Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters: The Dragon Gate: Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters, #4

Prologue

It’s time. The legion of voices whispered a singular, eternal stream in Wotan Gregory’s mind.

After righting the plane and setting it to autopilot, he dragged the pilot’s body out of the cockpit, the man’s head wound trailing dark red stains through the already dingy brown carpet. Wotan released his grip from the man’s ankles, the pilot grunting as the other half of his body crumpled against the floor. It was the day of the final council meeting, and he had narrowly escaped the little town of Hunter’s Grove.

Removing the stolen mirror box from his coat pocket, Wotan muttered ancient, indiscernible words, memorized long ago and mentally tucked away for this particular day. He threw it at the unconscious pilot’s feet.

As the small, ornate box hit the ground, he could hear the silver-lined mirror shatter inside, erupting outward into a tower of glass and velvet and blackness before him. The chaos that swirled before him began to shift, forming into a pale, shriveled creature. As it continued to reveal its form, straining against the air that pained its dry, cracked lungs, its two hollow, glowing eyes remained motionless for the moment, unblinking — eyes like coals from the belly of hell.

The miserable form began a slow, measured look around the interior cabin of the plane, weak and numb from his time in isolation. With sudden, disgruntled animation, the creature breathed deeply, raising its head, and allowed its senses to sharpen as it took in the aroma of blood still seeping from the pilot’s head.

Go ahead, Wotan gestured. He’s for you. A gift, to welcome you back from your slumber.

The figure’s gaze met Wotan where he stood, eyes squinting to become lines of fire. The Warden?

Wotan knelt. The time has come for the Ancients to rule again. There’s work to be done, my prince. He propped the pilot’s head sideways, exposing the neck and shoulder.

The Dark Prince’s questioning eyes bored holes into Wotan’s soul until hunger finally reconciled its power over the newly awakened beast. His form stuttered between that of a human and the fullness of the varcolac species, horns extending and disappearing into his skull again, black wings only half-sprouting from his back, and the coarse fur of his true form rippling across his body. The pain was sharp, its effects deep and convincing. The Dark Prince surrendered to the chaos and lunged forward, his wolfish maw sinking deep into the meat between the dying man’s neck and shoulder.

Once more, the voice that was many voices spoke to Wotan from within. Well done, my child.

Wotan shuffled backward, trying to ignore the sounds of confusion and terror that escaped the pilot — troubled grunts at first, turning quickly into screams and pleas for help. The Warden slipped past the feeding varcolac, ducking under its leathery wing as it grew larger with each successive, tearing slurp, and entered the cockpit once more. He straightened his collar, adjusting his pride more than his appearance, and sat down in the pilot’s seat, taking control of the plane.

Chapter One

Charlie caught a flashing glimpse of the small form that jumped over him from behind, but as he did, Donnie’s blade came down, and Charlie’s stomach lurched.

"Dräng, no!"

As Donnie and the horde of demons attacked the school, and with the chaos of debris, fire, dust, and busted sprinkler heads swirling around them, Charlie could only hear one sound — the muted thump of the blade that Donnie Wickles held sinking into the small monster in front of him. Dräng was pushed back against Charlie’s body by the force of the blow, and Charlie reached for him. He held Dräng tight as his little, broken body shivered against his own.

Through the thickness of his welling tears, Charlie stared at Donnie, watching a flood of emotions wash over the bully’s face. Confusion, anger, glee, regret, and finally determination crept in as Donnie felt his new master’s pleasure with what he had done. Behind him, the demon hovered and waited, hateful eyes watching, searching the darkness in the young man’s soul. Donnie retracted the blade and Dräng hissed in pain, surrendering to the decisiveness of the wound at his center. Donnie stumbled back a few steps, hesitating to do anything else.

Put me down here, Dräng told Charlie with a hoarse voice. He coughed as blood and life began to escape his usual chipper and clammy lips. They were dry now, and a saddened weight pulled the corners of his ever-present, crooked and goofy smile downward. You will need hands free.

Charlie choked out his words. No, I can’t.

Reaching to cover his wound with one hand, Dräng reached up and stroked Charlie’s hair and face with his other. Don’t be concerned about me. I am a silly little monster. You must fight, Charlie. This demon cannot be allowed to continue. He gurgled through yet another cough, coarser and more strained than before, consciousness slipping in and out. Go now and let me be. I’ll be here when you return. Fight the uglies here. With that, his eyes rolled back and his head drooped against Charlie’s arm.

