Warped Destinies: Tales of Terrara Vikos #4 Page 2

  When I glanced up at him, he noticed quickly and gave me a goofy grin again. My eyes narrowed, but just barely so he wouldn’t see it. He was more than he seemed. I barely felt any magic coming from him.

  He may have seemed like a simple, well-educated Ascential, but I knew for a fact that wasn’t all he’d been trained for.

  ***

  Morgan was frantic. He’d searched everywhere, but there was no sign of him. It couldn’t have been possible. The one time his son had run off without telling someone where he was, he disappeared. Agitated, Morgan quickly paced back and forth across the length of his office.

  Maybe he’d been too hard on him. Sure, he needed to give Lucian a strict upbringing in order for the lessons to sink in, but maybe he should have at least thought about Lucian’s accusations. It seemed very impossible that Michael could be that much more trouble than he seemed, but the two brothers did spend a lot of time together. Lucian probably knew Michael better than Morgan ever would.

  “Honey?”

  The Realm Leader stopped pacing and aimed his gaze at the doorway to find his wife Jezebel with Michael nervously gripping her leg from behind. Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair, which was a habit he’d formed whenever he was nervous or stressed.

  “Yes, Jez?”

  Jezebel nudged Michael with her leg and whispered, “Go on, sweetheart. Tell him.”

  Michael’s worried eyes immediately sparked his interest. Morgan got on one knee and gestured to his second son. The six-year-old glanced up at his mother again before reluctantly toddling over to him. The Realm Leader tried to look Michael in the eyes, but the boy refused to look at him.

  “I…” Michael murmured, “I was the one who drew the pictur’s. Not Lukey.”

  Morgan almost fell backward on his butt. Lucian… had been telling the truth? “And the water balloons?”

  His son was more interested in his tiny black and blue sneakers than him. “Me too. An’… I made Auntie Gloria be on fires.”

  His father raised an eyebrow. “The koi fish?”

  Michael twisted his right foot into the carpet nervously. “… Yeah.”

  Standing up, Morgan met Jezebel’s eyes. The foolish pranks aside, they were both thinking along the same lines. If Michael had known about Donovan and Fredrick, what else did the young child know?

  “Michael, tell me how you learned about those two men you drew.”

  The boy took a deep breath and told him, “I firs’ saws them in a dream. Then, I saws into the older one a’ school. I drews them after tha’ so I’d remember t’em betters.”

  Morgan’s blood ran cold at about the middle of Michael’s explanation. “Wait, you said one of them came to your preschool?”

  Michael seemed to think about that for a second, then grinned up at him and laughed, “Yep!”

  Eyes darting all over the floor, Morgan murmured in horror, “Not possible…” Finally, his blood started pumping as the fear for his son increased. He hurried around to the back of his desk, picked up the phone, and dialed the number for Tortura Mortalle, the high-security prison he’d sent Donovan to four years ago. Last he heard, the criminal was slated to be executed.

  “Tortura Mortalle, Rider speaking.”

  “Rider, it’s Morgan.”

  “Oh hey, Milord! How’s the kids?”

  Morgan replied quickly, “Listen, Rider, I don’t have much time. I need to know the status of Max Prisoner 12-11-20.”

  Rider’s end of the line was silent, aside from hushed whispers. Morgan heard Rider hiss to someone else, “What am I supposed to tell him? That he did the impossible? That he escaped?”

  “He what?” Morgan exclaimed. When the prison guard couldn’t form more than syllables, he slammed the phone back down into the receiver, his eyes wide and heartbeat rapid.

  “Morgan?” Jezebel asked softly, “What’s wrong?”

  Morgan looked up, running his fingers through his messy hair again. He glanced briefly at Michael, who was staring at him wide-eyed. Then, his distraught gaze met his wife’s once again. When he answered her, his voice cracked.

  “Donovan Accardi has kidnapped my son.”

  ***

  When Drake opened the door, all the whimpers and cries I’d been hearing suddenly went silent. I stood frozen in the doorway for a bit until the educator nudged me forward. As I walked inside, my gaze swept from left to right at all the bunk beds, similar to ones I’d seen at a military camp a few years ago. Whether they were on the beds or hanging around them, it seemed that everyone in there was a child. There had to be about two dozen children in there.

