The Chaos Formula

By Richard Stooker

Can Jaxon Hampton love the Moon Queen enough to save Earth?

If Zeth, the servant of her enemies the Shadow Giants, defeats Jaxon in battle, the Shadow Giants unleash chaos on Earth and destroy humanity.

Every night Jaxon experiences vivid recurring dreams in which, 10,000 years ago, he escorts a beautiful woman through many dangers to the top of a cliff overlooking the Nile River.

How come his boss's daughter dreams the same story? And why does a strange man hypnotize Jaxon to take the young woman to a bluff overlooking the Mississippi River during the next full moon?

Jaxon works as head trader for a small money management business. His boss tells him she came up with a sure-fire trading system, the Chaos Formula. Her test account verifies a terrifyingly high number of winning trades.

Jaxon can't believe. Stock market results form a random, bell-shaped curve. Perhaps not a strictly normal distribution, but unpredictable.

Yet this ability of his boss to foretell stock market results constitutes just one sign of reality going haywire.

What compels Jaxon to spend his evenings staring up at the moon, even to the point he forces his girlfriend to leave him?

Every night, he dreams he wields a bronze sword ten thousand years in the past, at the mouth of the Nile River, long before the pyramids. He fights as a soldier for the king of a growing empire. The other soldiers call him Blood Reaper.

One night the king assigns him to take a young woman far upriver, for a sacrifice.

A strangely beautiful woman, despite her white skin, blue eyes, and gold hair.

She must travel to where bluffs overlook the Nile River, protected only by Jaxon -- against roving animals, wild people, and superstitious dirt farmers.

Jaxon does not understand why the sacrifice takes place so far from the temples, but he must obey his king. He figures a wealthy merchant wishes to sacrifice an ex-mistress to gain merit with the gods instead of just selling her to a brothel.

When she reveals her true identity as the Moon Queen herself, he does not believe . . . until he meets her ancient enemies the Shadow Giants.

How and why does his boss's daughter, Laura Ewing, dream the same story, only as the woman?

And how can he and Laura use her mother's Chaos Formula to win over five hundred dollars at a Mini-Bac table at the Lumiere Place Casino?

Why does Mr. bin Hasad, the small, dapper foreigner keep visiting Jaxon on his job even though he doesn't open up a trading account? And Jaxon can't remember what they discuss?

How did Jaxon's brother Keith buy the most evil book in the world from Ken, the Romani and Bosnian refugee who runs the largest occult bookstore in the New World, when Keith claims he stops dealing drugs?

Why does someone calling himself Zeth kill young women and drain their blood into a crystal bowl to scry messages to and from the Shadow Giants?

Blood Reaper's story comes to a conclusion on top of the cliff overlooking the Nile River.

Jaxon's story reaches its conclusion on top of a bluff overlooking the Mississippi River.

Who lives? Who dies?

Do the Shadow Giants overwhelm life on Earth with chaos and destruction?

To find out, scroll up and download the dark fantasy adventure The Chaos Formula now.

This paranormal fantasy adventure combines stories from ten thousand years ago -- a nitty gritty historical dark fantasy -- with a contemporary dark fantasy in the modern world. A form of urban fantasy as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: In Dreams Extreme Press
• Release date: Sep 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513042473

Book preview

Prologue

After I kill you, Zeth told the girl tied to an oak tree with duct tape, give my message to the Shadow Giants on the far side of the moon.

Zeth crouched on the cold, rocky, leaf-strewn ground in front of the girl, smelling the dry mustiness of autumn. Of these Illinois woods preparing for the temporary death of winter.

Only, spring would never arrive.

Far away, the rough rumble of a pickup truck going uphill, shifting gears. This time of year, close to Thanksgiving, only a few leaves clung to the oak, birch, and elm branches, not enough to absorb sound and light. That’s why he shut off the flashlight after securing the young woman.

And why he hunkered with a tree just behind him, so the light of the full moon could not find him. The thick, chunky bark felt good against his sweat-itchy back.

Remembering the taste of her pussy, Zeth licked his lips.

Her eyes, in the shadow between the gray tape across her mouth and forehead, fluttered frantically. She gurgled, trying to scream through the rag in her mouth.

