Tales of Howloween: The Tales Short Story Collection, #1

By D. C. Gomez, J. D. Magnetra, River Seabrook and 6 more

A Red Moon Rises this Halloween, so heed the howls and enter a world of wonder, danger and desire. Tales of Howloween presents a thrilling collection of nine supernatural tales that will keep you guessing until the final stroke of midnight.

 

In "Forest Fated", wolf shifter Cassius captures renegade mage Ariella, sparking an electric connection hinting at a prophecy older than the forest itself. As an evil wizard spreads, Cassius and Ariella must team up against all instincts.

 

Nature spirits Cait and Milo struggle to find their place in "A Red Moon Rises" grim future world. And when reality itself is questioned in "The Midnight Pack", logic-seeker Avalon finds her ancestry holds secrets unlocking a world she never believed.

 

You will fall in love with these spellbinding romances, "Moonlit Desires" where a fated meeting awakens new possibilities. As well as "White Falls Haunt" where a magical marriage isn't what it seems. In "Celestial Rescue" where an alien rescue leads to cosmic desires, satisfy all cravings for chills, thrills and intimate encounters.

 

A twisted tale of football players turned werewolves in "The Wolves" while keep you guessing, as the team seeks for easy ways to win.

The magic continues in the fun shape-shifting mystery of "For Shuck's Sake." Sometimes an accident will change your life.

Join the Reapers Crew in the Urban fantasy adventures "Bloodstone" as they tried to stop a cult from waking the God Set.

 

So stalk these pages and feel the moon's call. Delve into a menagerie of mischief and magic under star-pricked skies. But be warned - mysteries abound in these Woods and ghosts linger beyond the last page. The howling has only just begun...

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.A.L.E.S.
• Release date: Oct 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223111269

Book preview

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Copyright © 2023 by T.A.L.E.S.

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.

Contents

Playlist

Letter from The Librarian of T.A.L.E.S.

Bloodstone by D. C. Gomez

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The Wolves- Werewolf Football Players by Arla Jones

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

For Shuck's Sake by Julie L. Kramer

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

A Red Moon Rises by River Seabrook

Intro

Not You Again

Double-Cross

Back to the Beginning

The Monsters You Forgot

The Wish

Number 6

A Modern Kind of Monster

A Red Moon Rises

Celestial Rescue by Charlene Pender

Meg

Kyp

Meg

Kyp

Meg

The Midnight Pack by Kristy Perkins

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

White Falls Haunt by S.R. Griffith

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Fated Forest by J. D. Magnetra

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Moonlit Desires by Laura Schofield

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

You Might Be A Werewolf If...

Maple Latte Recipe

Tales Submission Info

Want to see what the authors were listening to as they wrote their stories or just get in the Howloween spirit? Scan the QR code below to check out the youtube playlist!

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Well, hello my dear Reader,

Welcome to T.A.L.E.S., the largest and most magnificent repository of information in both the human and supernatural world. The L is for Library, the rest are self-evident. While we are technically a library, the title is a little misguided, given the size and scope of T.A.L.E.S.. We do pride ourselves in owning every story, fable, tale, poem, legend, you name it-we have it, ever created, regardless of the format, location and time. Our librarians are busy around the universe gathering these gorgeous pieces each day.

Due to the amount of treasure located within our small city (we are technically bigger than some of those small towns in Texas but who is counting), our physical location is highly classified. If you are reading this, you are one of the few selected souls entitled to our distribution list. But please remember, this secret can not be discussed with outsiders. We are a bit like The Cave. I do hate to compare ourselves to that little club owned by the devil, but it is the most accurate description. We are by invitation only, and only by need to know basis. So those who know, belong.

As The Librarian for T.A.L.E.S., it is truly my pleasure to welcome you to our October issue. This year the Library has tasked me with a very special project, the selection of new interns. Our numbers have been rapidly dwindling. You would be surprised by the number of competing libraries around the universe. This is also a very dangerous field, and we do provide the best training. Hence, we do lose many of our teammates on a yearly basis (some to enemy poaching and others to death). 

But back to the recruitment process. What better way to test the skills, ability, and ingenuity of a potential librarian than having them find the next great story? Submissions were open and the library selected nine potential candidates. All stories needed to include a werewolf component in them. I must admit I was pleased with the results and looked forward to meeting the challenge. 

