The Wayman's Code: Darkness: The Wayman's Code, #2

By R.J. Wilson

The explosive sequel to "The Wayman's Code: Awakening"—a perfect fit for fans of Legendborn and Bleach.

When light is removed, all that remains is darkness... a crouching, ravenous, darkness.

 

Sixteen-year-old Maleek Warden never imagined that a strange realm would exist beyond his. Nor that he would be given the power to defeat the wicked spirits known as Shadiem, or that he would be able to wield fire.

And now, he needs that power more than ever. For in the aftermath of the attack on the Sanctuary and the disappearance of Christopher Lyles, Maleek and friends must both find him and recover the stolen sacred items in order to restore the light and protection to the region. And if that alone wasn't difficult enough:

Chris' actions have drawn the attention of federal agents.
Mysterious, supernatural blackouts plague the country.
And an underground society of masked cultists is making moves right under their nose.

If Maleek and friends are going to restore the region and stay one step ahead of the shadowmen, Maleek just may need the secret help of a shadowman… or shadowwoman?
And to make matters worse, Maleek can't help but sense that something has been wrong with him ever since the last battle at the Sanctuary. Almost like there is an indwelling presence. One that is dark… cold… evil…

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.J. Wilson
• Release date: Feb 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798986452036

Book preview

The Wayman's Code

Darkness

R.J. Wilson

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BookTorch Publishing, LLC

Copyright © 2023 by R.J. Wilson

Cover art done by Julia Rohwedder.

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by BookTorch Publishing

https://www.rjwilsonwrites.com

Contents

Dedication

The Royal Symbol

Epigraph

1. Fallout

2. Halloween Summer

3. Lawrence Michaels

4. Joint Task Force: Hades

5. Midnight Fever

6. Six Gifted Families

7. The Butcher's Regiment

8. Recruitment

9. The New Team Leader

10. Underlying Motives

11. The Defector

12. The Umbra Collective

13. Old Rivalries

14. Secret Visions

15. A Blood Duel

16. City Curfew

17. The Trial of Tristan Rhodes

18. Betrayal in the Camp

19. Dubious Alliance

20. That Which Cannot be Undone

21. Necessary Evil

22. The Sins of William Warden

23. Something Cold

24. Burning Republic

25. Blackout Conditions

26. Broken Trust

27. Detained

28. Numa

29. Fire From the Heavens

30. Dante's Confession

31. Showdown

32. A Deal with Death

33. Rays of New Light

34. Rebirth

35. Cimmerian Palace

Final Word

About the Author

For all those who wrestle not to succumb to their own personal darkness … may you never give up. You are never alone.

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And God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. Genesis 6:5

Chapter 1

Fallout

Samuel Blaze

Samuel Blaze proceeded down the white hallway towards the cabinet room, his polished black shoes muffled against the carpet. The carpet was the usual, irritating bland color that was somewhere in between gray and brown. He wrinkled his nose. It was inconceivable how the most symbolic building in all the free world could be decorated so poorly. Nevertheless, he focused his attention back on rehearsing his speech. The one he was sure would get him either fired, sent away to a psych hospital, or worse ... placed on some CIA blacklist.

Nervous, Mr. Blaze? Kristina asked, pulling him from his thoughts. She had been so silent on the walk over, he had nearly forgot she was right next to him, as always. Her lips, coated in a dark shade of red, were pressed together as her light brown eyes traced his face trying to gauge his thoughts.

Yeah—about your decision to go with the black top, he said. Are you expecting my funeral?

She gave a small laugh and shook her head. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.

Have you known President Wright to be a man who enjoys surprises? He retorted.

All you have to do is stick to the truth and you’ll be fine.

That’s easy for you to say, he said, fiddling with his tie. As a secretary, you have the luxury of avoiding the lion’s den. He glanced at her with the side of his eye. As expected, her soft eyes turned sharp like daggers.

Personal. Assistant. She said through gritted teeth. "As in one who assists you in operations."

I know, I know, just a joke, he said with a smile. But you know, you’re starting to make a good point. If we are on the same level, how about you assist and do this brief for me?

