The Generator: The Succubae Seduction (44 page)

It’s not until I get out of the Orange Bubble and Angela is driving away that I realize there is an unknown car in the driveway. Swearing—or at least as much swearing as I ever really do—I remember that I’d driven Lisa’s car to the police station, and that it’s still there. I can’t go back to get it, but hopeful my two human girlfriends can.

Wondering whom this new car belongs to; I walk through the front door and freeze.

“Father Chilton,” I say as cheerfully as I can muster for a man I seem to instinctively dislike. “How are you today?”

“
Reverend
Chilton, please,” he corrects me, that bright smile plastered to his deeply tanned faced. “I have no children, and prefer to be called reverend. It’s good to see you healthy again.” His brown eyes dart around the room looking for something, before I see a calculating look enter the dark orbs, but it never touches his voice. How did he know I’d been hurting? I glance at Lisa, Becky, Brooke, and Ondine sitting around the room, but they give nothing away. Remembering how my girlfriends had acted around him last weekend, I try to figure out the fastest way to get him out of here. “I had a bit of a chat with AnnaBelle Lewis this morning, and she had some interesting things to tell me.”

It takes all my effort not to curse out loud. I end up grinding my teeth in frustration. Logically I understand why the pious woman would go to her reverend for help, especially with her crisis of faith, but it still galls to have this charismatic man know anything more about my life than I really want him to. After the ordeal at the police station, my patience is shot.

“Well, thanks for stopping by,” I tell him hurriedly, waving him to the door. “As you can see I’m doing fine. Give AnnaBelle my regards.”

“Lyden,” Lisa snaps at me, “don’t be so rude. The busy reverend took time out of his busy day to come check on us.”

“Considering everything that’s been happening to us lately,” Becky adds in, “the fact that we have a sympathetic ear can’t hurt.”

“Except that there are groups out there,” I spin on the two women, my voice rising in anger, “like the Daughters of Respite that want nothing more than to kill me, Brooke, Ondine, Arethusa, and Angela, simply because we’re not pure human. How do I know
he
isn’t in league with them?” I regret my anger and words as soon as they leave my mouth, especially when I see the pain they cause the women in front of me, but it’s already too late to take them back.

“I assure you,” Chilton’s deep voice breaks in firmly, “that I am not a part of their group. For one, I am a male, and they only accept women into their order.”

I turn to yell at him, but I’m not sure what to say and finally have to close my open mouth. “You know of them, then?” I ask lamely after a second.

“You could say we’ve crossed paths,” he says with an enigmatic smile. “They tend to have a skewed view of things.” His eyes are still darting around, but I can’t figure out what he’s looking for. “As dangerous as they are, the ones you really need to look out for are the Paladonic Knights. They’re truly dangerous and very organized.”

If he’d grown a third eye, I don’t think I would have been more surprised. How much does this religious man know about the supernatural world?

“Please, sit down,” he waves graciously to an empty chair as if this were his home. I find myself obeying before I even realize I’m moving. “Now then, I’ve been told that you are a Generator, and that there is a prophecy spoken about you. Is this right?” Something about the way he says that makes me think he already knows the answer.

I nod that is it, and he spouts the prophecy flawlessly:

“When the air calms down,

And rain slows on Water’s door.

Comes the time for all to wail.

A deadly new enemy to abhor.

“A Generator comes forth,

To save all or completely fail.

A foe that’s timeless,

Even on our life's long scale.

“Colors swirl to hide our nemesis,

All destruction, he strives to make.

Only the blind can resist his will,

Unless his choice is a mistake.

“A blade to kill, and a blade to save,

A talisman to forge the path between.

To kill and save, or save and kill,

One path to both, yet choices lean.

“A pillar made, a pillar killed,

A pillar formed, all by his hand,

The powerful and Earth will quake,

When before him, they stand.

“Our hero’s life shall meet its end,

Unless he strikes the deadly beast.

His friends shall fall or rise,

Until all his efforts have ceased.”

I shiver as the words pour forth from him in his baritone voice, somehow sounding direr.