Women. Tie them to a tree and they still don’t want to listen.

Zeth raised his hand. He slapped her cheek, not enough to hurt, just a love tap. Listen up, he said. Or next time it’ll be a lot harder. This is important. I’m not killing you for the fun of it. Take a deep breath.

Her nostrils flared. She took a deep, ragged breath, and seemed to calm down.

Thank you, Zeth said. May the Gods in Heaven bless you. I know you’re not up on this stuff, probably go to a Christian church. So just listen, okay? Nod your head.

Despite the chill, he wiped sweat from his forehead. He just finished digging her grave. That was the hardest part of this, because he dug deep so no animals or hunters would spot it. He got that chore out of the way first.

After your spirit leaves your body, he told her, it’ll rise into the sky heading for the Rainbow Bridge to Heaven. Call it a bright ball of light if you’ve heard those near-death stories. But before you get there, you have to pass the moon. He pointed back over his shoulder to where the full moon, high and bright in the sky, gleamed. You see it up there?

She nodded.

The Shadow Giants live on the other side, the dark side. Got that?

Her eyes told him she didn’t understand.

Look, he said, trying to remain patient. He couldn’t blame her. Unlike him, she didn’t study this stuff for years. The universe is not like Christianity tells you. That’s a religion for losers. That’s why the world’s going downhill.

Zeth stood and stretched. His arm, shoulder, and back muscles ached, but she had to understand so she didn’t garble his message to the Shadow Giants.

So I have to bring back an age of men, real men—warriors, Zeth said, hearing the passion in his voice. Overthrow these womanized monotheists, and bring back the rule of power. Death. And it’s almost time.

Zeth paused. Behind him, dry leaves rustled sharply as something skittered through them. Perhaps a rabbit fleeing a fox. Go, Mr. Fox. Eat the prey you earn through your superior strength and cunning. The strong deserve to feed on the weak.

Zeth leaned closer. He whispered so the girl felt his breath in her ear. It’s almost time for the Moon Queen to return to Earth. She’s spent ten thousand years up there fighting the Shadow Giants, back and forth, every month—new moon to full moon and back again.

Did the girl understand? With only the moon and starlight to see by, he couldn’t be certain. He patted the Kabar knife in a sheath hanging from his belt. Soon, its baptism of blood. First she had to understand the importance of this mission. Patience—she never before heard the truth.

When the Moon Queen returns, she can be killed, Zeth said. Just like any other woman. And it only happens every ten thousand years. The last time, human beings barely had farms. Just like she can be killed, she can be fucked. Do you see now?

No, of course not.

There’re more gods than Jehovah or Allah, he told her. And Wotan is the king of them all. That’s why when I screwed you in the van I took my time coming. I was practicing Tantra. That’s sex magic to waken the Kundalini energy. The sixth chakra is the Eye of Wotan. When I open it, I’ll realize my Aryan godhood. I’ll be one with Wotan.

He spoke too fast, jumping around.

I’ll find her when she comes, Zeth said. I’ll screw the Moon Queen with Tantric sex until my Kundalini power opens my Eye of Wotan, and then I’ll be a god, a superman even Nietzche couldn’t imagine.

He paused for breath. And you know what happens then? I kill her. I cut her throat and drain her blood just like I’m going to do to you in a moment. And then—guess?

Eyes wide and frightened, the girl shook her head as much as the duct tape wrapped around the tree trunk would allow her.

Then the moon falls to the Earth and the Shadow Giants take over the world, bringing a glorious age of Ice and Death.

Zeth rocked back and laughed. So tell the Shadow Giants, he told her, and shook her shoulder. Tell them Zeth is their servant. Tell them I’ve read the ancient legends. Tell them I know the Moon Queen is coming for the sacrifice. Tell them I’ll kill her for them. Just guide me. Tell them to help me. Help me find her so I can kill her. And her champion. She’ll have a man to fight her enemies for her. I’ll kill him. Before all the Rainbow Gods, I swear this.

Zeth pulled out the Kabar. He tested the edge with his thumb, drawing blood before he realized it cut through his skin. He licked the wound, tasting the liquid copper of it. He didn’t want to leave any DNA behind.

