Then Hell Followed (Journeyman Book 5) Page 3

  “Guess you’re right, Jiminy,” he said with a sputter. “I suppose Ady and I should let you get back to things. We have a few things to wrap up ourselves before the trip.”

  Om was dismayed as he got up from his seat, but knew Gage was right. Walking over to Adrienne, he took hold of her hand; it was warm just like her tender face.

  “My dear, in case I don’t see you before we depart, take care of Joey for us. We will see you when we return with the cure.”

  “Always,” Ady replied and with a smile, headed toward the door where she awaited Gage.

  Om advanced toward him.

  “As for you, big man, I will see you later tonight. Go take care of business and enjoy your time with her.” His voice sank into a low whisper. “Gage, I meant my words from before. Once the Odyssey departs, things will never be the same.”

  “I know,” he answered, thoughts jumping around more than a cricket on a skillet.

  What exactly did Om mean?

  How did he know things were going to change?

  Why did Gage know that Om was right?

  He could have spent another hour contemplating things, but Adrienne's sympathetic gaze grabbed his attention.

  “Hey gorgeous, are ya ready?”

  She nodded and he took the lead out of the navigation room.

  “I can’t believe you still call him Jiminy,” Adrienne whispered harshly as the baroque mahogany doors closed behind her. “That would be like me calling you a redhead matchstick or something.”

  Gage was already lumbering down the stairs toward the quarter deck. The sun had crested above them, its lunch time light streaming down.

  “Om’s never told me stop,” Gage replied briskly. “I like to think of it as a term of endearment.”

  “It’s still disrespectful,” she disagreed. “I mean Gage, he’s been on the Council before and you’re calling him a cricket.”

  “It’s friendly,” Gage insisted, reaching the bottom where he removed his zip-up sweater in favor of the lighter tee underneath. “And tell me where I’m wrong… he does look like one, doesn’t he?”

  She folded her arms.

  “That is not the point.”

  Gage cleared his throat, turning to place his hands on Adrienne’s hips.

  “Well I don’t wanna argue, darlin’,” he stated, “it's gonna be another bit before I see ya again. So, if I say I’m sorry will that make things better?”

  She launched her arms down toward his, but didn’t push them away. Instead, she grabbed hold of his sizable forearms.

  “Maybe… if you mean it.”

  “Oh, I do. Galley again, for pancakes?” he suggested, that irresistible shit-eating grin slapped across his face.

  “I don’t think there’s any mix left in there,” she answered. “I guess you're stuck with me in your quarters.”

  “How boring,” Gage replied, faking a yawn.

  Adrienne responded with a swift knee to the nuts.

  “I see! Well, it's a good thing I know how to entertain myself.”

  With a smile Gage made sure Adrienne's hand rubbed at his soreness, rising excitement stretching the fabric of those snug jeans as it worked its way down one leg.

  “Oh dear,” she said, having unbuttoned his jeans. She gazed down at him, the sight making her eager and wet. “I see another ‘leg cramp’ coming on. Guess we should get you to bed right away. You really need to have that checked out.”

  ADRIENNE PANTED HEAVILY, falling back toward the mattress from her position atop Gage. As she moved, he slid his long and pleasurable way out of her and God how she never wanted it to end. Collapsing into a sweaty heap amongst the powdery sheets, she moaned as that gratifying ache began to take over between her legs.

  Gage flipped himself over, sending her a couple inches off the mattress as he plopped his burly body down right beside her.

  “We should clean up,” he said.

  “Here in a few,” she said running her finger along his resting dick, which remained in the upper single digits. “I love you.”

  “Ya love me… or him?” he asked, breathing hard through a smirk as his emerald eyes frolicked to where her fingers were dancing.

  “I think that’s fairly evident,” she answered, wrapping her hand around him; only when soft could she get her hands to close fully around the shaft. “Him, of course.”

  Gage stuck out his tongue before something lurked behind her gaze; it looked like a little bit of jealousy had formed.

  “Ya okay?” he asked.

