Brookwater's Curse Volume Three: Extinction Agenda

By Steven Van Patten

Armed with a new, prestigious title and his family and friends still at his side, vampire Christian Brookwater has spent the last four years helping to cure the werewolves of their insatiable bloodlust. The only problem is that his funding is coming from vampire taxes. Christian is about to be called on the mat for it and must defend himself on national vampire television. If that isn't enough to contend with, a vengeful goddess with ties to the Original Vampires begins uniting old enemies, encouraging betrayals and murdering friends. Christian's closest allies, Jeremiah The Werewolf King and Caleb the shape-shifting rachasa, must step up and have his back like never before , as The Heroes of Osaka find themselves assailed from all sides. Personal drama also unfolds as Christian and his second in command, Helen, each find themselves embroiled in separate but equally volatile love triangles, one of which will result in a surprising fatality. Secret alliances will be revealed, deals will be brokered, villains will emerge and heroes will rise. Most shocking of all, Christian Brookwater will discover that he is and always has been MORE THAN A VAMPIRE!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9780990791775

Book preview

Ahmbria.

Prologue

Lord Ebichara Tanata lay sprawled along his bed, with one black and purple striped sheet partially covering his naked body. Despite still having multiple wives and concubines, the ruler of the vampire nation for the past four relatively peaceful years had become increasingly cantankerous and preferred to sleep alone. Unfortunately, that meant he would have to thrash about and suffer through his nightmares without a loving female hand to stir him awake and comfort him.

Of course, the stoic samurai would never admit to having a bad dream once he awoke. Even as a small child, he had never been one to call for his mother in the middle of the night, no matter how frightened he was. And now, as a centuries old warlord, his hardened nature would never allow him to confide in others or accept coddling of any kind.

In his dream, Lord Tanata saw a tall, raven-haired woman who was swarthy to the point of being Mediterranean. She seemed to exude confidence as she tore away at something metallic like an angry Amazon. Adorned in the armor of an ancient gladiator, she held a spear in her hand. The weapon had etchings of a forgotten language running down its side. Her bosom was ample, but seemingly scarred from long ago battles, and her tattooed shoulders glittered in the moonlight. At her side stood a large animal, whose reins she suddenly grabbed with her free hand as she mounted it. It should have been a horse, but shadows obscured the actual nature of the beast. The only hints as to what the creature was were the ornate, grey speckled pattern that crisscrossed the thing’s wide chest and a pair of angry, bright yellow eyes, each socket bigger than a grown man’s head.

A terrible, unearthly screech filled the air as the warrior woman and her ‘steed’ were suddenly carried upward. Wings flapped and bent the wind to their will, as the sky filled with ferocious birds of prey. The wrath in their yellow eyes intensified, as razor sharp talons descended from above, clawing at his face. It was as if he had been found spying on the Grecian she-devil and her winged brood, and the price he’d have to pay for his intrusion would be the very eyes he dared to use to gaze upon that which would eventually comprise his doom.

But the truth is, she had wanted him to see what she doing. Why let him see the robbery, otherwise?

We’re coming for you, samurai…

His eyes open hard and fast, and his chest swells with a sudden dull ache from catching his breath. Then, just as he finishes telling himself he’s fine, he hears the scratching. The timbre alone suggests one thing-- claws against a dirty window.

Flying out of bed, he grabs a nearby katana and runs to his balcony. Sword in his right hand, he lets his fangs extend as he flings open the sliding doors. A breeze blows the drapes away just as a large winged animal lifts off the balcony banister and into the brightening tapestry that is an October sunrise in downtown Osaka.

As the owl flies away from Tanata Tower, the confused Lord of All Vampires feels the uneasiness grip him in his belly. Backing away from the window slowly, he quickly controls his breathing and heads back to his dark bedroom. Somewhere out there, a female demon rider is thinking about him. And now, he will spend a sleepless day waiting for her.

Chapter 1

A Vampire, A Werewolf, A Rachasa and a Human Walk Into A Bar…

What the hell do you mean, you haven’t seen her in three months? Christian demanded.

Just what I said, Jeremiah answered. She claimed there was a problem in Colorado, and I haven’t seen her since.

Christian, I already told him it was bullshit, Stephen Buja interrupted as he walked a step behind the two handsome monsters.

Christian was not so much bothered by the idea that Jeremiah was letting himself be taken advantage of, or ‘played’ as the kids say. As far as Christian saw it, that was already an established dynamic in the relationship Jeremiah shared with Lily, the Werewolf Queen. What bothered him was the fact that he had seen Jeremiah several times within the queen’s three-month absence and this was the first Christian was hearing of it.