  The room was dimly lit, so I couldn’t make out features very well. However, I could sense what being each kid was. To my near left was a werewolf child, around five years old. Off to my right, ten-year-old, twin kitsune girls whispered to each other, probably about my arrival.

  Of course, it was child’s play to sense that without compromising my magical suppression.

  Then, my eyes caught a certain child, sitting on the top bunk of the beds in the far right corner. His head was hung, a sign he was depressed. He seemed familiar for some reason. Scanning his clothes, I realized why. He was dressed in the royal garb of the vampires.

  I knew I recognized him! I repressed my urge to call out to my old friend. He was Logan Angel, the dhampir son of the Vampire King. He may have only looked about seven years old, but dhampirs age half as fast as Ascentials and humans, so, in actuality, he was exactly my age: fifteen. However, a dhampir’s slow maturity wasn’t just limited to the physical. They were also typically slow to mature mentally. Meaning that even though Logan had been living for almost fifteen years, most of the time he would still act like the age he looked.

  I looked up at Drake, asking him, “What are all these kids doing here?”

  Drake glanced down at me and replied, “They’re here for a greater purpose.”

  “Would you care to elaborate?”

  Chuckling softly again, he replied, “Give me a minute.”

  After raising an eyebrow, I looked back ahead and noticed that we were approaching a door at the back of the barracks. Once we’d gotten to it, Drake behaved like a gentleman and opened it for me. Upon entering, my eyes skimmed over the full-sized bed with cotton sheets, the ebony bookcase and dresser, and the closet doors off to the side. When I heard the click of the door behind me, I turned around slowly to face Drake.

  “What is all this?” I asked.

  The educator responded, “This is for you. We need to make sure our leader is well taken care of.”

  I raised an eyebrow curiously. “Leader?”

  Drake smiled, wrapped an arm around my shoulders gently, and gave me the explanation I’d been waiting to hear, “That’s why you’re here. Our organization is focused on bettering the world. In order to do that, we need to take matters into our own hands. We need to teach and train a select group of children to help us meet our ends, but we know that once they’re strong enough, they may rebel. However, if they have a strong, caring, take-charge leader to guide them, our goals will be met.”

  “And… that’s supposed to be my job?”

  With a light, joking grin, Drake laughed, “Wow, you catch on fast! Yes, that’s exactly what your job is.”

  I didn’t want to get too nosy, for fear of being found out, but I continued to pry. “And… who’s the mastermind of this organization?”

  Drake laughed my question off, saying lightly, “You’ll get to meet him eventually, trust me.” Then, he pulled me tighter to his side. I winced at the sharp pain that shot through my left arm. Drake eyed me curiously before his eyes widened in realization.

  “I did that, didn’t I? I’m sorry, Bryan! Let me help.” The teacher hurried over to the closet and flung the doors open. I peeked in after him and saw it was a walk-in closet, and at the end of it was an open door to a personal bathroom.

  I chuckled humorlessly, “Drake, it’s fine. I’ll heal soon enough.”

  He
called back, “We don’t want it healing wrong though, Bryan. We can’t risk your arm’s usefulness.” Eventually, Drake walked out of the closet with a strip of cloth. He walked back to me, positioned my arm carefully, and tied the cloth around my neck like a sling. When he was done, he took a few steps back and kept staring at me worriedly.

  I think I’m going to like this guy.

  And yes, that meant I was staying.

  “I’m fine, Drake.” When he continued to gaze anxiously at me, I smiled and added, “Promise.”

  A small grin crossed the teacher’s face. “Well then, alright. You ready to meet the kids?”

  After a quick nod, I followed Drake back out into the kids’ quarters, keeping the door wide open. I stood timidly as close to that door as possible. While I may have social graces and confidence in my normal life as Realm Leader heir, dealing with children was not a specialty.