After hours of deliberation, and several containers of coffee (and maybe a little Irish Cream), I was close to making a decision. At least closer than I was when I started. When I received a small request that was hard to ignore. Since we are being fully transparent here, it’s hard to ignore a request from your biggest benefactor. I mean, does anyone in the supernatural world actually ignore a request from a being that has more money than God and is over 5000 years old (even if it is a talking cat)? My dear Constantine, if you are reading this, I’m not complaining at all. You have my highest respect and we are honored to be your non-profit of choice. 

Just stating a fact that it must be nice to have friends in high places. Well, it’s not like our interns (like those of Constantine’s) have a high survival rate. So with all the power given to me by T.A.L.E.S., I’m excited to announce our new interns, hope they don’t die soon, J. D. Magnetra, D. C. Gomez, and Jamie Dalton (did I even see an application from that one?).

To be fair, this entire issue was meant to lead up to a great mystery. A slow revelation of stories leading to the big reveal of our winners. There is no need to hold you in suspense, since my opinion was OBE (overcome by events- for those who don’t know). Still, it is only fair to publish our candidates’ findings. They did spend a lot of time in the search for them.

As you enjoy the collection, I will introduce each one and their applications. Give you a little insight into the potential librarian that I was considering. As well as some contact information, if you are interested in hiring them yourself. They are excellent researchers and story-smiting. 

Since I officially have three new interns (even though I only see two at any given time), I might as well put them to work. This publication still needs to be typed and put to print. Somebody has to do that, and it cannot be The Librarian. What are interns for?

Please get comfortable as we are about to start. In the meantime, please make sure to keep all fingerprints off the pages and do not bend the edges unnecessarily. We do have a fine for book damages when you return them. 

Happy Reading- The Librarian

P.S. Our spice rating system can be found at www.jamiedalton.net/talesofseries if you want to see what to expect. Somebody *cough* The Librarian *cough* appears to have been slipping a bit more of her Irish Cream in her coffee as she organized the resumes. They get spicier as the book goes on. What have I gotten myself into? -J.D. Magnetra The Intern

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A Bartholomew the Reaper Adventure

Friday Evening (Halloween). Egypt- Valley of the Kings

Duck! Bartholomew screamed.

I’m too old for this, Bob replied, as he stumbled over a root in the tunnel.

For a forty-something year old intern, Bob was in better shape than most eighteen-year-olds. But running next to the superhuman Reaper made him appear senile. Even without using his full powers, Bartholomew’s strength, and agility were on a different scale. Only his adopted sister, Isis, the other living Reaper, surpassed him. Bartholomew never complained, even if Death gave him the gifts and powers after his demise. At least he wasn’t dead anymore, and he wasn’t reliving that terrible day.

You will be too dead if they catch us. Bartholomew turned around and pulled Bob by his backpack to his feet with one hand.

Bartholomew could lift his own weight, and at least five other humans at the same time without struggling. While Death blessed Bob with superpowers, extra strength wasn’t one of them. He earned that the old-fashioned way; training every day. Normally, the idea of keeping up with the younger Reapers would never even cross his mind. Having to run for his life to avoid pissed-off werewolves made it an exception.

On top of that, they were still carrying their backpacks. Each man carried a matching black backpack over their now dirty black suits. The only thing they changed before entering the tunnel were their dress shoes for rock climbing ones.

We have to jump, Bartholomew informed him.

Bob stopped next to Bartholomew, staring down a pit ten feet wide. The hole was at least twenty feet deep.

What is this? Bob asked. "Are we stuck in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom?"

"I was thinking more like The Mummy," Bartholomew added.

Bartholomew pointed at the three scrawny mummies crawling across the roof of the tunnel, heading their way. Hissing sounds came from their mangled throats. It was hard to tell where the rags ended, and the leathery remains of skins begin.

I’m never having beef jerky again. Bob gagged but forced himself not to puke.

I feel like we are stuck in one of those bad vampire movies with everyone hissing. Bartholomew looked around the walls.

I’m sure Edward will not appreciate you comparing his race to those deformed mummies. Bob ran his hands over the walls of the tunnel, looking for a way out. How did we get here?

I blame those damn werewolves, said Bartholomew with a dangerous smile. I have a plan.