Your love life aside, Lily being missing is a serious issue, Christian chided. You guys are supposed to be providing leadership to the werewolf packs, not vacationing in Colorado.

Dude! People are going to hear you! Jeremiah hissed, noting the people bustling all around them in the crowded streets of New York’s Hell’s Kitchen area.

No one on this street is listening to me, Christian dismissed. And even if they were, I don’t care at the moment. I’m taking serious heat for the Werewolf Rehabilitation Project. And I still can’t believe I have to do this fuckin’ interview tomorrow.

Earlier that night, before deciding where he and Jeremiah were taking Stephen for his twenty-eighth birthday, Christian had lamented about having to appear on Vampire’s Weekly. The talk show, broadcasted over an encoded and strenuously password protected website, was a product of the vampire nation’s newfound interest in availing itself to Internet usage. Ironically, the inspiration for the building of an Internet based television network for vampires had been drawn from Stephen Buja’s successful use of that very technology during The Battle in Osaka. Jackson Witherspoon, a traditional conservative and rabid supporter of the old vampire regime under Emmanuel, hosted this show that Christian was expected to appear on. While many vampires had witnessed the events that took place in Japan on their computer screens and walked away feeling that the right side had emerged triumphant that night, Witherspoon from his first broadcast in 2004, began ranting mercilessly against Lord Tanata’s rule. He also slipped in a few choice remarks regarding how Christian murdered Antonio Caramano only to inherit everything the celebrated vampire earned.

For this alone, Christian would have killed Witherspoon with the same nonchalance that he would drink a glass of blood with a salmon dinner. However, Lord Tanata took on a more diplomatic position. The vampire samurai lord felt that killing the critic would make him no better than Emmanuel. So he spared the talk show host, and all but ignored him until it became clear that the talk show host might actually succeed in turning other vampires against his rule. The key to this would be the public defense of the Werewolf Rehabilitation Project that Christian was the administrator of.

This Witherspoon fellow has earned a following. I need you to go on the show, Lord Tanata instructed Christian during a phone call a few hours ago. I need you to explain why we still need the program, and why we will all benefit in the long run. You winning the debate with him will not only put an end to his complaining, it would undoubtedly sway his followers back to our side.

Christian believed that while Lord Tanata certainly had a point, the problem could have been resolved by simply appearing on the network in a press conference setting as the new leaders of the monstrous world. That way, they could plead their case without the hysteria of juggling some fame happy TV host and his underhanded agenda at the same time.

Christian’s argument would be a simple one. The vampires who were reacting to the rehab project negatively, were in many ways taking the same stance that many humans do when they discover that their tax dollars are being spent on social programs that provide education, healthcare or food to those less fortunate. Instead of realizing how their entire society can benefit from a certain level of altruism, humans will justify rallying against things that benefit their fellow man until you can show them that a certain course of action serves them. In the case of humans, it could be the cost of incarceration versus the cost of education. With the vampires, it would be the cost of rehabilitating the werewolves held up against the billions of dollars spent on a never-ending war with the lycanthropes.

Statistically speaking, The Werewolf Rehabilitation Project should not be a hard sell. Not only were casualties among vampire constables at an all time low, the World Vampire Council had managed to save the money that constables no longer had to spend cleaning up crime scenes, and bribing local police to create the network of websites that vampires like Witherspoon were now utilizing to produce Internet TV shows for and about the world’s monster population.

The only problem was, the synthesized pheromones that the newly found werewolves were being provided were proving to cost more to synthesize than had been originally anticipated. While many werewolves were able to at least share in the cost of their new medicine, many who had lost their jobs and cut themselves off from humanity after being struck with lycanthropy in the first place, did not have the means to pay for their treatments. Christian, being in charge of the program and believing in its necessity, had approved enormous expenditures, all to ensure that no werewolf be left behind.

So even though money was actually being saved, Witherspoon was categorizing the fact that vampire tax dollars were being diverted to the program as unfairly imposed ‘werewolf reparations’. In Witherspoon’s words, the program benefits our unfortunate, but still savage enemies more than it helps us and our kind.