Dräng! Charlie lowered his head to the creature’s small chest and could still feel a heartbeat. His breath was shallow, but steady for now. I can’t let you go. I’ll stay here with you no matter what happens.

Raising his head to Donnie, darkness shadowing the intent in his eyes, Charlie’s pain dripped from his mouth, his voice unstable. You will answer for this, Donnie. Pray he lives. For your sake.

Donnie shrugged and gazed off into nothingness as he wiped the bloodied dagger — Charlie’s own dagger — against his shirt.

Darcy looked around at the hell unfolding before them, blanching as students scrambled toward safety. Why are you doing this? she cried.

Donnie shrugged. I like the power, the feeling it gives me. He flicked his arm forward without warning, and released a ball of fire toward Charlie and Dräng. Charlie rolled to his side, covering Dräng as the flame swept by, singeing Charlie’s neck and shoulder.

Lisa and Nash rushed forward but were slowed, dodging pillars of flame that seemed to erupt at Donnie’s command.

You guys get out of here! yelled Charlie, waving off the other four. Take care of yourselves and the other students. Get clear of this place! His eyes zeroed in on Donnie again. It’s all going to burn.

They didn’t listen, moving instead to take defensive positions, protecting their classmates but refusing to leave. Through her own tears and disbelief at what she was witnessing, Lisa drew her shoulders high with a deep and painful breath, shaking her head. Charlie, don’t be ridiculous!

Charlie looked her dead in the eyes, and she could see it. A rage she had never seen from him before. The desire to hurt, to kill. Cold shivers arrested her spine and ran their course all the way to the base of her skull. She turned her attention to Dräng, choking back her emotions, and quickened her step to stand in front of Charlie, who had repositioned himself to sit once more, curling Dräng up in his arms.

Back away, Lisa, Donnie jabbed, motioning for her to move. You let me take care of Charlie first. I’ll be with you in a moment. Move out of the way so I can finish off that loner boyfriend of yours!

A throwing knife embedded in Donnie’s shoulder, and he screeched in pain. His taunts came to a halt as he found Charlie’s outstretched hand. Heating the blade with the power of his demonic fire, the bully sent the blade flying back, aimed for Charlie.

Charlie braced without any attempts to stop the dagger racing toward him. Lisa, in a release of raw emotion and magic, let out a shrill, deafening scream, extending her arms outward at her sides. Charlie looked up to see a shimmering aura of energy surrounding Lisa explode into an electric flash of radiant black and white streams. In an instant Lisa, Charlie, and Dräng were surrounded, protected, by this energetic dome, and the dagger struck the shield, crackling with surging blue, purple, and red sparks, bouncing harmlessly to the ground. Lisa looked over her shoulder to see that her brother was helping to maintain the shield.

Charlie re-engaged using his Sight to gather visions of as many students as he could manage — the school cafeteria was in turmoil, with demons being fought by Bartholome’s dolls alongside the school’s very own Constructs, the statuesque stone lions that, in times of peace, stood watchful at the entrances and exits of the school’s main building. Students, teachers, and administrative staff were all in a race for the doors, and their lives. Nash and Darcy fought off the demon’s impish lackeys, keeping the creatures from digging into the students trying to escape the fray.

He could see one of their teachers, Mr. Singletary, trying to help usher students out of the building, standing as a guide and a source of comfort as much as he could. Nearby, a teen tripped, being pulled down by a sickly-looking demon. Wasting no time, Mr. Singletary picked up a stray chair and batted the demon away, pushing the teen out through the cafeteria door. Go, get out of here! The teacher raised the chair to strike the demon again, only to have a hand of morbid, pale-green fingers plunge into his chest. Students around him cried out in terror, but he smashed the demon across the face with the chair one last time, wheezing in pain and waving for them to escape. Leave!

Charlie grimaced at all of this, understanding the pain and fear that each person was going through as he sifted and gathered their visions. It only drove his own heartbreak deeper. Focused, he delivered all of those sights and emotions to Donnie’s mind.

It was the same magic he’d used to take down the Dark Prince, but the demon was prepared and blocked the mental attack. Enough! cried the demon, and he returned the shattered visions to Charlie’s mind. Charlie screamed as a wave of mental anguish washed over him. Donnie stood tall, unaffected, massaging the wound that was healing quickly in his shoulder.