No can do, she said, turning up her nose. As a lowly secretary, I’ll be too busy shuffling papers and perfecting your coffee order.

He shook his head and stopped in front of the thick wooden door on his left, then turned to face her.

How do I look?

She looked him up and down, shaking her head in approval. Not bad. At least for a guy about to deliver the strangest news that the president has ever heard, that is.

Yeah, well ... don’t have much of a choice now, do I? He motioned for the tablet and manilla folder in her hands. If I get canned and that idiot Jones tries to claim my office space, I want you to set it on fire first.

You’re not going to get fired, she reassured. And if you do, I already claimed it for myself.

He flipped the tablet’s cover open and unlocked it. Is everything already preloaded on this thing?

Are you asking me if I did my job? She asked, folding her arms. I just want to know if I should be offended.

Sam peered at her with a raised eyebrow and decided against a response. She gave an innocent and cheery smile in return.

Kristina was only in her mid-twenties, but her mind was quick. Dangerously quick. This gave her the upper hand in many situations since most of the power-hungry men within four square blocks all but salivated when the bright-eyed and petite Kristina walked into the room. They underestimated her prowess. She, of course, knew this. And she, of course, used this to her advantage. A fact that he only realized after working with her for so long.

He knew the others wanted her to work for them, so he wasn’t surprised when the rumors started about his working relationship with her. It’s not that he personally didn’t think her attractive, it’s just that he was already married—married to the cause. And the cause happened to be a demanding mistress in her own right. He couldn’t afford to slip up at this point. Some one-night fling with a girl only a few years older than his daughter would cost him everything he had finally achieved.

Not that he was complaining about the long nights of sacrifice, though. All his efforts were now paying off. Reynolds and Porch would have killed to have face time with the president that he was about to get. He normally would have, too, if the circumstances were different.

Relax and breathe. You’ve got this, she said and then glanced at her phone. But we should probably get in there; it’s almost time.

With a last attempt to ensure his tie was straight, Sam opened the door and entered.

The presidential cabinet room contained only one other person, who was sitting at the large mahogany table that stretched across the center of the floor. Sam pulled out one of the black leather chairs, took his seat and gazed at the walls. Decorated on one side with oil renderings of past presidents and windows placed on the other, the cabinet room was a welcome break from the drudgery of the hallway.

Kristina, instead of sitting at the table, sat in a chair along the wall behind him and opened her laptop. Sam shook his head. Not her meeting, not her problem, he supposed.

Ready for this? Agent Goss asked, from across the table. He thumbed away at his phone, before pocketing it inside his blazer. Goss’ skin was a pale olive color, but his facial features and hair were dark, like there had been a shadow perpetually cast onto him. It was one of the first things Sam noticed the first time they met. This effect gave him a rather shifty look. Much to Sam’s surprise, however, Goss wasn’t half-bad to work with—and an excellent shot.

I figured this day would come, eventually, Sam replied, waving his hands. Though I suppose I would have never been ready for it.

I figured this day would have already happened, Goss said. Do you have the video?

Of course, Sam scoffed.

Good, Goss sighed and massaged his temple. I still can’t believe what an absolute train wreck Chicago was.

Yeah, Sam agreed, bouncing his foot under the table. But at least it’s not trending.

Yet. Goss said with a snort for a laugh, folding his arms. Purging content from the great Google machine is never one hundred percent—especially with something this big. Things always get missed: a random tweet ... some non-facial photo ... maybe even a subreddit or two. If we get hit with more events of this magnitude, especially in close succession, we won’t be able to keep up.

The door swung open, and a frantic looking aide hustled in, holding it ajar.

Stand by, he called in a loud voice, peering back into the hallway, then, on your feet.

Sam, Kristina, and Goss stood as the graying President Calvin Wright entered the room.

Thanks Kyle, you can go, he called over his shoulder, while approaching the head of the table. Afternoon. I apologize for my tardiness; I had to beat back my joint chiefs, who were furious they weren’t invited to our secret hangout. So, who do we have here?

Goss stretched out his hand first. Mr. President, Special Agent Tyler Goss. CIA.