  Adrienne sighed.

  “I think so; it’s just I feel useless sitting back while you all do the heavy lifting. I seem to be missing out on all the adventure these days.”

  “Adventures may be how these missions seem right now, but Ady… ya know how it really is out there.”

  She did of course; it’s not like the field life was full of roses.

  “I know,” she continued, trying not to look at him, “it’s a mix of a couple of things I guess. One, being away from those I love – like Marcus and your impressive dick.”

  Gage’s face fell flat.

  “Two, being unable to help the others I love – like Joey, laid up in that hospital bed. I feel less important than a bump on a log.”

  Gage put his fingers on her chin and directed her eyes his way.

  “Darlin’, that’s often one of the most significant parts.”

  “Joey doesn’t even know I’m there!”

  “Ady, he doesn’t have to,” he replied tenderly, tapping her on the nose with a finger. “We do. So ya might be able to tell, but if not: I’m the jealous one on that front. Although, I bet ya all the pancakes in New York that you’ll be back at it sooner than ya think.”

  She turned away, looking out the window to the city – stunning a view as it ever was. Tucking herself under the covers, she caressed her pillow. It gave her a feeling of security, if only slight.

  Gage’s massive arm worked its way around her, beating out the pillow to make her feel invincible.

  “Oh, we will definitely have a future,” he said, kissing the back of her neck. His beard tickled her as it always did. “Every second with you is a blessing, gorgeous, and I’m gonna fight to make sure that future is the brightest it will ever be.”

  THE COUNCIL CHAMBER was filled with a buzz of words, along with scented smoke from Quileth’s hookah. The normally curved conference table had reformed into a round one, the six remaining Councilors seated around it.

  Quileth took in light drafts from the mouthpiece; the açaí berry and clove served to enhance his mental clarity while calming his frayed nerves. Casually watching the others, he noticed that all of them looked like they could do with a few puffs themselves.

  Drogir was the most active, fidgeting in his seat and stretching his wings far too often for someone who was comfortable. In fact, he was furious.

  “I am trying to remain civil,” he blared, “but the Department Heads are really starting to chip away at my stony ass with all of these objections! Do they not realize an apocalypse is on our doorstep?”

  Tyrol rapped his claws on the tabletop before forming a fist. He slammed it down, causing the whole thing to rumble.

  “Apparently not. They cannot see past their own agendas and promotions. My answer to them is this: the six of us are the Council and they are not. The decisions we make are our own and the consequences of those are also ours to bear.”

  Jane raised her hands in a reassuring manner.

  “Everyone, please. I agree with what is being said here, but we must toe the line cautiously, else have it unravel.”

  Tyrol grunted.

  “Jane, while I respectfully agree, I also do not like it implied that my resolve changes as easily as the breeze.”

  She nodded.

  “Of course not, my friend. Robinson was out of line to suggest such a thing.”

  “Regardless, all we can show is results,” said Timothy Randall. His voice was rough as if he’d been ill. �
��Then let those results speak for themselves.”

  “Yes,” Allete Popov said, her slender arms folded in front of her, “however, there cannot be any while we bicker amongst ourselves.”

  “Then let us get on with deliberating,” Quileth interrupted, a large plume of smoke escaping his nostrils. “We are running out of time; the Odyssey is due to depart this very evening. Are we now doing a one-eighty and not allowing them to go on this mission?”

  Jane let out a long breath, looking at each person in turn.

  “On the one hand, we have the department heads and others stating this mission is nothing more than a fool’s errand.”

  “Have they looked out their own office doors?” Drogir grumbled. “Or some in the mirror? Stranger things exist across all the realms.”

  “Their counter is that this mission is personal and non-strategic, therefore it should not warrant any attention by the Council or its resources.”

  Tyrol laughed.

  “Have these people forgotten who we are talking about? What he and the team we are aiding have done?”

  Timothy and Allete fell into a silent hush, eyes looking at the glossy tabletop and the overhead lights reflected in it.