Alerted by Charlie’s scream, a stone lion pounced to their aid, lunging, and tackling Donnie full force. It raised its thick paw crowned with razor sharp claws, ready to shred Donnie Wickles and end his burgeoning life of terror. As the stone paw began its descent, the demon lifted the lion into the air, paralyzing it, and tossing it across the room where it shattered against a far cafeteria wall into a cloud of rock, dust, and broken enchantment, leaving the wall itself to crumble around the stone guardian.

Bartholome had been quick on the heels of the lion. He stretched his fingers, knuckles crackling at every joint, and then pointed to the demon. "Hey you, infernale. You stole my jet. We shall dance. Now!"

Looking bored, the demon sent a wave of fire at the tall man, and Charlie saw the necromancer consumed by the blaze. As the flames passed beyond him, however, he saw Bartholome standing there alive and well, brushing a few singed and burning threads from his raggedy jacket. "And I thought you hell spawn were more creative esprits."

The demon snarled. A crazed look rippled across his face. Wrath and revelry equally contorted his demeanor. Oh, we are when we have the time. For you, I’ll make the time.

Charlie watched as the two powerful beings faced off, bits of fire and dark magic raged back and forth. He wanted to help Bartholome, terrified of what the demon would do to overpower the man, but Charlie’s attention was easily diverted back to Dräng, checking his breath and heartbeat before honing in on Donnie once more. The bully had made it back to his feet with some difficulty. Being tackled by a massive stone lion looked like it had hurt. Without his demonic guardian, Charlie pricked at Donnie’s mental defenses with visions of several more stone lions leaping for the kill.

Donnie flinched at first, but quickly sent out a wave of fire to sweep through the imaginary lions. It didn’t take him long to realize they were illusions. Angered, he snarled at Charlie. Stay out of my head, Sullivan! The rogue bully marched forward, trying to discern a weakness in the protective dome that surrounded them. He could see Lisa struggling under the weight of her own magic. With the exhaustion of the prior week’s events, and the internal struggle of emotions for having to fight for their lives within their own school, their own sort of safe haven, it was no easy task to maintain that level of energy for extended periods of time. Lisa labored against a depleted pool of energy, and Donnie found the weakness he was looking for.

He angled his attacks at her. Streams of fire poured from his hands and arms, like high-pressured fire hoses, only these streams were increasing in heat and intensity instead of putting the fire out. Donnie’s hateful intention and the diminishing distance between them as he marched closer only added to the mounting weight against Lisa. She broke, and so did her protective barrier.

I’m sorry, Lisa exhaled.

Charlie felt heat sear from behind his ankles all the way up his back like hot, invisible fingernails digging deep into his muscles and tearing deep to his bones.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, and feeling his embrace around Dräng slipping, Charlie nudged a piece of a table broken in the chaos with his foot and muttered a spell. The debris jolted from the ground, hurled by Charlie’s magic, and struck Donnie’s outstretched arms. The bully cried out, his fingers crooked in ways they should not be, and Charlie felt himself free of the painful burning sensation in his back.

Bartholome’s deep, impassioned voice broke their duel. Out of the way, both of you!

Charlie looked up in time to see the necromancer shove him and Lisa out of the way; a claw of black, murderous magic razed the linoleum where he and Lisa were laying moments before. The floor bubbled and boiled.

The demon had turned his attention to Charlie and Lisa in an attempt to protect Donnie.

With me! cried Bartholome, throwing out his own waves of dark, negative energies. "You dance with me, infernale!"

Charlie sensed Donnie’s next move before he saw it, narrowly dodging another dagger. Lisa had regained some composure, and with Donnie still in motion from throwing the blade, she circled to his side and elbowed him in the ribs, hearing a satisfying woof of air escape his lungs. Donnie reached for the dagger as Lisa flicked it further away from both parties with an extended talon of black energy.

The two resorted to physical wrestling, forgetting weapons and magic in their desperation to strangle each other, and for a moment Lisa thought to thank Nash for their time training together in hand-to-hand combat. It was his specialty, which she was reluctant to learn, preferring her libraries and age-old, bound leather covers. Right now, Nash’s helpful tutoring was saving her life. Donnie’s strength was beyond natural, and she had to be fast and decisive to stay ahead of his brutality.

