventory from 23,433 - 32,567.” Carbon paused. “I think?”

  I scratched my head. “Maybe,” I said. “But, that would mean the Wartington’s got nearly ten thousand hematite stones. I dunno. That’s a heck of a lot of rock, and why would they be serialized like this?”

  “Any chance these stones could be individual weapons, like?” Shade asked, his voice quaking a little.

  Fraidy groaned. “I hope not. Because Wartington is pretty low on the incline,” Fraidy stabbed a paw at the ascending numerical rows again. He slid his paw down the ledger until the numbers increased. “Look, Wartington has been assigned from numbers 108,655 - 139,723.” His small head swiveled toward us.

  “If these numbers correspond to the amount of stones, and the stones are like bullets or bombs or something, then we’re in trouble because this list goes up to over one million.”

  Our heads leaned over the images on the device for a closer look. I felt a chill run through my veins, as I hoped against hope that my fear mongering cat had got it wrong.

  I pulled back from the screen and ran a hand through my hair. “Guys, let’s not jump the gun here,” I managed. “We don’t know anything about this hematite yet. It could be just used for garden ornamentation and the Warlock ceremonies as we’ve been led to believe by Zinnie and Ulrich. We have no idea yet whether this rock is used for Weaponry.”

  “You think Kramp was in on all this, though?” Eclipse asked. “Before he died? What if Barny just knew too much about this, and the powerful Warlock families, aka Shields, just wanted to be sure he wouldn’t spill, so they had him killed? To shut him up?”

  A silence fell over the room as we all leaned in again for a closer inspection. My cellphone shrilled, making us all nearly jump out of our skin. Or, fur.

  Carbon rolled off the table in a comical tumble.

  “David? I was just about to call you, we’ve found --”

  “Hat, not much time to talk, really, so listen carefully, okay?”

  I nodded, even though David couldn’t see me. My friend filled me in all of the pertinent stuff while I remained quiet on the other end of the line. My kitties gathered around me, looking at me with expectant faces while I listened. The chief finally finished his spiel, and I ended the call and put the phone back on the table.

  “Well?” Gloom said, her eyes bulging. “Spill.”

  “Orville cracked the device,” I said, staring at my kitties.

  “Okay, yep, yep, sounds good, right? I mean, that’s what we were trying to do, right? Get into that gadget? So, that’s good. Good for Orville, right? Yep.” Jet babbled as he paced the length of the table.

  “Shut up, Jet, you’re making me nervous,” Midnight said. “Boss lady, what did young Nugget find in the core?”

  “Hematite,” I whispered. I was instantly pinned by sixteen golden-orbed eyes.

  “It’s hematite at the core. And it’s infused with the Lost Language.” I felt like I was in a dream.

  “So, whoever activated the bomb that killed Kramp, used this language from a distance?” Carbon asked.

  “Looks that way,” I said.

  “Dare I ask, but has young Orville been given any indication as to what the numbers stand for?” Onyx asked, his voice steady.

  I nodded dumbly at my wise cat. “They’re serial numbers,” I said, waving my hand over the image on the iPad screen. “The gadget we have in our possession has a serial number of 721,332 - 846,984. Orville thinks it corresponds with a portion of stones that are currently in circulation.”

  Gloom gasped. “So, Fraidy was right? We have over a million of these harmful rocks floating around our isles? They’re weapons?”

  “Looks like it,” I replied. I felt the blood draining from my face. Had we been played? Had we been made to focus our energies on what lay inside Burning Peak, only to find that while we put our attention there, there was a vast and active weapons trade being played out under our noses? Had David and I made a mistake? The whole thing reeked of subterfuge.

  “Well, we need to get there. To Custodians HQ, right boss?” Shade interrupted my thoughts.

  I snapped out of my stupor, then.