  Drake clapped his hands loudly and shouted aloud, “Alright guys, listen up!” All the kids stopped whatever they were doing and focused their attention on him. “Remember how I told you guys I was bringing you mentor? Well, there he is.” The teacher gestured to me. All I could do was raise my good hand up and wave at the kids meekly. I honestly didn’t know what else to do. Kids were foreign territory for me. Aside from Michael, and in my opinion, his mentality sometimes bordered the thin line between childlike and crazy.

  “Listen to him, alright? He’s in charge when I’m not here. If I find out any of you disobeyed him, you’ll be in big trouble!” Drake wagged his finger warningly at the kids. Then, he grinned and concluded, “Dismissed.”

  Someone tugged on my pants leg. “… Lucian?” I looked down to see Logan right next to me. I couldn’t see him that well in the dim dark at first, but my eyes were adjusting slowly. When I could see better, I realized that I recognized the look in his innocent, blood red eyes.

  I knelt down to his level and asked, “Logan, are you alright?”

  The boy nodded, whimpering slightly, “Yeah, Luke. I’m fine right now.”

  As I gently brushed his bangs from his eyes, Logan winced, flinching slightly away from me. Being more careful this time, I gently lifted the bangs up to reveal a large, swollen cut across his forehead.

  As I raised an eyebrow, he hissed, “Well, I did say, right now.”

  “Where else are you hurt?”

  Logan lifted his pants leg up to reveal a large, semi-healed gash going up his leg. My eyes widened.

  He whined, “That happened when they tackled me. It hurts, Luke!”

  I held a finger to his lips, shushing him, “Right now, Logan, my name’s Bryan. Don’t call me Luke until we are out of here.” The dhampir prince nodded slowly, wiping away the few tears that had started rolling down his cheeks.

  Gaze sharp, I looked at Drake, who was watching the twin kitsunes with avid rapture. “Drake!”

  The teacher looked back at me, straightening his posture after being addressed, and asked me, “Yes, Bryan?”

  I replied with a question of my own, “How many of these kids are injured?”

  Drake looked a bit flustered at my question, so I decided to rephrase it: “Have these kids gotten their injuries taken care of?”

  Once he got over his agitated moment, he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, no. The Boss said they’d learn and get accustomed to the pain if the injuries healed naturally.”

  Putting a bit of my commanding attitude as Realm Leader heir to good use, I narrowed my eyes. Finally, something my father taught me about the job that I could actually use.

  I commanded, “Get these kids medical attention. Now.”

  Drake took a few steps toward me, repeating, “The Boss said-”

  “I don’t care what your Boss said,” I growled, “I’m saying these kids’ injuries need to get healed, or I’m not cooperating with you.”

  After staring at me wide-eyed for a few more seconds, he shut his eyes and chuckled that small, soft chuckle again. “Okay, I’ll take care of it. After all, you are basically agreeing to take charge.”

  As Drake spun around and headed for the door, my finicky, superhuman hearing kicked in, and I heard him tell himself, “We definitely found the right leader.”

  Once the door shut behind him, I focused my concentration back on the kids. Most of them had gone back to playing with each other, but a select few still had attention trained on me.

  “Yo, Luke!”

  My eyes widened. Surely I hadn’t been found out already! My gaze snapped to the scruffy preteen on the top bunk of a nearby bed. The kid hopped off the bed and landed gently on the ground. That grace… that kid had to be a daemon. My eyes widened once again when they met the kid’s blue-grey ones. Those irises were characteristic of one daemon family in particular…

  “You’re a Rendra, aren’t you?” I asked.

  The boy popped the lollipop out of his mouth as he sauntered over to me. Then, he shoved it back in, crossing his hand across his chest and bowing.

  “I’s a p’ea’ure, Mi’ord,” he drawled, lollipop still in his mouth, “Graham Ren’ra, a’ your ‘ervice.”

  “No no no, stand upright!”

  Graham looked up at me strangely before straightening. “You feeling alrigh’, Milord?”

  “No, listen to me, Graham. While we are here, my name is Bryan Falcone. My past holds no meaning here, other than getting me and the rest of you killed. You can’t tell anyone else.”

  Graham looked around the room and yanked the lollipop out again, his eyes eventually turning back on me. “No worries, mate. None of the other kids understand. Of course, they don’t understand the trouble they’re in either.”