Infuriated by Lisa’s quick movements and small, focused attacks leveraging his own size and strength against him, Donnie threw an unexpected kick. Lisa tried to dodge, but ended up taking a shin to her ribs, which knocked the air from her own lungs. Taking advantage of her shock, Donnie picked her up by the throat. Lisa brought both fists down hard against his arm, and then countered upward into his chin with all the force she could muster. Donnie lost his hold long enough for her to spin behind him, sinking and securing a deep choke, cranking hard against his air and the flow of blood to his brain.

Donnie gasped and struggled before reaching behind with his broken and crooked fingers, digging long, dirty fingernails into Lisa’s face and shoulder. She cried out, but didn’t release her hold.

From where he sat, shielding Dräng from the terror increasing around them, Charlie pricked at Donnie’s mind with shards of confusion and delirium. It was disorienting, but Donnie resisted. I told you to stay out of my head, loser! he managed to choke out.

Finally, in a rage, Donnie stood, roaring like a beast and tossed Lisa headlong over his shoulder. Before Lisa could crash into the ground, however, she found herself suspended in midair, slowly levitating upward, twisting, held upside down by an unseen force. Donnie came into her rotating point of view. The bully was levitating as well, whispering in an ancient language, his arms outstretched. The dagger levitated beside him, and blood seeped from his nose and ears. The point of the dagger spun, slowly orientating itself toward Lisa. They glared at each other silently — having everything to say, but neither willing to listen.

Lisa mentally prepared to raise another protective shield against Donnie and his blade, as Charlie tried pushing himself backward for deeper cover from the growing violence in the room. Realizing his attempts at penetrating Donnie’s thoughts were futile at this point, he began sending out pleas for other hunters to come to Lisa’s aid. He felt helpless and — looking at Dräng’s limp body — hopeless. The balance of the war they had engaged was shifting, the momentum slipping.

A voice grew in Charlie’s mind, Mr. Sullivan, do not despair. It is dark, but the light is coming. Brace yourself! Bartholome’s voice was distinct in his mind as much as it was in his ears.

Not a moment later, the cafeteria grew brighter. Light pervaded the atmosphere from behind Charlie. Donnie squinted, his eyes straining against the brightness, and he lost focus. The light drowned out the fires from the demon, bleaching even the sunlight from the cafeteria windows. A hot white brilliance filled the room, blinding them all.

The room grew still in the resplendent void, and only the muted snarls and grunts of the combatants were audible. As quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, the room returning to normal. Charlie squinted, looking over his shoulder as his eyes strained to readjust. Standing in the cafeteria doorway were the last people he expected to see.

Mr. and Mrs. Vadiknov, Chinook Lightholder, and Charlie’s own father stood side by side, looking relaxed and quite normal, as if they were coming in for a simple parent-teacher conference. Chinook’s hand was palm-forward at eye level, a smallish ball of light still glowing, spinning counter-clockwise.

Mr. Sullivan stepped forward, a notebook and pen in his hands. May the darkness be filled with light, bright as the sun’s morning light, cast this evil from my sight! He was writing furiously on the small page, the scratching sounds of his handwriting becoming synonymous with the buzzing of insects as a swarm of bees began to lift from the page of the notebook, flying high into the air, consuming the empty space of the dilapidated cafeteria — and then straight for Donnie. Mr. Sullivan looked in the direction of the demon, who was paralyzed by the brightness of Chinook’s lightcraft. Leave them be demon, or we shall extinguish both of you!

Confused, the once-schoolyard-bully attempted to fling a scattered array of fire at the bees as they gathered toward him, but there were too many. He lost all concentration on Lisa and the dagger, both falling to the floor. As Donnie defended against the stinging insects, Charlie confused his sight once more, turning Donnie’s world upside down, causing his vision to swim; flip-flopped in an ever-spinning contortion of reality and pandemonium. Mr. and Mrs. Vadiknov walked forward, a startling sight to behold as she began to pick up entire tables and hurl them with a casual hand while her stout, yet graceful, husband enchanted chairs with his touch, causing them to warp into geometrical shapes that flew hard into Donnie’s smaller frame.

Lashes of flame whipped beside them, the demon was enraged and retaliated as his human servant was being bombarded. One of Bartholome’s puppets intercepted, taking the lash, momentarily losing its head.

You and I haven’t shared our final dance, demon, the necromancer reprimanded.

The demon’s torn mouth curled into a ghastly frown. Clearly,