“How did you know that?” Becky asks, and I realize that the women hadn’t told it to him.

“I’ve known that prophecy for a long time. I never thought I’d see it come to pass though.” His eyes scan the room before coming back to rest on me. “I’ve long known about what you call the Shadow World and its denizens.”

“And what side do you stand on?” I ask, trying to regain some control over the situation.

“I share in some of the understandings of both the Daughters and the Knights, but don’t believe in their philosophy or execution,” he answers after a moment’s thought. I realize that that was no real answer, but before I can ask for more clarification, he asks, “You mentioned some other people that I don’t see here. Angela and Arethusa?” The question comes off as off-handed, but something tells me it is anything but.

I mentally curse myself for mentioning them in my anger, but I don’t intend to tell him anything more than I have to. There’s something about him that rubs me wrong, and despite his easy attitude, I don’t trust him. At least Lisa and Becky aren’t swooning over him like last time. A quick glance at Brooke and Ondine show that they’re slightly wary as well, and I realize they haven’t spoken since I got here.

“Oh, Angela is shopping I think, and Areth is—“ Lisa pipes up, answering before I can stop her, but I’m able to cut her off.

“Areth is on an errand for me,” I complete Lisa’s sentence, not giving away anything.

Reverend Chilton frowns at my statement, and for some reason I get the feeling he just became very angry.

“So, she, or rather they aren’t with you right now?” His voice is calm, but I get the impression he is more interested in Areth than Angela. Something nags the back of my mind about that, but as usual, I can’t seem to figure out what while in the moment.

“They’re free spirits,” I tell him. “I don’t control their movements.”

“Free spirit?” White hot rage enters his tone, and I can almost feel heat pouring forth from his nearly blazing eyes. All pretense of calm is lost as he glares at me, walking over and standing above me. “
How
?!
How
can she be a free spirit?”

Something seems to click into place, but before I can finish putting two and two together, the door opens up, and Areth flutters in.

“Lyden, I talked with Gaia,” she starts, ignorant of the mood in the room. “She said she would like to talk to you, and will send someone to escort us safely to her in about a month.” She stops as she finally realizes something isn’t right, and I see the color drain from her golden tinged face as she stares at Reverend Michael Chilton. Her wings give out, and she plummets to the floor, landing in a heap. She stares horror struck at the religious man, and it takes her a few seconds before she can find her voice.

“Marchosias. . . .” The name is barely above a whisper, but in the silence of the room, it’s heard easily. “No!”

Areth apparently finds some reserve of strength as she gets up, and flees towards the door.

Reverend Chilton is faster however as his body blurs and a winged wolf with a serpent for a tail catches the fairy’s legs in his yellowish teeth.

The demon shakes his head, flinging the hapless fairy back at me, her golden form striking me in the chest before she lands in my lap.

I stare in terror at the wolf shaped demon as he glares at me. His eyes are still brown, and his tail hisses at us.

“It would seem that I underestimated you, Generator. A mistake I won’t make twice.” The wolf shakes his head, sending ripples through his fur and flapping his wings. “I don’t dare kill you because of the prophecy, but I dearly want to. What should I do with you?”

“L-let us go and pretend this never happened?” I stutter, trying to sound brave, but my voice comes out just above a squeak.

“Oh-ho! Even now you still have some backbone. No, I’m afraid I can’t set such precedence. You will both have to be punished for this, but how to do it?”

He paces back and forth in a
very
wolf-like manor as he deliberates.

I glance at the other women in the room, and see that they’re just as terrified as I am, though Brooke and Ondine are hiding it better than Becky, who is in tears.

“Leave the other women out of it,” I say, glad that this time my voice has some more strength behind it. “They had nothing to do with me deceiving you.”

“Hmm, you’re right,” the demon murmurs, his voice dangerously calm and I think he may be reasonable. “Unfortunately, you’ve just shown me how important they are to you, and I really want your punishment to
mean
something.” The winged wolf stops pacing, turns to smile at me, and that look on a wolf’s features terrifies me all over again. “In fact, I’m going to include everyone who means anything to you.” He begins to laugh. Let me tell you, if a wolf with a griffon’s wings, and a snake for a tail laughs at you, give up all hope because life is about to become a lot more terrifying. “You were worried about the Daughters of Respite getting you, and I think I might just help you out. I’m going to send you where no one can reach you. I can’t kill you, but I can still get my revenge.”