He held the edge of the blade to the side of her throat. One quick, deep slice—from behind so the spray of blood would not touch him or his clothes—and she’d bleed to death in just a few moments, like a butchered pig. Carve some magic runes into her skin. Then one quick push with his boot and she’ll fall into the grave he dug.

Quick and painless.

She didn’t appreciate how lucky she was. Some magick rites required the energy of tortured victims. But all he wanted her to do was deliver a simple message, like a telegram.

So he showed mercy.

Tell the Shadow Giants I’m their servant, he told her. Me, Zeth. I proclaim the name. Tell them to help me defeat the Moon Queen’s champion so I can kill her for them, and become one of the Aesir, a true god. An immortal tyrant.

Chapter One

In the office of Archway Capital Management’s founder, owner, and president, Clementina Ewing, their proprietary version of the TradeStation software ran on a Dell desktop.

Jaxon Hampton, Archway’s head trader, stood behind his boss and whistled at the two-month graph of the test account displayed on the 24-inch monitor. Somebody must have turned on the air conditioning despite the time of year, because a blast of cold seized his stomach.

He collapsed into the gray ergonomic chair, clutching himself around the middle.

Something smelled, and it wasn’t his mother’s Thanksgiving turkey he could still taste.

Unless Clementina was trying to make a turkey out of him, but he couldn’t believe that either. She’d always been honest, always straight with him. Above and beyond. He owed her more than he could ever repay.

The TradeStation graph displayed net profits in green.

The test account’s graph was almost all green.

Impossibly huge profits. Unbelievably huge profits. Beyond all sanity and reason profits. A genie in a magic lamp granting a wish profits.

Profits Jaxon couldn’t believe.

You impressed yet, white boy? Clementina said.

You want to buy and sell Warren Buffett, fine, let’s go for it, Jaxon said. But don’t ask me to believe in voodoo stock trading.

This system works. Isn’t that good enough? Clementina said.

Is this a test?

The odds of winning this much by random trading are over ten million to one, Clementina told Jaxon.

He stared at her, remembering the shock he experienced when he first met her. Not because she was an African-American woman coming to the door of a Litzsinger mansion in Ladue—she could be a maid. Or the wife of some baseball, football, or rap star. But she gave him a ten dollar tip. Those were rare, and treasured.

Perhaps seeing the surprise in his eyes, before closing the door, she said, I grew up close to the Pizza Store, around the corner on Alimentor, if you know where that is.

Of course he knew Alimentor Street. What he wanted to find out was how she went from the slum area the Pizza Store delivery drivers nicknamed The Hood to a mansion in Ladue.

Mrs. Ruth Schnitzle won the Powerball Lotto jackpot last week, Jaxon said. Seventy-three years old, used to work in a textile factory. Can you believe it, she beat one hundred seventy-five million to one odds? Let’s ask what her secret is.

Clementina’s eyes narrowed. You enjoy getting on my nerves, college boy?

Jaxon took a deep breath and tried to organize his thoughts. Not easy when he didn’t understand the fear and turmoil upsetting his stomach.

He loved Clementina as his mentor. Where would he be now without her? Perhaps slaving away in a conventional, corporate cubicle. Perhaps still delivering pizzas despite his college degree.

Archway managed millions of dollars for clients, and did so to the highest professional standards. Clementina never asked him to do anything shady or not in the best financial interests of those clients.

So how could she ask him to believe in two months of 90% profitable trades?

Jaxon could only shake his head.

You don’t believe a black woman can figure out the financial markets before anybody else?

I don’t believe anybody can predict them, Jaxon said.

What do you think? I faked this data? Or I rigged it or something?

Let me get this straight, Jaxon said. You’re trying to figure out the order behind the chaos of the financial markets?

The exact system is still under development. I thought you’d want to see what I’m working on.

We are legitimate and ethical money managers.

Who take risks with client funds, Clementina said.

But only calculated ones, with a longterm ROI that pays for the risks.

You cling to the Efficient Market Hypothesis like it’s your momma’s titty.

That was the idea the market could not be beaten in the long run. Many old-school managers hated the idea, and they continued to claim they could do so.

Modern money managers  such as Clementina—Jaxon thought—found legitimate ways around it.

Legitimate, not magic.

He kept his voice quiet and calm, though he wanted to scream. Not efficient—just unpredictable.