  “Apparently they have,” Quileth stated, “and to that I say: let them be reminded. Allow this mission to go forward, Jane. Let the record state the decision was five to one if need be.”

  “No,” Jane replied with a staving hand. “It shall be recorded as unanimous.”

  ‘So be it.” Quileth nodded, pressing a button on one of his many bracelets. “It is noted that on this day, January sixteenth of the year two-thousand-sixteen, the Order Council has granted unanimous approval for Gage Crosse and his company to journey to France aboard the Odyssey to retrieve the cure for Journeyman, Joey Mosely. They will be supported with Order resources if and when required.”

  With that done, Jane looked to both Quileth and Tyrol.

  “While Gage and his team are in France, I want you to see about launching a formal response to the attacks Dajjal has already inflicted; we have waited long enough to show our force. See to it operatives Cole and Shepard are put on this as leads, perhaps Dean can replace Gideon, since he is likely to remain out of commission for a while due to his injuries.” She then turned to the others. “We all need to lead as we have done, preparing all to face the imminent battle coming against the night.”

  There were approving mumbles around the chamber, Quileth handing his mouthpiece over to Allete on his right.

  “Here, you really do look like you could use some.”

  “MY GOD TY, how much shit do you have packed in here?”

  Marcus was grunting as he pulled a large trunk across the carpet of a less than savory hotel room, its scraggly threads resisting his efforts to move the thing all the while giving off an unpleasant musty odor, even though they showed no signs of being moist. The box itself was old and rough, made of wood that had been covered with black leather and accented with antique gold hardware.

  Despite the obnoxiously loud air conditioning, Ty’s voice boomed loud and clear through the bathroom door; apparently thinner than a sheet of paper.

  “Did you really just ask me that question, while I’m in here?”

  “Just trying to make conversation,” Marcus said, more irate than before. His fuse always seemed to be shorter around his brother and though Marcus would always seem to have or make an excuse for the arguments that would come, perhaps it just boiled down to a product of their years growing up. As he neared the edge of the carpeted area, the trunk didn't get any lighter, even when its sandpapery fibers transitioned into flakey linoleum. Looking up, the bathroom door was still closed.

  “Aren't you done yet?” Marcus asked, somewhat agitated. “My God, it's like you have no concept of time. It never ceases to amaze me how rough around the edges and fly by the seat of your pants you are.”

  As if in answer, the flimsy bathroom door swung open and Ty stepped out, fidgeting with his glasses by their chunky frames.

  “You say all that like it’s a bad thing, Marcus, or is it only proper to be smooth, like the refined edges of a corporate desk?”

  Marcus dropped the end of the case and it fell to the floor with a heavy thud. He rolled his eyes and it felt just like old times again.

  “Jesus Christ Ty, that is not what I meant at all. What is it with you and always putting words in my mouth?”

  Ty mumbled something about things other than words being in his brother’s mouth.

  “What was that?” Marcus asked sternly, catching only a portion of it. “What the fuck did you say?”

  “Nothing,” Ty replied as he traipsed around the room collecting the rest of his belongings, stuffing them into a far-too-tiny backpack. Here was Marcus, going off the deep end again. “Look, you need to calm your happy ass down, brother. We've got a lot of stuff ahead of us – way more to do than the three of us can probably handle – and you need to focus. Even without all the nostalgic yelling and name calling, we’re fighting the clock… and she's ticking away double time.”

  Marcus felt a heat rise behind his ears, his temper certainly charged by an emotional battery.

  “You don't think I know that, you reckless piece of shit?” he blared as Ty rolled his own eyes, thrusting his hands in the air. “That’s my partner on that fucking hospital bed!”

  Ty turned around, wanting to throw his bag right at Marcus’ red face.

  “Then for God’s sake, shut up and focus… for him! I know emotions are running on overdrive right now, but just imagine that it were me in that hospital, on that bed, Marcus. That’ll shut down this emotional roller coaster you’re on. Hell, it’d probably put a smile on your face, so much so that you’d send an Aren't You Dead Yet card… expedited.”

