Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Hack
“Take it easy, mate, you’re flat out like a lizard drinking.
” One of my only friends, aside from the obvious brothers of the Apocalypse, is Grimm—a demon marshall—who runs the demon territory of Australia.
In anthros form, he’s big. Bigger than me, and I tower over these humans on a good day.
With long brown hair that he prefers wearing in a half bun, he has gold irises and doesn’t even try to hide their unnatural coloring.
They get him laid with just a glance and a nod, according to him. It comes to no one’s surprise that he and Slash are like brothers from another continent. Personally, I’m convinced his boy-next-door smile is what seals the deal for him but also, I don’t really give a fuck.
There’s no pretense or wise words from him concerning the Sage situation, but it’s no secret that I’m not myself and haven’t been since her death.
I’m running myself haggard and I’m not surprised that it’s showing.
At least here, at the pub, I can take a load off, while I ask questions, getting crumbs of information, even if inconsequential.
At first, my number one priority was finding Baba Yaga, hoping she’d have answers and ready to cause permanent damage if she didn’t help me.
Like the last time I was there, her home was just an empty space.
I travelled back to Europe, the Balkans, even North Africa, checking out every breadcrumb I could find from folklore but got nothing. Not a fucking thing.
After two weeks, I decided to follow my heart, and my heart is nothing if it’s not searching for Sage.
The thing is, I can feel her somehow. It’s bone deep and inexplicable.
Every other time I’ve lost her it’s been just that…
a loss. This time around, her presence continues to linger, even though I can’t quite put my finger on it, like a butterfly landing on my skin that flies away the second I try to pinpoint its location.
Except it’s on the inside; my stomach, my heart, the boiling blood that runs through my veins. She’s there, but she’s not.
“Something’s not right. I’ve been through this song and dance at least a dozen times and it’s just not the same.” Grimm holds out two fingers and the bartender, who could pass for anthros but is a shifter in human clothing, nods just as he pushes a freshly tapped out ale to a nearby patron.
“I get it, and I’ll do what I can to sniff around some answers, but if you don’t get some rest, mate, you’re not good for anyone.”
I nod at his words, mostly because he’s right. It’s not that I’m tired in anthros terms, but I’ve exhausted my mental capacity to think straight. Problem is, regrouping means putting my search on hold and I’m not sure I can do that.
“I need to find her, Grimm.” I lower my voice so the anthros can’t eavesdrop. “I can feel her calling out to me but I can’t hear her.” I turn to look him in the eyes, needing him to see my desperation.
“She’ll be alright, mate.” I keep staring at him, letting his words of reassurance sink in.
“I hope so.”
Slapping me on the back, Grimm lifts his pint, waiting for me to follow his lead, and clinks the rims of our glasses together with a wink. Fucking Aussies, always so damn optimistic.
It’s only after a couple of pints that I realize the ales have a sprinkling of fairy dust because I’m feeling a calming buzz travelling through my body.
I’m not what anthros would call drunk, but my muscles are a little more fluid and my mind isn’t plagued with dark thoughts and murderous wishes as it has been in the last six weeks since Sage died in my arms.
That night—and with Grimm’s blessing—I roamed the entirety of the Australian countryside before hopping over to New Zealand. No one knew a fucking thing about anything but I kept my wits about me all the same.
The next couple of days, I make my way up to the Asian territories, which are divided into six parts.
Travelling is acceptable and doesn’t need any permissions, but settling or investigating a territory that belongs to another kyn must have the approval of the Dei, by proxy of the territory leader. Grimm is that for Australia.
When I arrive in Indonesia, controlled by the Fyreborne, I seek out their leader, Amberyne.
She’s none too happy to see me—demons are the immoralists of the supernaturals—and keeps our meeting short.
That being said, she’s a sucker for chosen stories and allowed me to question her kyn with the express instructions to be polite and respectful.
I did my best, considering every lead was a dead end.