Bartholomew grabbed Bob by the waist and winked.

***

A week earlier, Nash, TX

Slow down, Constantine told Bartholomew. What do you mean Imani is missing?

Constantine stopped licking his paw and stared at the young Reaper. For a five-thousand-year-old talking cat, he had a very short temper. As the trainer for Death’s interns, it was his responsibility to keep track of the status of all his charges. A missing intern was as bad as having a nuclear weapon MIA. Imani was the new intern in Africa, and the youngest.

Are you sure she just didn’t forget to check in? Constantine asked, jumping off the kitchen table at the Reaper’s Loft.

The Reapers crew had two main headquarters. The new one in downtown Texarkana in the old Union Station, and the original one at the Nash Business Park. Most of the business dealing with the Haven for the supernatural community took place at Union Station. The Reapers building in Nash was the command center for all intern activities. The second floor of the building served as both a meeting area and the sleeping quarters for the North America crew.

I don’t need her to check-in to keep track of her. You know that, Bartholomew replied.

Constantine strolled towards Bartholomew’s Command center on the far side of the loft. Satellite images flashed across four of the six monitors mounted on the wall. Bartholomew pushed his curly brown hair out of his eyes.

Stop playing with your hair, Constantine shouted as he jumped on the desk next to Bartholomew.

I can’t help it. It gets in my eyes, he replied.

Then cut it. Constantine glared at the screen.

This is the style. Bartholomew’s fingers flew over his keyboard as he spoke.

Life was so much better before you cared about fashion and styles, Constantine spoke, but there was no heat in his voice. He was busy analyzing the maps on the screens.

For a human, Bartholomew appeared to be in his prime, early twenties, muscular and drop-dead gorgeous. The new appearance was a gift from Death, as part of his transformation to being a Reaper. At the time of his death, Bartholomew had barely started puberty and was in the middle of a growth spurt. Death, his guardian, refused to have the young Reaper become an immortal fourteen-year-old. While the body was much older, his mind was that of a teenager. Bartholomew was a very mature seventeen-year-old, but still a teen at heart.

I swear Constantine, I can’t find her anywhere. Bartholomew pointed at the screens.

How is that even possible? Constantine glared once again.

We know she is not dead, Bartholomew stated. I would have felt it.

Yes, you, Isis, me, and of course Death. Constantine rolled his eyes. Tell me something I don’t know.

She could be in hell, heaven, purgatory or some other plane, Bartholomew continued, ignoring Constantine.

Bartholomew, that one is so green she can’t find us on Google Maps, he said. There is no way she would head to any of those places without asking.

Maybe she was taken, Bartholomew whispered.

Constantine froze. The Reapers crew couldn’t afford another kidnapping of an intern. Death would lose it and Isis would probably go postal on the world. Neither one of them spoke for a few minutes.

Boss, we have a problem, Bob shouted from the door as he and Shorty rushed in.

Bob’s dirty blond hair was a mess. Something unnatural for the forty something year old intern. Not the oldest intern in the Reaper’s crew; he was definitely the wisest. After becoming Death’s intern in North America, Bob started wearing button down shirts and a vest. Skulls covered the black leather he wore this evening.

Shorty glanced around Bob’s shoulder. Bob usually overshadowed his small stature. It wasn’t Shorty’s fault he was only five feet tall but spending time with the tall Bob at over six feet made him look even shorter. Constantine took a deep breath and turned his attention towards Bob.

I’m sure we have more than one, Constantine replied. What’s the drama?

We have a cult trying to resurrect the God Set, said Bob.

What? Constantine screamed. Explain.

We can’t, boss, Shorty jumped in.

Constantine stood, but Bob waved his hands in front of the cat before he could growl. But we have some people that can explain this mess.

They are outside making sure you won’t eat them, Shorty added quickly.

Why would they think you would eat them? Bartholomew asked, looking between Constantine and Shorty.

You bite one loud evangelist and now everyone thinks you go around murdering people. Constantine shook his head. The nerve of them.

Bob and Shorty both smirked as Bartholomew glared at Constantine.

What happened? Actually, don’t tell me. Bartholomew shook his head. I’m taking Isis’ approached here. It’s safer if I don’t know.

Just bring in the weirdos. We don’t have all day, Constantine ordered.

