The Preternatural Chronicles: Books 0-3
Page 52
“A lesson that cost a man his life, and a family their provider,” I responded coldly while shutting my eyes to avoid looking at her. I didn’t deserve her compassion. I deserved to be slathered in cooking grease and left in the middle of Death Valley at dawn.
“A lesson all the same, John,” Lily said a little more harshly. “Now stop being a victim, learn from your mistakes, and grow.” Her words were stern, but she was right.
I cried then. Like, ugly cried, with snot oozing out of my nose while drool escaped my mouth and ran into my beard. Lily embraced me as I collapsed to my knees. My head rested on her stomach as she stroked my head.
After a full minute, it was over. I wiped my eyes with my hand, and my nose with my sleeve. “Growing sucks.”
“I understand. Feel better?”
Sniffling, I said, “Yeah, actually. Thanks. I needed that.”
“Now,” Lily began, a wry smile forming, “you were saying something before we were interrupted when we last spoke?”
“Give me time,” I answered, staring into gorgeous eyes that made my knees weak.
“I understand. Luckily, we have all the time in the word.” She planted a loving, gentle kiss on my lips before shifting planes, leaving me puckering the air.
“Being immortal has it’s perks,” I said with a warm smile growing on my face.
Epilogue—Part 2
From the darkness, perched on top of a building overlooking an alley, sat a featureless black cat. Fierce purple eyes the color of glowing amethysts watched with interest as the fat vampire got lucky and killed an angel before stumbling around like a drunkard. Taking advantage of the vampire’s lack of attention, a shadow paw was held up and extended into the alley, stretching like taffy at the fair. While being careful to avoid the light, the paw morphed into a massive clawed hand and grasped the angelic sword by the hilt. With the vampire still distracted by his own actions, the shadow hand smoothly lifted the sword from its concrete sheath before pulling it into the darkness; there, the large hand reverted back to a normal cat’s paw.
Scowling at the abomination with an intense hatred, the feline watched as the foolish vampire realized the weapon was missing before starting to panic and stumbling to a white car that had pulled up. The cat made of shadow lifted its front legs into the air and began to grow like Alice after she ate the cake labeled “Eat Me.” Unlike Alice, however, the cat began to morph into a hulking mass as tall as a house and the color of midnight. A Cheshire grin with gleaming white teeth as sharp as razors spread on its face. Hands that ended in three thick fingers extended from above the roofline to wrap around the angelic body covered in celestial armor. The shadow monster reeled in its huge prize as easily as a child picking up their favorite stuffed animal.
As the lifeless body and holy sword began to be swallowed by the darkness on the roof, the shadow monster shrunk back down to once again become a featureless black cat. The stupid vampire noticed, then, what had transpired in his distracted state, and almost made the cat cry out in delighted mirth.
With everything in place, the cat began to fade into the darkness, amethyst eyes and gleaming smile winking out.
If you enjoyed John’s shenanigans, turn the page for a sample of SHADOW OF A DOUBT—book 3 in the Preternatural Chronicles.
Or get your ebook copy HERE:
argentopublishing.com/l/1306080
Shadow of a Doubt (Book 3)
Epigraph
“Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.”
William Shakespeare
“I am the author of my life. Unfortunately, I am writing in pen and cannot erase my mistakes.”
Bill Kaulitz
“Real unicorns hate rainbows.”
Shayne Silvers
Prologue
Water dripped incessantly every few seconds in the dark, freezing prison. There were no windows in Queen Mab’s dungeon, so Oberon—the once king of all of Faerie—had no idea how much time had passed since his imprisonment. Had it been years? Decades? Only the water kept him company.
Oberon refused to scream or lash out, knowing Mab would relish any show of emotion. Instead, he sat in meditation, dreaming of what he would do once he escaped. As he closed his eyes, his estranged wife flowed to the forefront of his thoughts, and he remembered.
Oberon had danced with the idea of absorbing the Unseelie Court for centuries. Though he had proclaimed himself King of all Faerie, he had known in the back of his mind that it was only in name. Everyone had been aware of Queen Mab and her unquestioned rule over half of Faerie. Therefore, the time had come to stop fantasizing over being the one true king. The time had come to attack and make it a reality. No one would dare question or doubt King Oberon. Not even in private.
Tatiana had argued with her husband over the necessity of the Winter and Autumn Courts.
“We could rule them better than that bitch sitting on the throne,” Oberon had roared in his blinding anger. Tatiana had simply stood with arms crossed and glaring at her husband. Taking a deep breath, Oberon had softened his tone and pleaded, “Imagine it; Spring and summer in perpetuity! Flowers would always bloom, while full trees would wave in the warm wind! We can make it that way, wife.”
“There can be no light without darkness, dear husband. We need the winter and autumn just as they need the summer and spring. It is this perfect dance of balance and equality that gives way to life in Midworld.”