To be fair, the Fyreborne keep to themselves.
History has shown that they don’t tend to meddle in the lives of others so it would be surprising for them to have any insight on Sage’s situation.
I’m also well aware that, except for a hunch, I have no idea what exactly I’m looking for on this expedition.
My body and mind are fueled by this deep instinct that she’s out there, calling out to me, expecting me to find her.
And that explains the pitying looks I get from most of the kyn I encounter.
It’s only when I reach northern Cambodia that I get a little nugget.
That territory is run by the Spirits, and when I spoke to its leader, a totemic spirit in Giant Ibis form, she sympathized with me.
Flying onto my shoulders, she spread her wings far and wide and somehow gathered some of my energy onto herself.
Be reassured, she calls to you. I hear her in my head, the bird itself not speaking outright.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” I’m grateful to know I’m not losing my fucking mind but I’ve know this for a month already. Ever since the earthquake…hell, even before, if I’m honest, I could feel her presence in the very fiber of my existence.
Rest. Your mind needs to be open to receive. Great. Someone else telling me to get some sleep, as if that’s even possible.
“I can’t rest until I find her.”
You won’t find her until you rest. Her words are definite, like an omen with a sprinkle of hope. You may wander our lands, demon, but I fear the Earth isn’t the map you should be scouring.
I thank her, bowing my head in guise of respect. After all, with the sheer number of kyn I’ve met these last weeks, she’s the only one who’s tried to guide me.
China is divided into two territories, so I stay in the Spirits’ side just to avoid the hassle of asking for permission from the Elementals. No doubt they would have given it to me, but they are peaceful souls and my aura is the exact opposite right now.
Once I reach the very north of China, I come face to face with an arachne in anthros form.
Elegant and sinewy, he blocks my way with a smile that feels a lot more like a sneer.
Mongolia is just a few miles north of where I am, so this monster has wandered into China. For what? I have no fucking clue.
“Move.” My tone is clipped, my patience on a razor’s edge.
“I hear rumors.” At the end of his sentence, the click-click-click of his teeth, so typical of the arachne, has my skin bristling. Anthros can’t hear it with their weak auditory senses but their bodies have an automatic repulsion to them. Even in anthros form, they are avoided like the plague.
Fucking spiders. The universal enemy, with the exception of Australians. Those fuckers live on a continent that is out to kill them, the threat of death is just a typical Monday.
“The world hates you. I assure you, it’s not a rumor.
” I don’t move away or to the side. I take a step forward and get in his face.
It’s true what they say, spiders are more scared of the world than we should be of them, but they do need a reminder every now and then that they’re low on the kyn totem pole.
“Your chosen; she’s dead.” I don’t think. I don’t weigh my pros and I ignore my cons. My hand is around his throat so fast I can feel his breath catch against my palm.
“You have two seconds to tell me what you know before I snap your fucking neck.” There’s no coming back from that kind of injury for an arachne.
“Her soul has been wandering and the lackeys have a bet on who can catch her first.”
I see red. It’s not a metaphor for my anger getting the better of me.
A crimson curtain of blood spills right in front of me as I squeeze the arachne’s throat so hard it erupts into tiny particles of red and black liquid spraying my face.
To be honest, I don’t care about the mess, and somewhere in the back of my mind I know I’ve fucked up, but there are no witnesses and this arachne isn’t in its own territory.
Any number of species could have killed him.
Wiping my face of his guts and blood, I summon Cirrus and we travel to the nearest water source, a few miles to the east, so I can wash the arachne stink off of me.
It’s on that beach, facing the frozen lake of Chagan, that I decide that this whole thing has been a waste of time.
“Cirrus, my friend, it’s time to go home.”
We travel eastward, crossing the very southern tip of Russia and the northern territory of Japan before skimming the Pacific Ocean all the way to California, but we don’t stop there.