  “No, buddy. No time. The Custodians will continue the work, but in the meantime, David has found the drifter. I’m to meet the Chief at the Mywrden Cliffs in thirty minutes so we can question Typhon,” I said, unplugging my phone from the iPad, and pulling back my hair in a ponytail.

  “Wait, why are you going to the bluffs to interview this Jyldrar, dude?” Carbon asked, jumping back up onto the table and stretching out. “Why not the station?”

  “Because, David said GIPPD is still swarming with Talisman suits. Apparently, they haven’t given up on the Warlock Grenade yet. David wants to question Typhon without the added ‘circus' of the Talisman administration.”

  “Makes sense,” Gloom said, nodding.

  “Any volunteers?” I asked. “I’ll need four of you.”

  I watched as four of my cats took one step backward. Onyx and Carbon weren’t so quick, however, and they were left at the front. Two of my cats actually stepped forward. Shade and Fraidy looked up at me, their whiskers twitching.

  “Looks like our bro’s brave-ometer is still on the up ‘n’ up,” Shade said, resting a brotherly arm across Fraidy’s shoulders.

  “You’re all brave. Every one of you,” I said. My cats peered at me, faces expectant, waiting for a cat-praising speech.

  “Come on, let’s go,” I said, shattering feline illusions. My fellow journeyers shrugged and followed me out the door.

  “Look, there’s the chief,” Carbon pointed to a solitary figure standing at the edge of the bluffs, looking over the tumultuous crashing of the Harbinger Ocean below him. David looked pensive. So lost in thought, he was, that he didn’t even notice our arrival until we pulled up directly behind him. CPI Trew turned. The sun was just setting, it’s bulk mostly obscured by slate gray clouds, but I saw a flash of the fiery orb in the chief’s eyes. David smiled and walked toward me.

  “Had enough of this craziness yet?” My friend joked.

  “I’m scared, David,” I blurted. My words surprised me. David grabbed my arm and pulled me into him. He wrapped his arms around me, and rested his chin on the top of my head. For a second I felt safe.

  “Me too, kiddo,” he murmured. He then pushed me at arm’s length. For a second I saw the falling sun ignite in his icy blue eyes again.

  “This way,” he said, and walked toward the edge of the cliff.

  “Hey,” Shade remarked looking out to sea. “I think Miss. Poof did a photo shoot out here.” He scanned the cliff face and the view below. “Yeah, this was the ‘Ocean Love’ collection,” he said proudly.

  “This doesn’t look terribly safe,” Onyx stated, as he gingerly picked his way through the undergrowth and loose stone of the tiny footpath.

  “We’re nearly there, O,” David said. “Keep your claws out; they’ll give you a little more traction.”

  Onyx’s claws sprang, and I could hear him clicking on the stones behind me as we snaked our way down the cliff fac
e into the broad mouth of a cave about ten feet down from the top of the bluff.

  “Cool,” Carbon said, loving the fact that he could light some fire to illuminate this dark cavern. He clicked his paw on the slick, black rock below our feet and a flame burst from between his toes.

  “That’s bet--”

  “I’m not sure your miniature fire will contend with the inferno that’s taking place down there,” Onyx interrupted, pointing his paw toward the back of the cavern.

  Sure enough, shadowy reflections on the glossy cave wall showed dancing flames of at least eight feet in height.

  Carbon screwed up his nose, and, like a bulldog, he charged over to the inferno’s source. Shade trotted after his brother, and the rest of us --Fraidy on my shoulder -- followed.

  We rounded the corner to a wall of flame. A blaze that licked burning forked-tongues in myriad directions. David and I held our arms up to our faces to ward off the intense heat. We watched the conflagration spread upward until it covered the roof of the cavern.

  “There’s the dude,” Carbon hissed over the racket of pop, fizz, and crackle. My cat flicked his head toward the right of the pyre. A man. Hunched close to the base of the inferno, throwing sticks into the blaze.

  He’s feeding it.

  “Typhon Jydlrar?” David shouted at the wall of flame.