  I cocked my head slightly and asked, “What do you mean by that?”

  Chuckling slightly, Graham gripped his left shirt sleeve. Then, he yanked hard on the fabric, ripping it clean off his shirt. Burned into his shoulder was a mix of two symbols. The outer one was familiar to me, with an upside-down triangle in a circle. It was the knowledge of what was added to that dangerous symbol that shocked me even more and told me the gravity of the situation.

  I stared at the symbol in shock, murmuring, “The Triquetra…”

  “They call themselves MonReneix,” Graham told me lazily, “By adding the Triquetra, they have a reasoning that this mission of theirs is a holy and righteous one. But it’s just a joke to me. Do they honestly think we’ll listen to them?”

  “We have to, Graham.”

  The daemon boy raised his eyebrow. “Aaaaand, why exactly do we have to do that?”

  Knowing what that surrounding symbol meant, I smiled self-assuredly and replied, “So I can meet the Seeker.”

  ***

  Morgan’s fingers twitched nervously on the desk. Still no word. It had been about a week since Lucian had disappeared, and Morgan’s worry increased by the hour. The longer his son was gone, the more he prayed that he hadn’t been killed. Donovan had been working for the Seeker before he was imprisoned, which led the Realm Leader to believe that the convict had handed Lucian’s life over to the Seeker.

  The boy was only fifteen, far off from becoming a full-fledged Protektor like Loren had been. While it was true that Lucian was getting stronger by the day, the Seeker might be a challenge, since all signs pointed to the devil being an adult.

  Suddenly, all the lights went dark throughout the house. He lifted his head up, waiting for his night-vision as an Ascential to kick in. While he waited, he heard someone’s bloodcurdling scream:

  “MORGAN!”

  He quickly bolted out of his chair and out the door, yelling in reply, “Jez!” His night vision had yet to kick in completely, so he banged into a few walls as he zigzagged through his home. Soon, he picked up on his wife’s magical signature and… No, it couldn’t be…

  “MICHAEL!” he shouted, picking up his pace. Sure enough, the scent of his younger son’s blood filled the halls. Following the scent, he skidded to a stop in his giant living room. Lying right in the middle of the ro
om was Michael. The little boy was crying in pain, with giant gashes on his chest, ripped clothes, and bloody hands. Morgan jogged to his son’s side as fast as he could, falling to his knees next to him.

  “Michael?” he begged, “Michael, tell me you can hear me!”

  Michael’s eyes fluttered open, now a shocking bright blue color, and the boy whimpered, “Daddy?”

  “Yes, Michael. I’m here. Stay still, and I’ll heal you.”

  Morgan placed a cool, magic-filled hand on his son’s chest. While he waited for the magic to heal him, his eyes darted over the rest of Michael’s injuries. Instantly, they stared at the boy’s hand. He thought he saw the cuts form a shape. But that couldn’t be possible.

  Lifting his hand off of Michael’s now-healed chest, he ripped off one of his dress shirt sleeves and started pressing it against the boy’s left hand. He heard Michael whimpering.

  “Shush, Michael. Everything will be…” He slowly lifted the cloth off once most of the excess blood had been absorbed, revealing a shocking engraving on Michael’s hand. Morgan’s eyes widened.

  The spoked triangle in a circle.

  The Trimaleït.

  The symbol of the Seeker.

  “Hello, Morgan.”

  The Realm Leader spun around instantly and held his arms out to protect his son. His protective arms wavered slightly when he saw his wife held captive in Donovan Accardi’s arms.

  With a dagger at her throat.

  Morgan growled, “Haven’t you caused enough damage to my family yet, Donovan?”

  The man’s eyes remained shut, but a small smile appeared on his face. “Morgan, my friend, I will never be done with your family.”

  Fists clenching, Morgan snapped, “And why is that? Am I not doing something to your liking?”

  Donovan chuckled, “How little you understand of this world, Lord Morgan. I pity you.”

  The Realm Leader slowly got to his feet, still standing between his son and the murderer. He looked at Jezebel, who mouthed a single word:

  Eyes.

  Morgan lifted his gaze back to Donovan. “Why won’t you look at me, Donovan?”