We continue east across the Rocky Mountains and the Midwestern Plains until we reach the Appalachian mountains and stop in our own private slice of utopia.
The Oconee Lake where my brothers and I reside is the only place we’ve truly called home, and as soon as Cirrus falls back inside of me and I return to my anthros form, I feel the peace that this corner of Georgia gives me.
The sound of the lawn tractor gets my immediate attention.
It’s mid October, I’m sure, but I have no idea what the exact date is.
What I do know is that Pierce is doing my job, mowing the lawn.
Dressed in a T-shirt and jeans with his rubber boots on his feet and noise cancelling headphones on his ears, Pierce is driving my tractor like he’s living his best life.
I don’t know why it pisses me off. No matter how many times I tell myself he’s trying to help me, trying to make my life easier by taking away some of my mental stress, all I see are my failures.
Failure to care for my property, failure to work my fucking job—the gym has been left in the capable hands of my manager this last month—and of course, the biggest failure of all…finding my chosen.
Just as I’m walking up to Pierce, he sees me and a bright, Ken-doll smile spreads across his face.
“Hack! You’re back!” Even his good-hearted rhyme pisses me off.
“The fuck you think you’re doing?”
His smile plunges to its death.
“I see your mood hasn’t improved. I’m guessing you didn’t find any leads?” I’m shaking with rage and the fact he’s just sitting on my now-turned-off lawnmower with his headphones hugging his forehead like most kids in the streets these days just amps up my anger.
“Don’t sound so fucking smug about it.” He’s nowhere near smug and I’m just being a fucking asshole, looking for a fight. Looking for an outlet to this pain.
“Slay wants to talk to you, and from the way you’re shaking right now, I’m thinking you should run, not walk.” I deflate on the spot, because of all the kyn in the world, Pierce is best of them all.
“Fuck.” With my hands on my hips, I lower my head and stare at my boots.
“Fuck is right, brother. And you’re welcome for taking care of this grass so it’s ready for winter.”
“Thanks.” He deserves more than my mumble but it’s all I’ve got for now.
Running full speed to Slay’s place, I walk in without knocking or ringing the bell, knowing he’s expecting me. As I round the corner into the kitchen, I find him slicing chicken breasts and pouring olive oil on the insides.
“Did you get all that shit off your chest, yet?” Straight to the point in true Slay fashion.
“Not even close. I can’t find her and I swear to fuck, Slay…she’s begging me to.” I expect him to scoff at me, to tell me to get over myself and wait for the next life to come my way.
He does nothing of the sort. Instead, he puts his knife down and takes a deep breath.
“She came to me in a dream.” Of all the things I was expecting him to say, that was nowhere on the list.
“What?”
“She came—”
“I heard what you said, asshole. What do you mean by that? Is she okay? Is she alive? Why did she come to you and not me?” That last question has my heart twisting in a vice and my breath hitching with unwarranted emotions.
“I don’t know the answer to any of those questions.”
“Then what the fuck is the point?” I don’t realize I’m at the edge of my patience and toeing the line of violence until Slay takes a step forward and gets right in my face.
“The point is, she’s been trying to reach you but can’t get through because…You’re. Not. Sleeping.”
That information gets my attention the same way a bucket full of ice would wake me the fuck up.
“Sleep?” Now I just sound like a fucking idiot.
“Yeah, dumbass. How is she supposed to come into your dreams if you’re never fucking sleeping?” He has a point. “Now go take a fucking shower and go to bed. And don’t even think about staying here, go to your own fucking house.”
With those parting words, he picks up his knife and returns to his prepping.
The weight of my grief lifts just enough to allow my shoulders to relax and I grin for the first time in what feels like centuries. Without giving it a thought, I grab Slay’s head and kiss the top of it, ignoring his threats of bodily harm and even death.
Twenty minutes later, I’m clean and naked as I slide into my bed and wait for my chosen to come to me.
Because she will come to me, of that I have no doubts. Not anymore.