  The man looked up. He stood, and walked with patient steps toward us.

  “Who’s asking?” The disheveled man came to a stop about six feet in front of where we stood.

  “Mr. Jyldrar, CPI Trew of GIPPD, we want to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay?” David asked, still shielding his forehead and eyes from the blaze.

  Jyldrar bobbed his head but said nothing.

  “Great,” David said. “Okay if we move away from the flames a little?”

  The drifter shrugged and followed us to a niche of rock that would shield us from the intense heat.

  “That’s a roaring fire you’ve got there,” I said, looking back at the inferno. Carbon, entirely in his element was stretched out in front of the flames, warming his belly. My pyro cat purred and gave the fire a tender ‘slow-blink.’ It was love.

  “I like fire,” the man said. His voice was gruff, and he had a thick accent. “I’m ….” he turned to face his handiwork, his face falling into a dance of light and shadow as the flames leapt. “....drawn to it,” he finished dreamily.

  I did not like that. Don’t ask me why, I just didn’t.

  I stared at the man’s throat. Buried under the soot, I could just make out that strange image that I’d seen before on this Typhon Jyldrar. A spiked tail of some sort. The arrowed tip of which nestled in the well below the man’s Adam's apple.

  “Typhon, can you tell us what you were doing at the scene of the blast on October Sixth?” The chief asked, squaring up to the drifter.

  “I was pulled there,” Jyldrar said. “Since I lost my identity I’ve been pulled in many unexpected directions.” The drifter smiled at the chief, exposing teeth that looked like rotting stubs of wood.

  “Tell us about this identity loss,” David humored. “We know so little about you.”

  “I cannot tell you anything that came before my new, purposeful life,” the drifter confessed. “I can only share the freedom I’ve experienced since the death of my false self.”

  “So, you’re saying you have amnesia?” I asked, leaning against the cavern wall.

  “That’s what the doctors say, but I know different. I could not take my baggage into this life.” Typhon said. “Anyway, I have no recollection of my life before I woke up a free man on Nanker Isle about three months ago.”

  “How did you get your name? You claim you’ve forgotten everything before Nanker, so how did you remember your name?” David asked.

  “My name was given to me in this, my new era. It came in a dream.”

  This guy was a crackpot.

  “You might think me a crackpot, but I am more than that. I am a man of chance and destiny. Wherever fate’s winds steer me, I do not resist.”

  I stiffened. Could this weirdo read minds? Onyx tapped my foot. “Blind luck,” he mouthed.

  Phew.

  “Well, I admire your free spirit, Mr. Jyldrar,” David said. “But, I wonder if you could reign it in a little, and tell us what you saw before the blast occurred?”

  “I saw nothing. But when I arrived --just seconds before the explosion -- I did sense a host of strange energies in the area.”

  “Okay, yep,” David tried, wiping a hand over his face. “So, apart from the bad vibes, did you see anything else? Anything from the material world?”

  “I have told your men already, David Trew,” Typhon said, staring at my friend with a look that resembled wonder.

  “I understand that,” the chief said. “But, maybe you heard something instead? A foreign tongue drifting in the air, perhaps? A language you didn’t recognize?”

  Typhon shook his head, and David went for the jugular. “Have you ever uttered the Lost Language, Mr. Jyldrar?”

  I scrutinized the man’s face, but the drifter’s expression was blank. Jyldrar shook his head. “In this life, my life of predestination, I know nothing of this language.” He paused. “But, I cannot promise that I did not know the tongue you speak of in my previous life.”

  I had a feeling this man had one too many bats in his belfry. His riddles were almost as frustrating as those of the Unseelies of Mag Mell.

  “Predestination?” David asked. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I merely mean my new life is already written in the stars. It has always been inscribed there.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I said. “So, tell us about some of your planned destinations within this predestination flight path, then.” I challenged him. We weren’t getting anywhere here, and I suspected the man knew nothing of any use, anyway. We were wasting time listening to his archaic tongue twisters, and I was losing patience. “Where are you headed? What places are you being drawn to?”