Marchosias howls, making the pictures on the walls rattle, and even the floorboards creak as the howl continues. My heart beats so fast, I’m afraid it’s going to burst. It doesn’t help when the walls tear themselves apart, pictures begin to fly about the room in a wind only they can feel, and even the floor drops away in pieces. The chair I’m sitting on drops out from beneath me, and I can feel Areth’s tiny hands gripping my shirt as we get spun about. I see the other four women tumbling around me, and I realize that Marchosias is the center of the maelstrom. In the distance I can barely make out other forms, caught up in the demon’s storm. The wolf-like beast continues to howl, and Arethusa is flung away from me, swallowed into the maelstrom.

Brooke, Lisa, Becky, and Ondine grow smaller as they’re sent away from me. Growing dizzy I feel a different darkness begin to consume me, and despite my best efforts, I pass out as my mind is stripped away.

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Chapter 18

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A Land of Fantasy: Part 1

My eyes are slow to open, my head feeling full of cotton. Groggily I look up, seeing a partly cloudy sky above me. I find that I’m lying in a field of what appears to be wheat.

“How did I get here?” I mumble, sitting up and holding my head in my hands. The last few moments refuse to come to me as though they’re being filtered through a haze. Did I piss someone off? Why do I feel as if I’d been so afraid? Ugh, I can’t seem to focus.

Gaining my feet, I check over myself, verifying my armor and sword are in place.

Wait. . . . Armor and a sword? Why doesn’t that seem right. . .? Pain lances through my skull, and I decide to worry about that at another time. I know it’s important, but I can’t seem to care enough. I must have gotten really drunk last night at the tavern, I decide. But then, how did I end up out here in the middle of nowhere?

The joints of my supple jerkin, made of thick brown leather, seem to be in order. My blade, Muramasa, feels tight in his sheath. Gently, I pull up on the hilt, clearing only a small portion of the chrome-like slightly curved blade. There is no mistaking the bloodthirsty feel of the edge, and I immediately shove him back home.

Shaking myself to get rid of the rotten feeling, I wish I could just leave the blade behind. Every time I’ve tried, however, I find it attached to my hip a little while later. The katana only stays off me when he knows I intend to put him back on later. Why is it so easy to remember some things, but not others? I remember having this cursed blade for years, but I can’t seem to recall last night.

Shielding my eyes against the midday sun, I look off into the distance. Every direction looks the same, until I spot a small shack to the east.

Whatever happened to me seems to still be affecting me as I trip over my own sword a few times before I can keep my feet under me. By the time I reach the shack however, I’m walking as if I’ve always had the sword on my hip. I still can’t remember my past, other than that my sword is dangerous, and that I’m a wanderer. Well, all swords are dangerous, and right now I’m wondering where the hell I am.

Of course I’ve always had a sword on my hip. Why does everything seem so odd as though my entire life is somehow skewed?

“What can I do for you, Stranger?” a gray haired man asks, coming around the side of the shack, an axe in his hands. He looks very tired, bags thick under his eyes, and a slump to his shoulders that bespeaks many weary years of life.

“Thomas?” I ask, thinking the man looks familiar, but the moment is gone before I can grasp it.

“Eh?” he looks at me in confusion. “How’d you know my name?” He hefts the axe again, a little more menacingly. I know he’s no match for Muramasa and me, but I don’t feel like feeding my sword.

“Sorry,” I tell the wary man, raising my hands in front of me to show I mean no harm. “Just something that crossed my mind.” My stomach growls, and I have no idea how long it’s been since last I ate. “Say, you wouldn’t have any work I could do for you in return for a bit of food, do you?”

He squints as he looks sharply at me, trying to decide if I’m a threat to him or not. I am, of course, but I try to act as if I’m not.