Shorty rushed outside the loft and ushered three people in. Two men in their fifties, and an older lady with a gold streak in her hair, faced the crew. They were all dressed in black and white business suits. The group moved gracefully towards Constantine.

Shifters? Bartholomew asked softly.

We prefer werewolves, master Reaper, said the lady, inclining her head towards Bartholomew.

Now, why do we owe the honor of the head of the Coleman Clan visiting us? Constantine asked, eyeing the group.

You know us? the taller of the two men asked.

I make it a point to know all the individuals in Haven, especially powerful ones, he replied. I was wondering when you would come by to introduce yourselves.

Apologies Master Constantine, said the female. We weren’t sure if our kind was welcome in Haven.

Everyone is welcome in Haven, as long as you follow the rules, Bob exclaimed. I have explained that already.

Yes, you have, Sherriff. But we heard of the scandal one clan caused in Haven a few years back, the taller men said. People judge harshly because of the faults of a few.

We don’t blame your clan for the actions of others, Constantine announced, as formal as a pharaoh on his throne. But I expect proper introductions from true leaders.

All three werewolves dropped their heads in a formal bow. With hands to their chest, they faced Constantine.

The Coleman Clan asks for an audience with the mighty Constantine, said the female. I, Ella, matriarch of the clan, ask to speak.

Speak, mother, Constantine approved.

Mighty Constantine, I have with me the elders, Clayton and Clint. Ella pointed first to the taller man, Clayton, and then the smaller one, Clint.

Constantine nodded in approval. Both men were muscular with the constitution that would make a Viking proud. They resembled each other with reddish hair and deep green eyes. While Clayton was clean shaven with a smooth high and tight military haircut. Clint rocked a Mohawk with frosted tips.

A pleasure making your acquaintance. Constantine nodded again towards the trio. You all know Bartholomew, by the sounds of it.

The young Reaper is famous in Haven, Clint informed them, with a huge grin that gave him the appearance of a bouncing five-year-old. While the smile was truly genuine, only a fool would take this man for anything other than a killer.

Please don’t indulge his ego. Constantine shook his head. Now explain what this deal with Set is.

Back in the fifteenth century, our clan made a covenant with Pope Boniface IX, Clayton started.

No offense, elder Clayton, but we don’t have all day, Constantine interrupted. Let’s get to the cliff notes version of the present day.

My apologies mighty Constantine, Clayton replied.

While you are all at it, can we stop with the mighty title? Bartholomew asked. He needs no more adulations.

Constantine glared at the Reaper but nodded. Fine. Just call me Constantine.

The trio glanced at each other before nodding. Constantine was known for being temperamental. Clayton took a deep breath before starting.

One of our members betrayed us and stole the artifact that awakens the God Set currently sleeping in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt, he said.

Now, that is concise, Bartholomew approved. I’m impressed.

Of course, it had to be an inside job, Constantine added.

Why? Shorty asked.

Because nobody else is crazy enough to break into the Coleman’s compound and survive, Constantine explained.

Only blood members of the pack have access to our inner sanctum, Clint explained. We don’t know why Jake did it, but we need to find him before Halloween.

We should start blocking our calendars each Halloween to prepare for world ending disasters, Shorty told them. This is becoming a pattern.

That’s the problem with weak ley lines and a lot of magic, Constantine told them, not even fazed by the situation. What’s the ritual?

The placement of the bloodstone on the altar of Set at sunset will release enough power to raise the god. It was Ella’s turn to deliver the horrible news.

Can you just send somebody in to get it? Shorty asked on his way to the fridge. Bad news was always easier to handle with food.

The traitor knows all the members of our clan and our mercenaries, Clayton spoke as his hands slowly shifted to claws. Once the stone is recovered, we can handle the traitor.

Too easy, Bartholomew said. I just pop in right before sunset, grab the stone and be gone.

If only it was that simple, my poor child, Constantine broke the news. If you pop in using your powers given to you by Death, aka Anubis, they won’t even need a stone. You might as well go in carrying a welcome home cake.

I’ll go boss, Bob volunteered.

Can he go? Bartholomew asked.

While interns get their magical power from Death, it is a tiny amount, Constantine explained. You would have to bleed out on the altar to make a difference.

Oh God, Imani! Bartholomew screamed and turned back to his computer center.