“Who cares about Midworld!” Oberon had bellowed, losing what small semblance of control he had had over his emotions. “I want that throne, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!” As Oberon had turned to leave and prepare his private army, he had been surprised when his opinionated wife had said nothing. Now he knew why. She had betrayed him by warning Mab about his intentions of overthrowing the Unseelie Court. Mab had been waiting with Tatiana by her side. The loyal army of King Oberon had faltered and kneeled before the combined queens of Faerie, leaving the king alone to face the Unseelie.
Oberon had refused to accept his fate and had battled everything that had been thrown at him. Frost giants wielding ice clubs, elves with blue eyes and skin casting dark magic, shrieking banshees, and even a cyclops had fallen to Oberon’s blade and prowess. It wasn’t until Tatiana had stood in front of him as he swung his sword that he had hesitated, allowing for Queen Mab herself to cast the powerful spell that had frozen the king in place. All of Faerie had known about his defeat and subsequent imprisonment.
“Bitch,” Oberon barked through bared teeth. His face was sore from scowling for so long in the darkness. “You’re going to pay for this, dear wife—both of you will.”
Oberon could feel his fists shaking as wrath built a fire in his core that made his skin crawl.
“Maybe I can be of assistance,” purred a smooth, female voice from the darkness.
Startled, Oberon’s eyes shot open only to be flooded with absolute blackness. Two amethysts appeared a few feet away from him, followed by a gleaming smile of sharp teeth. Oberon was perplexed at how teeth could shine in the complete absence of light.
“Who might you be, specter?” Oberon asked in the tone of someone who was used to being the authority in the room.
“A humble servant of the one true king of Faerie,” cooed the voice as the smile grew to a full Cheshire grin.
1
“It’s been taken care of. The limo driver’s family has received a sizable life insurance check that they hadn’t known about.”
“Thank you, Da. I mean it. I-I don’t know what I’d do without you, man,” I admitted in a heartfelt tone.
“They’ll be financially secure for generations to come,” Da explained without making eye contact with me. This wasn’t the first time he had had to clean up a sizable mess.
I noticed his reserved tone and distant posture.
“It was an accident,” I lamely tried to explain with my hands out and palms up in a gesture that pleaded understanding.
“I—” I started, my words getting caught in my throat.
“—need to go see Father Thomes and ask for forgiveness,” Da suggested tersely while returning his attention to the spreadsheet on his iPad.
I took his subtle cue and left my Fortress of Solitaire without another word, shame stealing my voice.
The night was warm and humid, with thin clouds rolling overhead. Instead of sprinting to the church, I decided to walk and assess my thoughts. Father Thomes was going to be less than pleased with me for killing another completely innocent human. Lilith, how much tar had I thrown on my already blackened soul this time? Thirty years of trying to bleach my sins might have been undone in a few moments of careless rage.
Some time passed with me dragging my feet before I looked up and saw the church of Father Thomes Philseep. Taking a deep, preparing breath, I stepped onto the landing and stood before the heavy front door.
As usual, the door began to open without having to knock. It was downright spooky that he always knew when I was at the front door. I just assumed Da let him know when I was coming, but then again, my friend and mentor did have holy abilities that I personally didn’t know the limits to.
Father Thomes stood at the front door wearing his traditional priest getup, complete with the white collar atop his black robes. Lately, he had a slight hunch to him and kind of shuffled as he walked, signifying that my mortal friend was, indeed, aging. It felt like the blink of an eye since we had first met nearly three decades ago. He had already been middle-aged then, but now, I constantly questioned how much longer I had with him.
A thought struck that first made my worry grow before souring and sickening me: Did we have enough time to undo the damage I had done with the limo driver? It disgusted me that I was more worried about my own selfish desires than the well-being of the priest who had risked everything to work with a vampire with over five hundred years of sin on his soul.
Father Thomes, who had been smiling, must have seen something he didn’t like on my face because his jovial expression faltered.
“What is it, my son?”
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I exhaled slowly.
Many words could be used to describe me: buff, witty, merciless, and sexual tyrannosaur; but contrite was usually not one of them. So when Father Thomes saw my expression and heard the tone of my voice, he knew I had done something catastrophic.
Feeling the situation, Father Thomes nodded somberly while letting the door open all the way. I followed him inside as he shuffled toward a stone staircase that led deep into the ground, the door creaking shut behind us as if on its own volition.
After making our way to the bottom, Father Thomes walked to the end of a lamplit hallway with doors on either side. Turning a knob on the wall above the fireplace, a warm flame sprang to life, dancing its excitement at being born.
Turning, Thomes slowly sat with a groan in his favorite padded reading chair. The thought had never occurred to me until right then that maybe the wooden pews where we normally had our conversations were too uncomfortable for his elderly frame now.
Thomes sat and looked at me expectantly.
If I could sweat, it would look like I had just gotten out of the shower, I was so nervous.
After a drawn-out, deep inhale that I held for a moment, I released my breath and relayed the whole story. I held nothing back as I described how I had mentally decimated a mortal’s mind while in a fury, at which time I had had to make a decision.
“I just don’t know if it was the right choice, Father Thomes,” I said with a furrowed brow while his stony face processed my blunder.
“John, I know we agreed that I would forgive you for your sins when I first took you under my wing, but this…this is egregious, even for you.”