  Marcus started to say something extremely bitter but bit his lip, instead shoving his hands firmly in his pockets. Angry, his eyes skirted around for something to else to focus on but unfortunately, there was nothing in that room he wanted to stare at for long. From the odious maroon carpet that he was already familiar with, to the repulsive sea-foam curtains, to what had to be the first television invented; it was all, in a word, vile. The surroundings managed to diffuse Marcus’ peevishness and he wondered why Ty had picked such a dilapidated place to stay in the first place.

  “Hey…” Marcus began tacitly, his brother still hurriedly packing. He was dumping what looked like bezoars out of a silver cauldron, which went clinking into the knapsack.

  “What is it, Marcus?” Ty replied, tossing the cauldron into the bag too. “Going to chastise me some more?”

  “N-no… I…” Marcus stammered, rubbing between his eyes. “It’s just… why are you staying here instead of one of the residences at headquarters? They’re actually not that bad.”

  Ty had secured a Brazilian wandering spider that tried to escape, tossing it into a lidded jar. He shot a judicious look over to his brother, putting the beast away before Marcus could start interrogating him.

  “After all these years,” Ty replied, “I thought you would know me a little better than that. My feelings about the Order are pretty well known. Hell, it took all I had to even be in that building again. I don’t think I could have stayed overnight, even if Jane Carter herself sauntered into my room for happy endings.”

  Now that was a visual, one Marcus really didn’t want floating in the forefront of his mind.

  “Touché. But Ty, there are far nicer places than … this,” Marcus responded, swearing a roach had scurried out from the corner. “In fact, Gage and I stayed at one just down from the Odyssey. Would've made the transfer much easier.”

  “Well hindsight’s twenty-twenty, eh? I didn't think that we would be heading overseas in Om’s ship. I thought that I would be able to come in, do whatever was needed to fix the problem, then be off and out of your life again.”

  Marcus’ eyes dropped, skirting the grungy floor.

  “Ty… you wouldn’t have to…”

  “I'
ve never been one to like stereotypes,” Ty continued, sitting briefly on the corner of the mattress, a coarse blanket sliding off to the side. “Truth of the matter regarding this room? It's probably some of the nicest accommodations I've seen since we parted ways.”

  Marcus’ heart dropped a bit.

  “Really?” he asked, though there were so many more questions he had; perhaps he could ask them in time.

  Ty nodded, standing up to stretch.

  “We can talk more when we're aboard. I gather you've been ready to get out of this hole in the wall?”

  “That's an understatement,” Marcus replied, pulling a teleportation stone from his pocket. He flicked it in the air and after a few twirls caught it, rune side up.

  “What's that for?”

  “It's to get us to Front Street,” Marcus said, his face partly frowning. “Why…”

  “Oh crap,” Ty said with a little chuckle, somewhat embarrassed it had slipped his mind. “I forgot to tell you.”

  Marcus awaited the punchline of this very unfunny joke.

  “We can't transport.”

  “What. The. Fuck Ty!” Marcus said, mouth staying open as he was tempted to slam the stone right against his brother’s head. “Of course we can use this; it happens all the time.”

  “Well, I have a lot of stuff in that chest,” Ty countered.

  “Yeah, you’ve used expansion wards. I've seen those before and you can transport with them.”

  “Normally, yes,” Ty said, gritting his teeth, “but I'm kind of pushing the limits. Don’t look at me like that Marcus, I'm just living up to that reputation of mine.”

  “What, being relentless?”

  “So much so that I got it inked on my chest.”

  “Do tell then,” Marcus said, eyeing the heavy ass trunk. He then looked to Ty, waiting.

  “I may have used a couple extension wards. Inside each other. Supplemented by an extension charm. Inside the warded trunk.”

  Marcus’ jaw would have hit the floor but it was so dirty he thought twice about it.

  “What? H-how is that… what?”

  Ty nodded, looking pretty confident in his achievement. “So you can see now why we can't transport?”