Constantine glanced at the boy but focused on the trio. We need all the information you have on the stone, the traitor, and the location of Set.

Are you helping us? Clint asked.

Our interests may be aligned, Constantine replied, pointing at the dining table. Bob, would you mind making coffee? This is going to be a long night.

Sunday afternoon, private flight across the Atlantic

Are you sure I can’t go with you? Isis asked from the conference screen.

We got this, Bartholomew told his sister, as he sipped sparkling water in Constantine’s private yet.

Bob and Shorty sat across from him as they all stared at the large monitor on the wall. It was good to have more money than God. Transportation for the Reapers crew was always in style. Isis and Constantine remained in Texas, monitoring their progress through all of Bartholomew’s computers.

Constantine, are you sure that thing is going to work? Isis asked for the fifth time.

How many times am I going to repeat it? Yes! Constantine rolled his eyes at her.

But how can you be sure? Isis ran her hands through her long, black hair. If Bart uses his power anywhere near Set’s resting place, we might as well plan for WWIII.

If Bartholomew tries to use his power while using the bracelet, he will wish Death would take him, Constantine replied.

How do you know that? Bartholomew asked, turning the bracelet over with his finger.

Let’s just say the stupid thing was designed for yours truly. After less than a day wearing it, I became very aware of my magical nature. Constantine rubbed his neck, but nobody said anything.

Basically, somebody gave you a really powerful shock-collar, Shorty announced with a frown. Try not to electrocute yourself, Bart.

Bartholomew dropped his arm on the table and glared at the bracelet. He swallowed hard and focused his eyes on the screen. Can we get back to the plan?

By the time we land, it will be Monday afternoon, Bob read his notes. This gives us less than four days to find the tomb, locate the missing Imani, and stop another apocalypse. Who said our job is boring?

Don’t forget, you are trying to avoid an international incident, Isis told them. You are all archeologists and have information on a potential new tunnel. Don’t draw too much attention to yourselves.

Are you serious? Shorty sipped from his wineglass. I was planning to have people feeding me grapes and fanning me with those large palm branches.

You don’t even like grapes, Bob reminded his friend.

It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for this mission. Shorty smiled sheepishly.

Isis shook her head. Just be careful. If the Colemans are correct, too many people are searching for that bloodstone. Get in and out and leave the rest to the werewolves.

We got this, said Bartholomew. Stop stressing and just monitor North America.

Bartholomew, if something happens to you, I’m going to . . .

The team in the jet never heard what Isis would do. Bartholomew disconnected the video call and glanced at Shorty and Bob.

She is going to hurt you, Bob informed the young Reaper with a smile on his face.

You know there is no way to get Isis to stop once she goes in full mama-bear mode, Bartholomew stated. The world is not ready for an angry Isis. But we still have a plan to review.

We need to start with Imani’s place. Bob’s smile was gone, and the man was all business. It would be nice to know she headed for a holiday and didn’t tell anyone.

How do you head for a holiday? Can she time-travel? Shorty leaned forward in his seat as he spoke.

That’s what many parts of the world call going on vacation, Bob explained, and Shorty sat back in his chair.

I’m going to start using that phrase. Shorty bit his lower lip. It makes you sound fancy.

You know, in order to need a vacation, you should actually work, Bartholomew joked with the shorter man.

Boy please. I’m the hardest working man in the crew. Shorty crossed his arms over his chest.

Have you ever pulled an eight-hour shift at the station? Bartholomew knew very well the answer, but he was nervous and needed a distraction.

Eight hours! Shorty choked on his wine. I’m on call twenty-four-seven. I’m like the Navy Seals of the Crew. When people are in trouble, who do they call?

Ghostbusters? Bartholomew giggled.

Shorty threw a crumpled-up paper napkin at Bart, who was rolling in his chair with laughter. Bob glanced between the two men and only smiled. He let them have their fun as he analyzed the map of Imani’s neighborhood. He prayed the girl wasn’t taken.

***

Monday afternoon, Cairo, Egypt

Death’s Interns were paid very well. They had a monthly stipend for housing, food, and even clothing, something they went through quickly with their profession. Imani had settled into a trendy furnished apartment in Garden City, Cairo. While the rent prices would have made any single person think twice, an Intern didn’t have those issues. It also helped most interns move cities every nine months. Unlike the North American crew, the rest were not interested in starting their own Haven. As long as they changed location before the year was up, they had nothing to worry about.