It’s a pleasure, President Wright said with a nod and swung his bearclaw of a hand towards Sam.

Mr. President, Director of Joint Task Force Hades, Samuel Blaze. Department of Energy.

It’s a pleasure, President Wright said again and went for his seat. He hesitated and did a double take at Sam as if the words just registered, I wasn’t aware that the DOE had a JTF named Hades. What is that about? Delivering fun facts about our nukes?

President Wright’s face was worn like old leather, but his lips cracked into a tiny smile. It occurred to Sam that the president may not have many smiles left in his reservoir.

I wish it were that simple, sir, Sam said, returning the smile.

President Wright stared at him for longer than Sam would have liked, then glanced at Kristina.

That’s Kristina Kurse, Sam said. My secretary.

President Wright nodded his head in her direction and sat, motioning for the rest to do the same. As Sam took his seat, he could feel the heat wave from Kristina’s eyes, piercing the back of his head.

President Wright sighed and unbuttoned his black blazer, allowing his red tie to fall free over a portly belly. He glanced back and forth between Sam and Goss with steely blue eyes that had grown less patient in the few years of holding office.

Well, let’s get started, then, President Wright began. I must admit, I am a little nervous. The DOE and CIA joining hands to brief me about top secret matters is never a good sign. I suppose this is about Chicago?

Sam and Goss exchanged glances. Goss gave a slight nod, passing the buck to Sam. Classic CIA tactic—allow everyone else to take the first heat rounds, then follow in with the sweep and take all the credit.

In a way, sir, yes, Sam said. Goss and I got back this morning. The scene out there was … well … let’s just say it was out of this world.

Sam caught Goss’ smirk.

President Wright glanced between them but didn’t catch the humor. Alright, well, start from the beginning. I saw pictures on the morning news. My staff told me last night it was foreign terrorism.

Sam didn’t respond but took a deep breath instead and nodded to Goss. Goss picked up the remote and powered on the screen that was on the wall opposite the President. The large flat monitor came to life. Sam fiddled with his tablet and threw the video onto the screen.

We’ll take you back about nineteen hours to the United Stadium in Chicago, Sam began. What you’re watching is video coming from a long-range surveillance drone. He pressed play.

Silent and somewhat granular footage from a high side angle, displayed the stadium, sitting in the early evening sunlight. For the first twenty seconds, nothing was amiss. The footage dimmed and regained its composure. In that split second, the stadium had changed. The camera zoomed in to look closer at the building that had gone from a pristine landmark, to now looking like it was in war-torn Iraq. Holes had appeared in the top and sides of the stadium. A few of the windows sprayed glass as some imperceptible object blew them out. Two guys clad in glimmering silver armor of sorts and who weren’t very clear from the distance, moved frantically on the sidewalk near the front entrance. They slashed at the air in front of them as if fighting some invisible entity. The camera couldn’t identify it from the distance, but Sam knew they had swords in their hands.

Sam glanced at the President. President Wright leaned forward, eyes narrowed to the size of beads, staring unblinkingly at the screen with his lips ajar. Sam couldn’t blame him. He had seen the video about a hundred times himself, trying to make his eyes see the switch. Even slowing the footage down didn’t help. One moment, the stadium is poster card clean. The next moment, it becomes a shelled city. It was as if some magician grabbed the corners of a tablecloth and yanked it off to reveal the tricks that lay underneath. Except this was no slight-of-hand. He had seen the damage in person.

Concrete debris exploded out from somewhere on the second floor falling towards the two armor clad fighters. A third guy in silver armor darted out from the front of the building and pointed his sword at the debris. The concrete slabs hovered mid-air before gently going to the ground as if guided by a giant hand. The two men stopped fighting, apparently having vanquished their invisible foe, turned away from the stadium, and knelt down. Just as instantly as the stadium had appeared broken, the stadium returned to its postcard-clean appearance. Flick of the switch. The proverbial magician threw the blanket back over it. The three guys vanished along with it.

That’s it, sir, Goss said, pausing the video. All of the interesting parts, anyways. The rest of the video shows the pristine stadium.