During another broadcast, Witherspoon expanded on his terse remarks. In the eyes of Lord Tanata and WVC’s newly appointed director, Christian Brookwater, the everyday vampire is expected to shoulder the expense of this experimental lycanthrope treatment, as a way of making up for the so-called ‘mistakes’ that our dearly departed Lord Emmanuel allegedly committed. Well, I don’t think that’s fair at all. If the self-proclaimed ‘heroes’ in the Battle for Osaka knew anything about the population they currently claim authority over, they would know we want our money to benefit our kind, and our kind only.

During their walk through Hell’s Kitchen, Christian explained his dilemma to the young werewolf king and suggested that Jeremiah and his mysterious wife could join him on the show, and help put a friendly werewolf face on the situation. That’s when Jeremiah gave him the disturbing news regarding his queen’s absence.

Resolved to appear on the show alone, (by himself, Jeremiah would come across as too young to be in charge of anything) Christian fell quiet as the trio walked north on 9th Avenue and turned left on 46th Street, entering what is commonly referred to as the Restaurant Row section of Hell’s Kitchen.

Jeremiah decided to lighten the mood. Hey, Birthday Boy, he called out to his best friend. Don’t get so drunk I have to carry you home, OK?

Hey, don’t worry about me getting drunk, Stephen countered, you be sure you don’t cock-block me with your muscular build and your freakin’ Prince Charming attitude. You’re still sort of married, remember?

Who? Me? Prince Charming? You got me confused with the sexy, vampire guy, Jeremiah laughed as he pointed a thumb at Christian. Women have been checking him out ever since we passed Thirty-ninth Street.

Christian was still lost in thought and gave no indication that he was listening to their banter.

Great, Stephen moaned. I’m not going to get any play tonight, hanging with you two chocolate stud monsters.

You could be a vanilla stud monster, but you keep punking out on having me bite you, Jeremiah taunted.

Yeah, I know, said Stephen with a sheepish tone. Over the course of the past three years, Stephen’s becoming a werewolf had digressed from a solid expectation to the elephant in the room that both friends seldom acknowledged.

As always, Jeremiah knew when Stephen’s feelings might be bruised by an aggressive chiding. Fortunately, he was also good at the clean-up.

C’mon dude, it’s your birthday, Jeremiah said, showing Stephen as big a smile as he could muster. You gotta think positive.

Christian followed the two boyhood friends and snapped out of his funk long enough to notice that the establishment they decided to enter was named ‘The Joshua Tree.’ It seemed like a jovial enough place. Clusters of people sat at either the bar or within a row of tables on the other side of the walkway. Everyone who wasn’t carrying a serving tray or mixing an alcoholic beverage seemed to be putting a drink to their lips, smiling and conversing happily with the people around them. The dining areas in the back and upstairs were filled with humans tearing into chicken wings with greedy enthusiasm. Even the people emerging from the bathrooms seemed to be amused by something. This was the quintessential sports bar for Hell’s Kitchen locals that catered to working stiffs and college boneheads with the same friendly attitude that it welcomed tourists and the ‘after a Broadway show’ crowd. It was a little noisy for Christian’s taste, what with a Yankee game blaring across the speaker system and the even louder baseball fans on the far side of the bar screaming at one of the three 16’x8’ projection screens hanging behind the bar. However, Christian could tell that his much younger cohorts were pleased with the atmosphere, so he figured he’d have to grin and bear it.

While Jeremiah’s werewolf ears were easily as sensitive as Christian’s, he had been looking forward to Stephen’s birthday, and a little noise was not going to change that. He relished the thought of being a normal guy, if only for one night. Truth was, the last thing he wanted to listen to was his vampire friend agonizing over a talk show appearance. Being brought up to speed on Christian’s woes only reinforced how much the whole being a ‘King of Werewolves’ was getting to him. Lily’s habit of sometimes making him feel more like a butler than her equal was bad enough, and dealing with her unexplained absences while trying to maintain order among some of the older werewolves had proven difficult. He was handling a host of strong personalities among his staff and there wasn’t a day that went by that someone didn’t challenging his authority.

During the three years since Osaka, Jeremiah had been forced to kill twelve of his own werewolves. Four of them had called him out for lack of fighting prowess, only to be proven horribly mistaken. Another six were interested in taking Lily off his hands. The rest had been bullying Stephen, who begrudgingly still lived in Lily’s building, a 140-unit condominium just outside of New York’s SOHO area.

While these problems stressed Jeremiah’s nerves, they are also the reasons Stephen shied from letting Jeremiah turn him. Stephen, after witnessing all that Jeremiah was going through, had come to the realization that he didn’t care for the other werewolves in the slightest. And above all else, he despised Lily and hated her for the way she treated his friend.