Even though the markets make extreme moves up and down far more often than the normal bell curve says they should?

Which we exploit by buying cheap Longterm Equity AnticiPation Securities long straddles and strangles. We’re smart that way.

Clementina paused to take a deep breath, as if working herself up to say what she wanted to say. There’s a fundamental order to reality.

Sure—God. He give you this formula?

Maybe.

Jaxon stared, but Clementina wasn’t smiling, just glaring back, daring him to contradict him.

For the first time, since he got up the nerve to ask her, when he delivered an order of pizzas, how she made so much money, and she told him what courses to take in college before she’d hire him after graduation, Jaxon began to doubt her sanity.

Here’s the story, she continued. The chaos of business and all interrelated events—which is really everything in both nature and society—influences market prices, but in the end all possibilities resolve into one price or the other.

Outside, one of the other traders shouted for joy. He must have sold for a big profit. Jaxon’s ergonomic chair felt hard as marble.

Which is ever-changing, Jaxon said.

So this system predicts how the chaos comes out, in terms of a market price.

He didn’t believe. Why was his so-smart, self-made multi-millionaire boss suddenly so crazy?

She went on: It’s much like the relationship between quantum and Newtonian physics. At the subatomic level nobody can determine the precise position of any particular electron. But stack them up into atoms and molecules, and the Three Laws of Motion apply. With predictable results. The equations are in every first year Physics textbook.

Jaxon felt dizzy. So you claim God made you the Newton of financial markets?

If you want to put it that way. I call it the Chaos Formula.

He didn’t feel any air coming out of the air conditioner vent, but somehow the room felt as cold as the Pizza Store’s walk-in cooler. You know how I feel about people trying to use the supernatural to get rich.

Clementina leaned back in her chair and rested her chin on steepled fingers. I’m still giving the Chaos Formula a lot of thought.

Jaxon stood up. I better get back to my station. I don’t have a direct line to the Universal Intelligence, but I do my best for you.

I appreciate it, Clementina said. And, Jaxon?

Yes?

In a few weeks my daughter comes home for Christmas break.

Laura must be quite a young lady by now.

She tells me she’s not dating because she’s too busy studying. Not sure I believe her, but I’m hosting a small wine and cheese party for her that night. It’s a Wednesday. I’d appreciate it if you and Angelique would attend.

I don’t dare speak for Angelique until after I speak to her, but I’ll certainly be there.

Great. Maybe I’ll order a few pizzas just for old time’s sake.

Long as I don’t have to deliver them.

Thanks to the Chaos Formula, I can afford to send Laura to Stephens College and still tip the driver $10.

Jaxon paused at the door. One more thing?

Yes?

If your Chaos Formula really works, you’d better hire some bodyguards.

What?

Think how many people would gladly kill you for it.

Chapter Two

Jaxon Hampton parked his black Beemer by the caboose ‘crashing into’ the Trainwreck Saloon. He switched off the ignition, and the radio show’s host laugh died in mid-guffaw.

Don’t preach to Keith. He hates preaching...

Unless some weirdo occultist claims to have a quick, magic answer to wealth and power. That, he listens to.

Car-choked, rush-hour Manchester Road during twilight was so familiar to Jaxon he wanted to get back into his car and drive away to his Chesterfield condo to escape it.

Always some joker without any lights. Another joker with his brights on. Horns honking and brakes squealing.

There, a Pizza Store topper on an ancient green pickup truck heading east, the red, white, and blue plastic sign brightly lit by the small, 12 volt light bulb inside.

Jaxon almost waved, then remembered he didn’t know the current drivers.

Jaxon remembered the afternoon’s bizarre conversation with his boss. He had a great respect and admiration for Clementina Ewing. And he owed her a lot.

She taught him real-world trading based on facts and figures and the psychology of other participants in the market, not fantasies. Not hopes. Certainly not a system given to her by God.

The possibility of Clementina losing her mind was too disturbing to think about, so he focused on his brother.

Keith was also a disturbing topic, but not a new one.

Did his younger brother chose the Trainwreck to meet in because, with their parents’ house on Wingate just a short hop away, it was safe, or because it was a metaphor for Keith’s own life?