  “My story isn’t presented to me in its totality. It’s the same as you, and the chief inspector, here,” he said. “Our stories unfold as and when they should, revealing our fates one moment at a time. It is only when we look back on our lives that we see the clear and undeniable patterns we’ve locked into. The paths we have walked over and over again.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I have no further questions, chief,” I said, looking at my friend.

  David sighed. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Jyldrar,” he said softly. “We may call upon you again.” Good. CPI Trew didn’t feel entirely satisfied with the man’s answers either. I had a feeling we’d be speaking to the drifter again. Even if it had nothing to do with Kramp’s attempted murder.

  “Carbon, come on, buddy,” I said to my fireside cat. I couldn’t believe his whiskers weren’t singed he was so close to the inferno. My kitty lifted his head, looked at me, and then flopped down again. “Now!” I commanded. Carbon’s ears flattened, and he lifted himself, muttering under his breath while he stretched out his weary bones.

  We snaked our way out of the cavern and up the path toward our brooms. I filled in David about what we’d found, both at Zinnie’s and Shadow Supplies. I showed him my iPhone, and he flicked through the images as I explained that the numbers marked here corresponded with the black light activated markings on the boxes at Zinnie Kramps. The chief nodded.

  “So all this matches the serial numbers on the inside of the Warlock Weapon,” David said. “We have a problem here though. We didn’t have a warrant for any of this, Hat,” David explained. “We can’t use this … it’s inadmissible.”

  “I know, I know, and I realize we should have used conventional methods,” I said. “But, we both know that this kind of intel would never have been shared willingly.”

  David motorboated his lips. “True. I guess we can only hope that someone; some Warlock, is caught red handed with this stuff. Not that that will ever happen.”

  “Did we
find out from Kramp’s physician how many pills should be left in the bottle yet?” I asked, changing the subject. My mind felt like it was leaping from one random point to another. I just wished the leads would congeal a little faster.

  “Spinefield left Fitzcull a message. I’d imagine we’ll find out today at some point. I don’t believe Kramp offed himself, though. It just wouldn’t make any sense.”

  “I know,” I said, pulling at my chin. “What now? Wanna shoot over to North Illwind and find out a bit more about Deevie and Summer?” I knew this side-story wasn’t that pressingly relevant to the case, but my mind and heart kept wandering there.

  A buzzing sound butted in before David could answer. He put his phone to his ear.

  “Spinefield, what have you got?” The chief asked. His eyes widened as Spinefield relayed whatever news he had. “Are you positive? Have you triple checked with the doc?” I moved toward my friend, and mouthed “What is it?”

  “No, no that’s good. As long as you’re…. Spinefield, what’s all that noise? What’s going on?” David screwed up his eyes and pulled the phone away from his head. We could hear a commotion, some shouting, sounds of a scuffle. David pushed the phone back to his ear. “Spinefield?” He yelled. “What’s going on there?” The desk sergeant didn’t answer. We waited a full minute, listening to the loud scraping, noises, the shouts, sounds of pandemonium flying from the phone’s microphone.

  “Come on,” David said, already running to his broom, his phone still pressed against his ear. I mounted my steed, and my kitties hopped aboard.

  David was about to start flying, when he held up his finger, halting our takeoff.

  “Spinefield? What the dickens is happening, man?” The chief shouted. “What? Are you serious?” My friend whirled and looked at me, his finger still aloft. “I’m on my way. Bring as many men in as you can. Do it now.” David pocketed the phone.

  “What is it?” I said, searching for answers in my friend’s face.

  “Three separate incidents. Nearly all at the same time.” The chief swallowed. “Three Warlocks have been brought in. All of them caught with hematite explosive devices.” Onyx, Shade, and Carbon gasped in concert. Fraidy tensed and dug his claws into my collar bone