Sam glanced at the President whose skin was turning pale. He kept opening and closing his mouth. Blinking a few times, he massaged his eyes. Sam couldn’t blame him. He had done the same thing his first time.

Will one of you tell me what the hell I just saw? The President finally managed to ask. He massaged his temple. I … was that video—

Unedited, yes. Sam said. An optical illusion caused us to see the stadium as normal. The illusion broke. Then was reinstated. In the moment where the illusion broke, you saw what really took place at the Stadium—an attack.

President Wright leaned back and crossed his arms, looking like his brain might explode from sheer concentration.

Are you telling me ISIL grew cloaking technology overnight? President Wright asked. Or was it the Russians? Or—

It wasn’t a terrorist attack or any sort of foreign entity, Sam broke in, trying to keep his voice confident.

Then who?

They are called Shadiem, Sam breathed, trying to figure out a way to explain it. And they are evil spirits.

Spirits … the President repeated, raising an eyebrow. Evil ... spirits ...

Spirits, Sam repeated with a nod.

The President looked between the two of them as if waiting for one to break into a smile and call it all a charade.

Let me give you some background, Sam said, clearing his throat. As the Cold War kicked off in the late forties, President Truman’s administration discovered that our world was more complex than what we’d thought. Apparently, these evil spirits have been around forever, but that was the first time it was brought to the attention of our federal government—at least in a way that was acknowledged.

Sam stole a look at Goss, who smirked.

His administration uncovered what we call the two dimensions: the first, we call D-1. This includes all of life as we know it. Earth. Humans. Animals. Malls. The internet. All of it. The second, we call, D-2. This dimension plays home to spirit beings. Apparently, there are those who are benevolent and fight to protect humans, while there are others who are ... let’s just say, not so friendly. I’m told there is a leader of D-2. Some kind of king, I guess. He wants to interact with us, but that’s where it gets a little too religious for me. As long as he isn’t crossing over to our turf to wreak havoc, I’m not too concerned about him.

Sam paused again, stopping himself from hurling more unbelievable information at the President. He could tell by the stress in the President’s brow that it was too much at once. For a long minute, no one spoke. President Wright sighed deeply and placed his palm on the table as if to steady himself. He glanced between Sam and Goss.

Let me get this straight, President Wright said, one hand on his temple. You’re telling me that Truman discovered the existence of this other dimension full of aliens—

Spirits, Goss said. They are spirits.

Whatever, President Wright said, annoyed. But you’re saying these beings can cross over to our dimension, even attack U.S. interests, and I’m just now finding out about this? Explain to me why something of this magnitude was not with my in-brief.

That one also goes back to Truman, Goss said, sitting up. Truman didn’t want this knowledge getting out of hand, or at least to the Soviets—especially with the Cold War looming. He kept this info locked tight and drafted a few executive orders. When he established the CIA, he did it partially to establish a cover for a new joint task force that would work secretly to keep this stuff ... under control.

Let me guess, President Wright said. This task force in the CIA was named Hades.

Goss nodded. Yes sir, by his order, only members of that task force would be briefed about and would deal with these spirit matters. All others, including the generals and even the President, would be kept in the dark unless it became such a grave national security concern that we couldn’t deal with it internally.

President Wright looked at Sam.

In the late 70s, President Carter moved the task force to the DOE, as a way to further hide its existence, Sam said. I’m here because I direct that team.

The President stared hard at Sam again, and Sam wished he would look away.

I’m waiting for one of you to call in the candid camera, President Wright said. So, at least when I fire you for pulling such an elaborate stunt, I can at least have a good laugh about it.

Goss shifted in his seat.

Sam sighed. I wish I could say it was a joke, sir.

Connect the dots to the stadium, the President said. It’s your team’s job to protect us from these threats?

Not quite, Sam said. The people you saw on the screen were humans with ... special abilities.

President Wright ran his hands through his remaining hair.

They belong to some sort of religious fanatical group, Sam said. But they have been the ones who keep these evil spirits at bay. Since conventional weapons don’t work against the spirits, go figure, we let these other guys fight them while we play damage control with the media.

That would explain why this event wasn’t trending on Twitter, President Wright mused to himself. Regarding the optical illusion, how long have we had this ability? And why did the news show the broken building this morning?