My heart sunk as he spoke. I could feel my shoulders slump as my gaze lowered to the ground in submission. I stared at the floor as the light from the fire danced across the rug.
“Deus, Pater misericordiárum, qui per mortem et resurrectiónem Fílii sui mundum sibi reconciliávit et Spíritum Sanctum effúdit in remissiónem peccatórum, per ministérium Ecclésiæ indulgéntiam tibi tríbuat et pacem. Et ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” As Father Thomes finished the passage for absolution of sin, he made the sign of the cross. I wanted to sob, knowing I didn’t deserve forgiveness, but relieved to receive it.
“Amen,” I said softly while screwing my eyes shut, feeling the relief wash over me.
“There is still much to be done for penance, John.”
With a grateful, understanding tone, I said, “I know, Father. The physics of religion. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, and all that.”
“I’m glad you understand, my son.”
After a closing pause on the subject, I decided to change the topic so as not to press my luck on forgiveness.
“How’s he doing?” I asked, sitting up straight again in my seat and thumbing back toward the hallway. I was already feeling like my old self again.
Just a few doors down the hall from where we sat was my maker, Ulric, who had tried to kill me a few times too many. Father Thomes had promised to watch over him and keep him in his vampire-specific cell. This would ensure that he didn’t die and make me the last vampire, which would cause the apocalypse. You should already know this unless you are some sort of roulette-playing sadist who picks up a book series at random.
“The blood supply has been an invaluable asset.” Father Thomes was referencing the blood bank that my five-inch faerie companion was in the process of setting up for me. “Though he isn’t drinking as much as I would like.”
“I am honestly surprised that he is drinking at all. Figured he’d be all depressed and stuff,” I said, feeling the warmth of the flames blazing in a fireplace that was so big a person could escape through it—I should know.
“We came to an understanding,” Father Thomes said without a trace of levity. It made my blood run cold…er that he could force Ulric to act according to his will. Then again, I couldn’t be that surprised—the dude had God on speed dial. Plus, our first meeting had been a quick but epic battle that had showcased the immense power he could wield.
“He sleeps most of the time, waking only to feed,” Father Philseep continued.
“Yeah, he sure does enjoy his catnaps.” I thought about Ulric’s affinity for slumber and how it had ultimately tipped the scales of power in my favor. Even though he had been more than two hundred and seventy years older when he had made me, he had been asleep for almost four hundred years in his combined lifetime. It was also worth mentioning that the last sleep he had partaken in had been forced by me when I had burned him alive and left nothing but a skeleton, or so I’d thought. Now I knew that some small portion of him had remained—probably the brain—and that he had slept while on the brink of death until he had been somehow brought back—perhaps by lazy writing or something.
Looking back on that fateful night in London, it had been for the best that I’d put his fire out before his body had been wholly consumed, otherwise Armageddon could have started right then and there. At least now I had allies and a better understanding of how to stop the final battle between Heaven and Hell. On the flip side of that optimistic coin: if the final battle did commence, then all souls that have ever existed, whether above or below, would be collateral. So, delaying the end of times by a few years could be regarded as a moot point, if not negligible, in the grand scheme of things. Either way though, a lot of people were counting on me.
“How is Locke adjusting?” Thomes asked, referring to my warlock archnemesis turned tenta
tive ally.
A few weeks ago, we had had a glorious battle indeed, worthy of a series on HBO—BUT only with the prerequisite that the final epic battle was so dark that no one was able to see what was actually happening. Oh, and the big bad guy we’d spent years learning to fear was killed while serving zero purpose. Winter must’ve been a guy because it had left as quickly as it had come, with the recipients left unsatisfied and alienated.
But back to what I was saying: Locke had killed my family when I was still human, and I had spent several years tracking him down as a vampire before realizing he had probably died of old age at the very least. PLOT TWIST—He had been sent back to Earth to serve as Satan’s lackey and to piss in my Cheerios. I hadn’t known at the time that he was the same commander who had killed my mother and father, because the Devil had burned his face, forcing Locke to wear a mask. Plus, he had changed his name from Commander Godwin to Nathanial Locke, the warlock. How lame was that? Fast forward a tad bit and I ripped Locke’s head off, finally avenging my family, only to have said head delivered to me on a cardboard platter. Oh, and it had still been alive! Creepy, right? Locke had sworn he hadn’t had a choice and regretted everything he had done while begging us not to let him go back to Hell, and blah blah blah.
I’d been really trying to better myself lately, seeing as how I was over five hundred years old and should probably put the nightlife behind me and mature a smidge. Ask me if it had been easy to forgive Locke.
Go ahead.
Fuck no, it hadn’t. What kind of stupid question was that? Seriously, did you even read the series in order? Anywho, I had forgiven him—as best as I could—and also helped him make a new body. He was really growing to love it.
“Locke is doing fine, actually. He’s relearning his powers in his new body, and even doing the dishes,” I said with a serious face. “Though I did have to buy a step stool so he could crawl up to reach the sink…and the fridge…and the toilet.” The corners of my lips tugged up in a smile I only kind of tried to conceal.