Of course, this wasn’t a time for worrying, and nothing made that clearer than the sight of the buxom waitress who greeted them when they entered. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-three, but the sight of Ms. Wholesome Cleavage USA sparked an involuntary response from Jeremiah.

I’m sorry, sir, the waitress asked as her head tilted to the side, but did you just growl at me?

My apologies, Christian interrupted. My friend here just got out of prison.

Jeremiah rolled his eyes at Christian, as Stephen howled with laughter.

Christian went on to explain that the threesome was going to sit at the bar, which prompted the slightly irritated waitress to wave them on. They found three empty bar stools smack in the middle of the action and sat down.

Jeremiah and Stephen each ordered a beer, while Christian quietly inquired of the bartender if the establishment carried a certain brand of red wine. The waiter, a stocky Scottish kid with an accent thicker than either of the McGuiness brothers, informed Christian his selection was available, and produced a glass in short time.

What’s with the specific brand of wine, C.B.? Jeremiah asked.

Unbeknownst to humans, this brand’s got just a bit of blood in it, Christian explained. So I can get buzzed and healthy at the same time.

Once their drinks were in hand, they raised their glasses. Stephen, you’re a good kid, who deserves all the happiness in the world! Happy Birthday, my friend, Christian toasted.

Salut! Jeremiah shouted before downing his beer with two gulps.

In seconds, Stephen finished his beer, turned to the bartender and ordered three Irish car bombs.

Are you high?! Christian snapped. Do I look like a college kid?

No, you’re an ultra-cool, one-hundred and fifty something year old vampire whose tightly wound up, and needs to have some fun! Stephen blurted. This earned him an angry glare from Christian.

I meant, needs to have some fun, sir? Stephen said after an apprehensive beat.

Christian face softened as he chuckled. One beer and you’re already fucked up?

He is the ultimate lightweight! Jeremiah teased. Stephen was about to retort when his attention was drawn to something over Christian’s shoulder.

Christian turned to see a tall blond dressed in a clinging halter-top and skirt walking their way. Curvy, with lips that could have been collagen enhanced, her eyes were locked onto Stephen’s in an almost predatory way.

Christian turned back to his friends to see Stephen’s eyes grown to saucer size and his mouth agape. The vampire was about to say something sarcastic before he got a whiff of the approaching blonde. Her scent was all too familiar. Realizing that he was about to witness a fantastic practical joke, he turned his gaze to Jeremiah, who had positioned himself behind Stephen and smiled knowingly.

The blonde stopped her approach a few inches shy of Christian. Her eyes were still locked onto Stephen’s and for a moment, it almost seemed as if he were about to cry out.

You know, I heard what they were saying about you, the blonde purred, and you don’t look like a lightweight to me.

Even after a few seconds, it appeared Stephen was too dumbfounded to formulate a response. Christian prodded Stephen in the ribs. Aren’t you going to answer her?

Right now, you are cock-blocking yourself, Jeremiah whispered into Stephen’s ear.

Christian rose from his barstool and waved the blonde over so she could get closer to Stephen. Buy me a drink? she prompted. Stephen turned hard and fast, and got the bartender’s attention before he realized he had no idea what she wanted.

A seven and seven, please, the lady said.

Excuse me Miss, but I should let you know that it’s his birthday! Jeremiah volunteered.

The blonde feigned surprise. Really? Maybe I’ll give him a big, wet birthday kiss. Would you like that, Tiger?

Buh-buh-but I haven’t even intro-introduced myself, Stephen finally managed. It took everything Christian and Jeremiah had in them to keep their composure.

I bet your name is Stephen, the blonde said with a smile.

Buh-buh-buh--

OK, guys seriously, I can’t do this anymore! The Blonde suddenly shouted through her own laughter, which was so loud and diabolical that it temporarily silenced the noisy Yankee fans.

Stephen, sensing a ruse, turned to Jeremiah. You bastard!

Jeremiah was laughing so hard he was almost doubled over. Oh my God, that’s the funniest thing ever! Dude, you have NO GAME WHATSOEVER!!

As Jeremiah and The Blonde continued to laugh, Stephen turned to Christian. The vampire chuckled and shook his head. Hey, I didn’t know about this! Don’t look at me!

Turning back to the laughing blond, he demanded an explanation.

It’s me, Caleb, the rachasa admitted with a very masculine voice.

You fucking assholes! Stephen screamed before turning to Caleb. What were you going to do, make out with me?