That illusion wasn’t our doing, Goss said, speaking up. Some of the members of the group apparently can camouflage an area, so that the people on the outside see the illusion that the ...spell caster ...wants them to see.

Is the building damaged or not? The President asked. On the news, it was.

That is correct, Goss said. The group pulled their guys out in the middle of the night, so the illusion went with it. What you saw this morning is reality.

President Wright sighed and looked at the ceiling. So where are we right now?

Unfortunately, we were not able to get in front of some media reports, but we did feed them that it was a late-night terrorist attack. They are still waiting for us to give more details, Goss said.

For a solid minute, the President leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. The man could be a bit of a loose canon at times, but he was no fool. As shrewd as they come, Sam could see the dots connecting in the president’s mind.

So here is what I’m hearing, President Wright said, eyes still closed. We have U.S. citizens in our midst with powerful abilities. I mean, the guy on the screen stopped falling rocks mid-air while another created a vast optical illusion. Any reason we aren’t using these guys? You know, overseas? Special Operations?

Goss and Sam glanced at each other. They had agreed only to tell him as much as was needed.

Historically, there’s been an informal deal with their leaders, Sam said. They continue to protect us and we leave them alone, for the most part. Besides, keeping them from military ops is exactly why President Truman kept this info away from the generals and future presidents.

President Wright leaned forward and opened his eyes. You said that such knowledge would be brought to my attention if it affected national security. Is there more to the story than Chicago?

Yes sir, a lot more, Sam said, anticipating the energy that it would take to explain the significance of Solid Rock. He barely understood it himself. All he knew is that Alejandro Santiago told him that more attacks from evil spirits would probably come and it had something to do with their recreation center being attacked.

Before we get to that piece, President Wright said, glancing at the screen again. Tell me more about these humans with powers. What are they called?

Sam sighed. He was afraid of that. He could already see the President’s mind whirring. Telling the President about this stuff was already a gamble, but he had no choice—if they didn’t, things would get out of hand. And that was something they couldn’t afford. Not again, at least.

Looking into the president’s eyes, he saw the calculations happening in real time of all the possibilities super-powered humans could bring to this country. This would likely make things more difficult for Sam. Likely, create more red tape. Oh well, it couldn’t be helped ... at least he was keeping his job.

Waymen, sir, Sam said. They are called waymen.

Chapter 2

Halloween Summer

The sun stung the tops of my forearms as I stretched them out across the wooden table. Birds chirped in the trees behind me while cicadas sang their low buzz out of the sight of the general public. Sitting on the park bench behind the sidewalk, I watched as the five small children in the sandbox playground across from me took turns going down the slide in different positions. The slide itself was one of those ridiculously designed ones where the slide consisted of a bunch of rolling pins that made the kids rolling down it look like packages in a UPS facility. This questionable design, however, did not deter their full-bellied laughter.

Whether it was the kids rolling down the slide or the two mothers sitting beyond the playground talking excitedly, there was not a care in the world between any of them. Little did they know, it had only been a couple of weeks since the world had changed. Only a couple of weeks since Chris had stolen the Seal of Nations and the altar’s fire. A couple of weeks since that mysterious Shadiem, with the red six scratched into the side of his neck, had destroyed the altar. And a long couple of weeks since anyone had detected a trace of either of them.

I picked up my chili cheese dog, but a red notification urged me to check my phone, instead. I opened Facebook and began scrolling. Unsurprisingly, my newsfeed was filled with the nonstop sharing of all of the disparaging articles: New Crime Wave Strikes Major U.S. Cities, Violent Extremist Group to Stage Rally at US Capitol, Are Dangerous Cults Making a Comeback? and, Halloween Summer: American Reports of Specters, Ghosts & Ghouls on the Rise. That last report had come out only a few days ago, yet #HalloweenSummer was already trending on every social media platform. The hashtag was commonly used as someone attempted to document some recent paranormal experience, with some producing video evidence of such strange encounters—which usually amounted to nothing more than a shaky video or blurry picture. to capture strange occurrences with their shaky phone cameras.

