Warren Awoke to the smell of pine and earth. A gentle hand caressed his face, "Good morning, my love," Vasilia's sweet tone brought him back to the land of the living, "I hope you slept well because we have a busy day ahead of us." Her beautiful face smiled at him.
"I thought you were joking about the wedding thing," Warren tried to scratch his nose, but his hands were bound, "Archon, let's light it up," He growled. Silence followed, not a single peep from the eidolon. "Archon?"Vasilia slapped him gently, "Archon?" she feigned ignorance. "Oh, you mean the eidolon? He is still there, I promise. However, I can't have the groom trying to escape on our special day."
Anger bubbled over and came out in Warrens's tone, "Are you serious? You can't trust the witch to do as you say." his eyes scanned the area. He and Vasilia were the only people in the cathedral of trees, "Where is the rest of my team and Theria?"
"The Bokken Riders took them to get fitted fo
By nightfall, the macabre wedding, Vasilia kept kissing Warren and then would make a face, "Why isn't it working?" She growled."What's not working?" Warren demanded. The last few hours had significantly soured his mood. Without Archon, his chances of escaping were slim to none. The idea of marrying Vasilia made his skin crawl.Vasilia giggled to herself and tapped him on the cheek, "Never mind, my love. You'll find out tonight when we become one."What did Warren know about Vasilia? He could work her vanity against her, but how? Warren racked his brain over the problem."Now, we should come with possible names for our hybrid child. Can you Imagine a Seelie child with the power of an eidolon? A new race for a new world...""Your plan is all over the place. First, you want to take over. Now, you want to make a new race? What is the deal?""I have a long list of friends who a backing my play. Some of those friends have daughters, and for t
Warren Vandal tasted sweet victory as he hoisted the MVP trophy above his head. As it turned out, hockey was a great place to put his misplaced anger. Shortcuts to the top didn’t exist in Warren's world. He gripped the moment with ferocity and a humble attitude. He sang the praises of his teammates, the great plays they made, and the spectacular saves of their goaltender. He shook hands with the last of the reporters and waited for his mother by the water fountain. A man with a clipboard strode up to him with a smile on his face. Atop his gray hair, a battered Edmonton oilers hat, and a matching jersey. He extended a wrinkled hand, “You are Warren Vandal, Correct?” Warren looked around for his mother, but she was nowhere to be seen, “Yeah, that’s me. What can I do for you,” Little tendrils of pain ran across his hand? The old-tim
The smell of grandmother and cigarettes filled the car. The tires hummed against the mixture of ice and asphalt. Despite it being springtime in Alberta, thick flakes of fluffy white snow splattered against the windshield before they turned into droplets of water, brushed away by the windshield wipers. Uncomfortable silence ruled the car with an iron fist. Several times Melanie looked over at Warren, with her mouth open ready to speak. Words eluded her. How do you talk about the unexplained? Did the events of the arena happen? How real was the dream in the darkness? In a world gone crazy easy answers were in short supply. “Mom just spits it out already,” Warren said after she stared and said nothin
Time can be an individual's greatest enemy. Today it's Warren’s supervillain with a doomsday machine. A simple bathroom break became a fight for survival. It started with eyes in the trees but escalated to the rustle of branches, and unseen snarls. The rustle of branches and the glowing eyes followed Melanie. Her tattered coat blended in with the thick shadows, and the moon obscured the clouds. Warren lost track of her, and a speck of panic entered his mind. Bit of sweaty palm stuck to the frosty handle, while Warren snagged the carbon fiber hockey stick out of the back seat. Hockey players can be superstitious. Warren believes the piece of sports equipment is lucky. It isn’t much but allows hope to enter his mind in a tough situation.
The rickety old station wagon pulled into Fox Creek on a wing and prayer. The gas light began to blink erratically. Warren felt like someone pulled the rug out from under his sense of hope because Fox Creek looked like a warzone. Overturned cars with crushed windshields and crimson trails ended at the tree line. The atmosphere in the vehicle wasn’t much better. Warren tried to keep his mind off the dead body in the trunk area. “Mom, I don’t want to stop here. Whatever happened in Edmonton is happening all over. You always knew what to do. I don’t.” The car sputtered and coughed, just as he pulled into the gas station, and great tufts of smoke billowed from under the hood. Warren surmised the old station wagon refused to live on without his mom. Dim lights watched o
Nobody likes to wait. Yet people dedicate whole rooms to the activity. It may not be an uncomfortable chair at the doctor's office, but a stolen car with a dead body in the backbeats the chair by a mile. One second can feel like an eternity. Warren is well acquainted with the phenomenon. His night went beyond the gates of hell, to space, where nothing stretches into an endless void. Warren desires one thing: to open the floodgates of his emotional dam and let every go at once. He wanted to scream about Melanie's death, brag about his victory over the terrors at the rest stop, and astonish people with his exploits at the gas station. He looked at the time on his mother's smartphone. Two minutes passed since the last time he looked at it. He busied his mind with the events
Secrets are horrible things. People have to keep them. In the end, they serve little purpose unless you are throwing a surprise birthday party. The words of the creature haunted Warren, “I’m you.” The raptor yellow eyes invaded his thoughts and distracted him at all hours of the day. He chose not to tell Nerea. The day started at the breakfast table. Fresh coffee dropped steadily into the decanter, Warren stared at it with sleep-deprived eyes. Since the last dream, he developed a fear of falling asleep. The sizzle of the frying pan promised bacon would arrive at the table. “How are you doing this morning, guapito?” Nerea asked. Warren enjoyed her accent, but it did not replace his mother's cheerful whistling as she prepared for the day. On some days, Warren swore t
Secrets are horrible things. People have to keep them. In the end, they serve little purpose, unless you are throwing a surprise birthday party. The words of the creature haunted Warren, “I’m you.” The raptor yellow eyes invaded his thoughts and distracted him at all hours of the day. He chose not to tell Nerea. The day started at the breakfast table. Fresh coffee dropped steadily into the decanter, Warren stared at it with sleep-deprived eyes. Since the last dream, he developed a fear of falling asleep. The sizzle of the frying pan promised bacon would arrive at the table. “How are you doing this morning, guapito?” Nerea asked. Warren enjoyed her accent, but it did not replace his mother's cheerful whistling as she prepared for the day. On some days, Warren swore the birds would sit by the window to croon along with the music. “I’m still having