If I were a bisexual shape-shifter, maybe, Caleb answered, reverting back to his feminine voice, so as not to alarm any nearby humans. But, you’re lucky. I’m not bi and Jeremiah doesn’t have that much money!

You know, you guys are wrong, Christian chimed in. "The boy gets no ass for years! Then you guys throw a Baywatch babe at him. Just for that, you guys should get him a hooker!"

You know, I had a crazy idea that my friends were actually going to be nice to me on my birthday, Stephen huffed.

C’mon, son! Jeremiah protested. We are just messing with you!

Are we getting him a hooker, then? Caleb asked Christian.

What ‘we’? I’m paying for the drinks, Christian answered indignantly.

Very well, I’ll get him a hooker, Caleb said, reaching for his/her seven and seven and adding, I do feel sort of guilty now.

I don’t need a hooker, Stephen growled.

Uh, yeah well, you need something, Jeremiah interrupted. When was the last time?

None of your business, Stephen snapped.

Ohhhh, well, you know what that means, Caleb said.

He’s so backed up that he’s got it coming out of his freakin’ ears, Christian added.

Of course I’m not getting any. That’s cause I spend all my time with The Cowardly Lion look-a-like Rachasa, The Dumb Werewolf and The Heartless Vampire! My life is a nightmare version of the Wizard of Oz! Stephen snarled.

Well, that makes you Dorothy, motherfucker, Christian laughed.

Fine, I’ll be Dorothy, Stephen answered with an air of defiance.

I’ll loan you this dress, Caleb said with a wide grin.

With that offer made, the four friends drowned out the noise of screaming Yankee fans and any other distractions with deep gales of heartfelt laughter. They would continue the impromptu celebration for a few hours, only to reaffirm that Stephen is in fact a lightweight and that vampires and Irish Car Bombs don’t mix. Other than that, they were just four irregular men having a regular night, with no intuition of the dark cloud waiting for them outside.

Chapter 2

Awkward Moments

See you fellas! Thanks for a great birthday! Stephen shouted as the taxi pulled away from the corner of 46th Street and 9th Avenue. Jeremiah was so drunk that all he could do was wave and smile.

Caleb and Christian said their goodbyes and watched the cab pull off before turning back to one another. Caleb was still in his blonde bombshell guise.

Should we get you a cab, old man? Caleb asked.

You know, now that it’s just you and me, I’m real uncomfortable, Christian joked. Neither monster was drunk. Alcohol has no effect on rachasas and Christian had been forced to quietly retreat to the Joshua Tree men’s room and regurgitate all the alcohol he’d consumed during the outing a half hour ago.

I tried to tell you that Irish Car Bombs are a young man’s game, Caleb snickered.

I meant you looking like a Playboy Bunny on casual Friday, numb-nuts, Christian shot back.

I know what you meant. Remember me, I’m a telepath? But I’m also a friggin’ shape-shifter, playing a joke. So what do you want from me? Caleb asked.

Nothing, my sister, Christian answered with a chuckle and hands raised in surrender. It is good to see you, though.

Good to see you, too! Caleb replied. Then, he asked how things were going and Christian filled him in on the talk show drama.

I’ve seen that asshole, Caleb said when Christian was done. Fuckin’ Fox News correspondent wanna-be with fangs! What are you going to do?

Answer his questions in as calm a manner as I can muster, I guess, Christian answered. Two seconds later, they were laughing hysterically.

Maybe I should shape-shift into you and do the interview? Caleb suggested.

Oh please, Christian dismissed, Lord Tanata would have my head.

Caleb remarked that Christian has probably never been calm a day in his life, and they spent a few minutes laughing and speculating about that until Christian finally glanced at his watch and said, Man, I better get home. The ladies are waiting.

Ah, that’s right! Caleb said. Anyway, how are Vivian and Basil Christina?

Talkative, Christian answered with a wry smile, but I love them to death. Admittedly, it was the love he felt for Basil Christina that he focused on as he replied.

I’ll bet, Caleb responded, ignoring the pinch of uneasiness in Christian’s response. Give them my love!

Christian agreed and they hugged, just as a group of drunk frat boys walked by, brazenly ogling Caleb. Christian turned to hail a cab. Are you sure you’re going to be all right, Miss Caleb? he asked after noticing the frat boys.

Sure, Caleb answered. It’s a nice night, so I’m going to walk for a bit. And if these assholes get in my way, I’ll be having intestines for dinner.