I closed the app in a stark attempt to save myself from news induced fatigue.

If I get accepted ... I won’t know what to do with myself, Lysa fantasized, pulling me from my thoughts. She plopped down right next to me. With meal in hand, she returned to the conversation from the hotdog stand without skipping a beat. Next Gen Scholars accepts only a few people, you know?

I took a bite of my chili cheese dog. Ketchup and beans spilled out the back. I opened my legs just in time to avoid the imminent catastrophe of stained shorts.

Don’t you think it’s too early to worry about college and which group you’ll be in? I asked with a full mouth. It was the fourth time this week Lysa had brought up the program she had applied for.

Too early? she questioned with much disdain. The program begins accepting high schoolers in their last year—I’ve got to get the jump on it.

But we aren’t gonna be seniors yet, I protested. You are still a year too soon.

Yeah, but maybe they’ll see my resume and welcome me anyways, Lysa countered. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before. Junior year is practically senior year, afterall. And speaking of ... what are your plans?

A man in a large puffy coat that was ten times too warm for summer walked along the sidewalk that ran parallel to the playground in front of us. He turned abruptly and sat on the corner of the sandbox where the kids played.

Maleek? She said, pressing me the same way she had been pressing Dante and me about our career aspirations since the summer break began.

I dunno ... I said, watching a cackling little girl in a fluffy pink dress go down the slide headfirst. I used to think maybe I’d work with dad at Solid Rock. That was before ... well ...you know ... and that was definitely before we found out about all this waymen stuff.

Lysa opened her mouth and then closed it, appearing to think better of it.

I shifted my weight, to delay the incoming numbness the splintering wood was causing my butt. I guess I haven’t had time to put much thought into it, you know, with everything going on. It’s like, you’ve got nursing ahead of you. Dante, well, his parents are into government work, so who knows where that will take him. Then there’s me: a guy without a clue in the world.

Lysa sighed and touched my arm, her expression softer than the nervous accusation she was bringing earlier. Well don’t worry too much; I know it’ll come.

Alright, here we go, Dante said, practically dancing his way to the bench. He carried two hotdog trays in his hand and sat down opposite us. Feast your eyes on this, ladies and gents.

Dante’s hotdogs, which were actually kielbasa sausages, were drenched in a mixture of barbeque sauce, coleslaw and French fries.

What is that? Lysa asked, wrinkling her nose.

Is that what took you so long? I asked.

Oh, this little thing? It’s called a Polish Boy, Dante said, grinning from ear to ear. "I know some folks in northeast Ohio who rave about it. After my very specific guidance, ole Jerry at the hotdog stand was able to whip it up for me.

It looks hideous, Lysa said, staring at it like it might jump off the table.

It looks like something I should have gotten, I said, my own hotdog now paling in comparison.

Dante, with delicate effort, picked the Polish Boy all up at once and brought it to his mouth.

Mommy, look!

One of the kids on the playground had approached the man who was slouched over, facing away from her. He had a handful of sand from the playground in his grip. His fist glowed in a bright yellow and red color. Dark red blood spilled from the man’s hand and onto the concrete.

The girl screamed and ran. The man opened his hand to show several glass shards, sticking into the palm. As blood continued to drip from his hand, he smiled, locking eyes with me. His eyes flashed red under the hood he wore, sending an icy chill down my spine.

Come here, babies, one of the moms cried as they scrambled to get their little ones.

Guys—

I jumped to my feet, cutting Lysa off.

He’s possessed, I said, already running.

But my Polish—

Oh, come on, Dante, Lysa scolded.

The man fixed his eyes on us and extended his hands. Bloody glass shards glowed a fiery orange color and shot forth like bullets. I dove into the grass. Sharp glass seared my left arm as it grazed my skin, flying past me. I grimaced.

Dante and Lysa ran past me. The man leapt to his feet and ran down the sidewalk.

I scrambled to my feet and joined the chase.

Stop! Dante called as we tore after him. A few joggers leapt out of the way, staring at us as we passed.

The man took a hard right and dashed into the woods. Dante got to the wood line first and hesitated.

