Gastown is one of the oldest parts of Vancouver. Back in the old days, Gassy Deighton, A steamer captain, opened the first saloon. The area became known for rowdy off-work loggers and sailors. It became a refuge for those who wanted to cut loose. None of that mattered in the here and now.
The Scald Crow rolled through the streets without opposition. If anything, people fought to get out of the troop carrier's way. Theria skillfully kept people from harm. Inside, the trio of sports cycles gently banged together.
Theria skillfully placed enchantments on the cycle using a series of runes. "The bikes should be ready in the next few minutes, Captain."
Warren couldn't put away his concern for his anchor. She still refused to leave the Scald Crow and take an active part in missions. He couldn't blame her after being taken by the Spade Hood. He had no idea what the moon child did to her, but it rattled Theria to her very core.
"So
You know I struggled with how to write this chapter. I had to put sympathy on Zealot to move the plot between him and Warren along.
The leather jacket hung loosely on Warren's body as the assembled Laughing Skulls surrounded him and raised their beer mugs in his name. Warren didn't smile or cheer. He kept one hand on the Dream catcher, and his eagle eyes searched for the chosen. Zealot tapped him on the shoulder, "Hey man, it's okay to celebrate. You are with your people now and not with the Tinkerbells," Zealot's voice soothed him, and he relaxed. Archon flashed the wand picture across his mind again. Warren nodded his head in agreement. "I have to use the bathroom. We'll talk more when I get back." Zealot gripped his hand, "Don't worry, kid. The future belongs to the humans and not those interdimensional squatters. We will drive them back to where they came from." Irritation gripped Warren's body while he shook hands with the biker. He longed to let the eidolon loose on the unsuspecting racists. He walked toward the bathroom, and the necklace grew warmer. He held the pend
Deep in the dark places where no one cares to look, Warren felt like he belonged with the Laughing skulls. The roar of the engines and the camaraderie poke at his need to be accepted by other humans. He knew better, of course. The Laughing Skulls lived to spread their message of hate, and it made the teen sick to his stomach. Yale town had all the trappings of the modern world, skyscrapers, and Noveau architecture. Art galleries and quaint coffee shops. It was also the home to many warehouses. Warren expected their stop to be at a warehouse. However, the pack of riders slowed their mechanical steeds just outside the Yale Hotel. The black and red brick, with bright neon signs on the outside, seemed larger than life to Warren as he slowed the street bike and parked it on the opposite side of the street. "Warren, it's Theria. do you copy?" Concern owned the disembodied voice of Theria. "I'm here. I can't talk for long. Zealot will be
The mixed and matched eyes of the Gigas were devoid of emotion or intelligence. The long hair streaked with lightning bolts of white framed her face and hid the small bolts in her neck. In her hand, a long chain with a spiked ball. The links rattled together and dared warren to make a move. Gunfire echoed through the building. The gigas looked away to find the source of the noise. Warren capitalized on the opening and charged with the eidolon aura at maximum capacity. The mental timer flashed twelve minutes. A door burst open, and a horned man dressed in red tumbled into the hall, "You stupid hunk of flesh, you were supposed to be watching the door, not the bikes..." The glowing eyes focused on Warren as he drove a spectral pistol blade into the gigas and cracked off a shot. The gigas grunted and batted Warren away. Warren's hands reached behind him while he fell. He felt the rough carpet on his hands and pushed upward. He rolled bac
Screams and shouts from the Philanthropists and Socialites echoed through the night sky as the impish Bokken Riders landed on the roof of the Harrison Galleries. Tires screech, rubber burned as the magical bikers crashed the party. "Shit," Warren revved his engine and pushed his bike a little faster, "Please tell me you've called the calvary." Warren groaned. His ride went airborne and crashed into the roof of the Harrison Galleries himself. "Yeah, they are about five minutes out. Sorry kid, it's the best they can do," Graves replied with a hint of worry in his voice. "Keep the light on them. I'm going after Bokken Riders. There are too many innocent people here," He raced through the crowd and felt the warmth of the dream catcher in his pants pocket. "Radio Grace and tell her we have a chosen among the people here." "What does that mean?" Graves asked in a confused tone. "It's for another problem we are dealing with on the
The news crews ate up what happened at the Harrison Galleries. Warren found himself thrust in front of the media frenzy with Vasilia on his arm. None of which sat well with the teen. The female gigas escaped and took to the streets. It bothered Warren, as all unfinished business does. Vasilia loved the cameras and spoke for both of them. Her smile provoked ooh, and ahh's from the journalistic masses, "Look at him, he was born to be a star. I saw that the moment I met him. Not only is he attractive, but beneath his hardened body is a hero's heart." The Flashes from the cameras annoyed Archon to no end, and Warren found it hard to disagree. A horde of microphones almost knocked his teeth out. Warren was no stranger to the media and cleared his throat. "Tonight was possible because the crew of the Scald Crow and the Vancouver police worked together. Without them, victory would've escaped my grasp." The pendant from Hope's necklace warmed his pocket, "Archon, we
Mole Hill Vancouver. A place where the forgotten and underpaid gather because other parts of the city strain the minimum wage wallets. On the surface, the refurbished houses and fresh-cut lawns make it look ideal to the prospective family, at least until one looks at the crime stats. Warren felt a twinge of discomfort when it came to Mateo because the pendant continued to glow in his presence. How do you explain to a young man, he needs to turn into a tree to keep an evil witch from taking over? The question tumbled against Warren's mind as Theria guided the old Ford Thunderbird into the neighborhood. "This is thing is a boat and a half," Warren remarked. "Well, you didn't want to take the fancy police cruiser. The locals didn't have anything else in the impound. I kind of like it, to be honest." "It's a better choice than the police cruiser," Mateo poked his head into the front, "The car looks similar to the tricked-out rides of the local grease monk
Warren and Theria bid their farewells to the Tovar family, who thanked them in earnest. Theria embraced Lucinda Tovar, "We will not stop until we put El Silbon down." Guilt welled up inside of Warren as the heat from the necklace warmed his thigh. He decided to talk to Theria about his moral dilemma once they left the Tovar residence. Once they were in the Old Thunderbird, Warren hit the dash with his hand, "I can't tell them about the Cathedral of trees. Those two are all they have in this world. I know how it feels to lose someone that close." A soft smile and a hand laced with comfort touched him, and Theria said, "We will talk to them after we have dealt with the problem at hand," In the meantime, we have to find a likely place where drunks and lechers hang out." Warren instantly knew where they could find both, "I know what we are looking for, but you aren't going to like it." Theria narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, her face frozen
Warren hated to lose. He understood such things happen from time to time. They chose the right location and responded when El Silbon showed up, yet the spectral killer still got away. They missed something in their plan, and Warren grew determined to figure out what. "It could've happened to anyone," Theria said as she took his hand. Warren fought the instinct to bat the hand away. "I know, but this time success mattered. We spared a couple of lowlives a terrible fate, but that doesn't mean El Silbon's next victims won't be innocent." He smacked the table in frustration, "We missed something, and I can't put my finger on it." Theria moved closer, "I am sure we can come up with a solution." Herne walked in and shook his head, "Those damn Bokken Riders are tough nuts to crack. I don't know who hired them and what they offered, but those imps have locks on their jaws," He took off the stag helm and took a seat next to Theria, "You two look sadder than a