He checked his watch. Early. Light southbound traffic on Brentwood tonight.

When Keith arrived, they shook hands just like long time buddies.

Keith clenched his fingers and moved his hand around like some old-time black hippie handshake. Next he’d want Jaxon to give him some skin.

Yo, Big Bro!

So ho, Baby Bro, Jaxon replied.

What were they, still in grade school, when they invented that?

Keith didn’t like it, but Jaxon couldn’t help appraising him, looking for signs.

As a younger man Keith had one of those baby faces women loved and guys envied. In high school, Jaxon couldn’t understand why so many girls called Keith, while he struggled to attract girlfriends.

So far as Jaxon could tell, Keith still looked good, but was no longer a babe magnet. The meth ate away the resemblance to Justin Bieber, so no more innocent grown-up little boy appeal for Keith.

So did the months living with a paranoid schizo bipolar depressive forty-year old crazy check disabled girlfriend who threatened to commit suicide every time he left the apartment without her. But who claimed to be a powerful pagan witch.

Not to mention the injuries from smashing his car into Nacho Mama’s late one night while drunk.

Not to mention the six months in St. Louis County Jail.

But Keith didn’t seem to be on anything now.

You look good, Keith, he said as they sat down at a table. The air reeked of wood polish, grease, and beer. You’re still working out? Your shoulders are broader. Still on the whole program?

You bet, Keith said. Wind sprints, body weight exercises, yoga, and Pilates.

Every day?

I alternate the wind sprints and the calisthenics, and the yoga and the Pilates. One day of rest—Sunday because it’s convenient.

Still taking karate lessons too?

Kung-fu. You learn how to win fights, not get colored belts.

Jaxon shook his head. I run around a few evenings a week. I wish I had the time to get in good shape.

Cheer up, Keith said. You’ve got what you wanted—the money.

A cute waitress with a burbling laugh interrupted. They both ordered the Brakeman’s Burger with American cheese and Bud Light draft. $1 off because it was Happy Hour.

Jaxon said, Last Sunday Angelique and I drove across the river.

Yeah?

We drove up the River Road all the way to Grafton, to see the leaves change color on the bluffs, you know. Only now you’re supposed to call it the Meeting of the Great Rivers Scenic Byway.

I like it over there in Illinois, Keith said. Farms and woods. You wouldn’t know you’re just a short way from a major city.

St. Louis isn’t so major anymore, Jaxon said. But anyway, on the way back we stopped in Alton to eat at Tony’s Bar, right off the restaurant—

You stop at The Alton Belle? Keith asked.

Casinos’re machines to take your money.

I’m just yanking your chain, Jaxon, because you make your paycheck playing in the biggest casino in the world. What if somebody finds a way to control that?

I don’t believe it, Jaxon said. He explained the basics of statistics and probability to Keith before, but his brother wouldn’t listen.

So how was the toasted ravioli at Tony’s?

Every beer was some microbrew. You couldn’t order a Bud for love or money. I drank a mug of Moose Piss.

Probably tasted like that too, didn’t it? So you’re still tight with Angelique, huh? I’m glad. She’s just your type—rich.

She’s a hardworking junior lawyer in a top firm still climbing her way up the ladder, Jaxon said.

You going to wait until she’s a partner before you marry her, or you make your first billion?

Their huge Brakeman Burgers arrived, so they both stopped talking long enough to begin eating.

Around Angelique Jaxon had to eat what she called healthy, so now he savored the rich fried beef taste.

But Jaxon had to keep digging. Finally, he said, You still meditating too?

Keith nodded. You’re right, Big Bro. It helps keep me off the drugs.

So how’re you paying your rent?

You’re pushing too hard, Jaxon. Lay off.

I can’t. Dad told me to ask you. He’s worried. Mom thinks money just appears because Pop leaves home and returns nine hours later. Pop knows you have to work for it. Work as in report to a J. O. B.

I’m not dealing, that’s what you guys think.

That’s one worry.

I help Ken out a lot.

Another worry confirmed.

Why doesn’t he just cast a spell for some pixies to dust the books and keep them straight on the shelves? Jaxon said.

Easier to pay me minimum wage.

For enough hours to pay your rent while you’re in heavy training?

Keith shrugged.