Do we really need to—

Yes, Lysa exhaled, catching up to him. He almost hurt the children.

Come on, I said, trying to ignore my searing arm as I broke into the woods.

I dipped and dodged around the trees, branches grabbing at my shirt. The man continued dead ahead, surprisingly agile for a man in a burly coat.

There’s no way he should be outrunning us, Dante called from behind me, let me even the playing field.

Wait, Lysa whined from behind him, we’re in broad daylight.

Nobody’s gonna see.

The man broke from the woods and turned right. We spilled out of the woods, finding ourselves near the entrance to a wide jogging trail. The man darted onto the gravel parking lot and into an isolated bathroom building. We approached the graying, cold-looking, stone structure that looked much like a house for every disgusting thing known to man. I stopped outside the brown-colored men’s room door and caught my breath.

Dante and Lysa almost plowed into me.

He’s in there, I said, holding my side.

Then ...let’s go, Lysa said, hands on her knees. The only thing clearer on her face than exasperation was her abject horror as she studied the door.

Dante and I exchanged glances.

What?

It’s ... it’s a boy’s bathroom, Dante replied.

Seriously?

He’s got a point, Lysa, I said.

An evil, spiritual, maniac that can turn sand into hot glass bullets is at large and you’re worried about it being a boy’s bathroom? She placed her hands on her hips. It’s not like I’ll see something I’ve never seen before.

Woah, Dante smirked. This conversation escalated far beyond what my virgin ears can handle.

Lysa gasped. Her face turned bright red. No, wait, that’s not what I meant! I mean ... I have a little brother, you know ... I used to help him get dressed as a kid, and—

Let’s give Lysa time to think that one through, I said, guiding Dante to the door by his shoulder while pulling my Codex from my waistband. Lysa, let us know if anyone comes by.

There’s no need. Nobody is here, she snapped as she surveyed the empty parking lot. Her shoulders dropped as she stared fixedly in the distance. Huh ... a sunny, Thursday afternoon and no one is here ...

I shrugged and then entered the door with Dante.

A wet and musty scent tickled my nostrils. Dim daylight from a high window showed us that the bathroom had four grungy, white urinals and three toilet stalls. The mirrors above the three sinks were cracked and the paper towel dispensers looked like they had been empty since the War of 1812.

Check it out, Dante pointed at the last stall. The only one that was closed.

I held my Codex out to the side and whispered. "Sword of the Spirit."

The black leather book began to glow quietly and covered my body with the familiar armor. Squeezing the handle of a sword now was starting to feel natural. Like I had carried it all my life.

Hold it, Dante whispered. He pulled out his own Codex and awakened. Burning this place down probably isn’t what we want. This mission requires stealth.

Stealth? I scoffed. Ok Mr. Stealth, you go first.

Dante awakened, pointed his sword forward, and crept towards the stall door. I followed close behind. He counted with his fingers: three ... two ... one.

He spartan-kicked the door, sending it flying off its hinges and into the stall.

Is that what you call stealth? I yelled, bracing myself for the fight.

But the fight didn’t come.

Dante stepped out of the stall. I guess he van—

Dante’s eyes grew wide as he stared beyond me.

I whirled around, but it was too late. The man had leapt from a broken metal rod that he welded, catty corner above the entrance, and came down fast. I raised my sword. We both crumpled to the ground. I smacked my head against the concrete and saw stars.

With glass shards extending from his fingertips like talons, he thrashed and lunged as I desperately held him off with my sword.

Dante threw his weight into him. The man soared across the bathroom, stopping just shy of the wall. He hopped to his feet. I hopped to mine and stepped in front of Dante.

My turn. I raised my sword. Bright orange flames leapt up the blade. The man stared, extending both hands, when a boy appeared next to the man.

A wayman boy.

Out of thin air.

The man did a double take as the boy placed a hand on his shoulder. The boy, who had curly black hair and looked about a year or two younger than me, looked at us and smirked. With a small pop they were both gone. No signal. No warning. Simply, gone.

Well ... that was weird, Dante said, scratching his head.

Yeah, no kidding, I said, doing a complete look around. Let’s go join Lysa.

Lysa was not