And I’m the one with rage issues, Christian noted.

Go home, Count Chocula! Caleb shouted, as a cab pulled up and Christian hopped in. As the cab sped off, Caleb gave a sigh of contentment. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun.

In the rachasa world, Caleb didn’t really have an official rank or position like his two friends, Christian and Jeremiah. In fact, rachasas ran their society in a very casual manner. There were scheduled meetings held in different cities and municipalities around the world. During those meetings the needs of the community were discussed and responsibilities were doled out in a very informal way:

Who wants to be a porn star this week? There’s a shoot in California this week and they’re short a girl. It’s an orgy scene.

Who wants to be in charge of raw meat deliveries?

Do we know who killed the humans in Central Park last week? That rachasa will have to pay a five-thousand dollar fine for the cleanup.

Some rachasas, depending on their financial needs, would show up at these meetings and call out to accept these assignments in a fashion similar to how business is conducted on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, while others were specifically called in because of certain gifts, or acumen.

It was probably why it took them so long to figure out what happened to the Rachasa Elders who had been ‘detained’ by Emmanuel for so many years. That particular assignment floated from one rachasa to another, with no one securing a lead for decades until Caleb cracked it.

Of course, Caleb was a skilled fighter, but it was his imagination that gave him an edge in both his detective work as well as in combat. All rachasas can turn into humans, but Caleb was one of the few who could turn into just about anything. Plus, his investigative work had amplified his telepathy much like a weightlifter gets stronger with more exercise. Given his skill set, he tended to earn assignments having to do with the security of the rachasa race. If you had to give him a title, it would probably be Security Specialist. At least that would seem to be how the two oldest living rachasas on Earth were approaching him now.

Guised as two very fit Asian gentlemen in their fifties, the two elders appeared seemingly from nowhere and telepathically let Caleb know they wanted to speak to him. They were the same rachasas that Christian Brookwater helped him rescue from a dungeon in South Dakota after years of having their blood harvested by Emmanuel The Hand of Death. In friendlier times, Christian’s son Rudy had given them the nicknames, ‘Ali’ and ‘Frazier’, but they had since then remembered their actual names, Nylis and Amil respectively.

Elders, Caleb said with reverence. You both look well.

Thank you, Caleb, Nylis answered. Do you mind if we speak quietly?

‘Speaking quietly,’ was rachasa lingo for holding an entire conversation telepathically.

Not at all, Caleb answered as instructed.

We see you are out and about, having fun with old friends, Amil noted.

Yes, Christian Brookwater and the others. We’ve remained friendly, Caleb responded.

A little too friendly, maybe? Nylis countered.

"I’m afraid, I don’t follow," Caleb said out loud.

All we are saying is if things should change, we’ll need to know what your priorities are, Nylis explained.

Disturbed by where this discussion seemed to be going, Caleb instinctively did something rude. Instead of asking for further explanation, Caleb gave Nylis a slight ‘push’. It was the telepathic equivalent of being invited to a dinner party, only to walk into a room you were told to stay out of. Of course, given Nylis’ mental prowess, Caleb failed to see anything significant.

For now, you only need to know what we tell you! Nylis responded with ire.

My God, I’m so sorry, Caleb said. "I meant only to attain a greater understanding."

Then understand this! Amil exclaimed telepathically, giving Caleb an instant headache. "Your loyalty toward us will be tested in days to come, and you will pay a severe price if you come up wanting."

Caleb became dimly aware than Nylis was ‘pushing’ him now, as if trying to access Caleb’s true feelings regarding the confrontation. He was able to seal off his mind before Nylis could uncover anything damning. Unfortunately, restricting the elder’s movements inside his mind could in itself be interpreted as an act of defiance.

I understand, Caleb said with the tone of someone who believed that his word should be enough.

The Elders looked at one another, and then back to Caleb, before walking away. No other words, spoken or telepathic, were exchanged.

Caleb watched the two elders walk until they disappeared into the dark of west 46th Street. Disgusted with how his night was ending, he turned to catch a cab, which came instantly due to his guise. He sat down and gave the driver the address. The driver took off instantly, causing a gust of air to fill the back of the car and hit Caleb in the face with an all too familiar scent.

Our elders are corrupted, the driver said. You need to be debriefed. Decisions need to be made.

Caleb fully understood what would happen next, but had mixed feelings over what the outcome might be. Sure, he hated living in the vague, but he also didn’t like being in the middle of a no-win situation. An internal rift in