Imani had moved countries four times since becoming an Intern last year. Like all of Death’s Interns, she was an orphan, and the job gave her the ability to travel. It also gave her an instant family. All Interns were required to have bi-weekly chats with the crew and mandatory in person reunions every six months. This was one of Isis’ rules. No Intern should ever feel alone again.

A ballistic resistant car was waiting at the hangar for the men. They piled in and headed straight for Imani’s residence. Shorty stared out the window at the vast metropolis. Bartholomew navigated Bob through the busy city as they avoided traffic and pedestrians.

After finding parking and grabbing their weapons, they marched towards the tower.

Do we have a plan for getting in? Shorty asked as they arrived at the front door.

Good afternoon, Mr. Bob, a tall security man with a polished English accent said. Apartment 9E is the one you are looking for.

The security man handed Bob a set of keys and pointed towards an elevator. Bob reached for the keys slowly and eyed the man with a raised eyebrow.

No need to fear. Master Constantine called this morning, explained the security man.

Of course he did. Shorty snatched the keys from Bob and marched towards the elevators. You know the Boss-man has to be in control of everything.

Thank you, Bob told the security guard. Would you let us know if anyone else inquires about the apartment?

Of course, sir, replied the man.

Bartholomew and Bob followed Shorty towards the elevators. The interior of the elevator was all mirrors and cleaned to perfection. The ride was smooth, and the ninth floor was impressive. Everything in the building was immaculate.

At least we know they keep a very glamorous building, Bartholomew told them.

Imani has excellent taste, added Bob. If anyone would make the most of their housing allowances, it would be her. Besides, I’m glad. A single girl in a beat-down place draws too much attention.

You don’t think this place does too? Shorty asked, as they reached the apartment’s door.

A very different type of attention, Bob told him.

Shorty shrugged and opened the door. The three men peeked inside, but none of them moved. Imani’s apartment looked like a hurricane hit it. Chairs and tables had been tossed about, papers were scattered everywhere. Someone had even ripped the curtains off the wall.

Oh God, I hope she is not laying in there in a coma and that’s why we couldn’t reach her, Bartholomew blurted breaking the spell holding the men in place.

Bob was the first one to rush forward, gun in hand. Shorty followed, heading toward the left, while Bartholomew headed towards the right. In less than four minutes, they had searched the whole place and found nothing. Bartholomew strolled back to the living room, analyzing the mess. After ensuring nobody was in the apartment with them, Shorty closed the door.

What do you think? Shorty asked Bob, who was kneeling over a pile of notebooks.

We didn’t see any blood. Bob stood. That’s good news. They were looking for something. But what?

Bartholomew walked into the living room and shook his head. Someone even sliced the mattress up. They were serious in their search. I have an idea.

The young reaper inhaled. For a split second, his whole body shimmered.

Ahhhh! screamed Bartholomew, dropping to the ground holding his hand.

Bob and Shorty rushed to his side on the floor. Sweat covered his face and the young man was trembling and dry heaving.

Bartholomew, what happened? Bob asked, slowly turning him around.

Bartholomew winced at the touch.

Did we set off a trap? Shorty pulled out his gun from his leg holster. How much time do you think we have?

Bartholomew shook his head and struggled to get up. Bob helped him, noticing the dampness on his back. Forcing the moisture back to his mouth, he raised the hand with Constantine’s bracelets.

Bob slapped his forehead. Please tell me you didn’t use your powers?

I was just trying to scan the room with my senses, Bartholomew whined. My powers are so much a part of me. It’s as natural as breathing. If scanning a room almost blew my brains off, if I try to teleport, it will vaporize me.

Then I’m glad you didn’t try that, replied Bob.

I have no idea how Constantine handled the pain, Bartholomew continued. I mean, even when he speaks, it would activate this demonic thing.

A quiet boss? Shorty grunted. That would be a sight to see. Can we get you up?

Bartholomew nodded, and the two men assisted him. Holding on to Bob, Bartholomew took several shallow breaths, grounding himself again.

This is going to be tough, Bartholomew admitted.

We have enough people trying to kill us, Bob told