Jaxon didn’t like the smell of it.

Keith said, One-room apartments in Maplewood don’t cost as much as Chesterfield condos.

They’re not free.

Yada, yada, yada. Making money makes no sense when the whole system is just about to come crashing down. What’ll you do when the New World Order takes over and confiscates all your investments to give them to people in the Hood?

Jaxon took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. The saloon was playing Black Sabbath’s The Wizard at low volume.

Look, Keith, I don’t like to pry, but you can’t blame me for suspecting trouble.

Stop thinking you’re my keeper. If I get in trouble, it’s my fault, not yours. Not Pop’s. I take the rap for my fuckups. Okay?

But remember, my offer still stands.

An interest-free loan to attend college, all school and living expenses paid. Keith wouldn’t even have to work part-time, as Jaxon did, delivering pizzas. Keith also delivered pizzas at the Pizza Store, until he walked out on a manager he didn’t like. Now, he couldn’t go back, not with that accident and a DWI on his record.

What Jaxon wouldn’t have given for the opportunity. So many years he delivered pizza forty hours a week while attending UMSL during the day.

I haven’t forgotten, Keith said in a voice chill as a glacier.

New World Order, Jaxon said, not trying to keep the contempt out of his voice. I remember Grandpappy Jones telling us he didn’t get rich during the Depression because he was too scared to buy stocks. And Pop blames the Cold War. It’s all just an excuse to spend more than you have.

Not everybody has plenty of money to spare, like you do.

I worked for it, bro. I closed every Friday and Saturday night for years, while my friends and you went out and blew every dollar you had. Not to mention every Thursday and Sunday night while you sat around watching TV.

Keith stood up. It always comes back to that, doesn’t it? How hardworking and sacrificing you are. How you put yourself through school delivering pizzas so you deserve to play with everybody else’s money and live better than the rest of us.

That’s right, Jaxon said. It always comes back to that, and always will, because you could go to school too, I’ll even pay for it, and you refuse. I have a great job now because for years I drove around here. I had lots of managers I didn’t like and who didn’t like me. But I didn’t quit, because I had a bigger goal. Heat, rain, fog, snow, and ice—I delivered pizzas. I earned my tips and my paycheck, and I used them to get a degree. Because I thought long-term.

Keith leaned down, getting into his face. Hold that thought, Jaxon. I like ‘long-term’ too. Maybe I’m building something too, something you can’t see, because it’s real power. Power that lasts. Power nobody can steal from me, because it’s not built on a bunch of lies and manipulation.

Yeah, Jaxon said, hearing the sneer in his tone of voice. Mystic hoo doo mumbo jumbo. If that works so well, why’s Ken live in South St. Louis instead of Ladue?

I’m not an idiot too! Keith shouted, and stalked out of The Trainwreck.

Yeah, he really handled that well. No preaching at all. The whole place felt their warm, deep brotherly love.

Jaxon paid the bill for both their meals. Of course.

Chapter Three

01:13 A.M.

Jaxon blinked, but the glowing red numbers didn’t change.

Too early for London, but the Tokyo Stock Exchange just closed. He decided to check the Nikkei, then go back to sleep.

Wearing a plain white nylon nightgown, Angelique slept on her side facing away from him, her long blond hair spread out around her head like a sexy lion’s mane or a halo. Breathing softly. Smelling like some fruity shampoo and hair conditioner.

Quite a prize. Slim legs, large breasts, round ass. An exhausting appetite for humping. A sophisticated beauty from across the river in Edwardsville, Illinois. Family not wealthy, but affluent enough to pay her way through Wash U until she graduated from their law school with a 3.9 GPA. Primo marriage material for the right man. The young lawyers chased after her, but here she slept, in his bed.

With the ex-pizza delivery dude. He breathed a quiet thank you prayer to The Rock Hill Pizza Store and every customer who ever tipped him.

Those hotshot, self-important lawyers didn’t make the money he now did. The firm’s senior partners, maybe.

For that, he had to thank Clementina.

Moving slowly so he wouldn’t wake her, Jaxon slid his legs out from under the covers. Already the cold air chilled him, and he missed the warmth of Angelique’s back.

In his office he started to flip on the overhead light, then paused. The bright light of the nearly full