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Authors: Joshua Roots
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Jones.”
I rose on shaky knees and reached for the outstretched hand. The wrinkled skin was spotted and dry, but the grip surprisingly firm.
“Anytime.” Hopefully I wouldn’t have to honor that statement.
“I’d also like to ask a favor. The Council is still sifting through the wreckage, so until we are able to make an official statement about the incident, please keep your comments to the media to a minimum.”
“In other worse, keep my big mouth shut?”
The Elder suppressed a slight grin. “More or less.”
His Admin Witch appeared in the doorway, indicating for me to follow.
“One last thing,” Devon said as I turned to leave. He handed me a slip of paper.
“What’s this?” I asked, staring directly into Devon’s deep, gray eyes.
“The name of a good psychiatrist.”
Tension bled back into my shoulders. “I don’t need to see a shrink.”
The Elder inhaled, then released a slow, steady breath. “I saw what happened and yes, you most certainly do.”
Chapter Five
Of Mice and Minotaurs
The next morning it took a long, hot shower, two ibuprofen and a full pot of coffee before I started to feel human again. I was fixing myself another bowl of Corn Crunchies when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Arbent.
Heard about last night. Glad you’re okay. Give me details when you can.
I smiled. Arbent was a good guy and a phenomenal leader. He didn’t deserve the treatment he was getting from the Council, but maybe the attack at HQ would force the hand of the voting members. Between the rifts and the assault, they’d need every able-bodied Warlock they could get. Even if that meant reversing their decision on one of their best combatants less than a day after suspending him.
My phone buzzed with another text, but this time it was from my buddy, Steve.
WTH?
I frowned, then saw the time.
Aw hell.
There in 10, I sent back.
I hauled myself back upstairs, changed into my workout gear, threw a dry towel into my gym bag, and scampered down to the garage. My rusting Honda SUV, nicknamed the Gray Ghost, rumbled to life and I eased it onto the pavement.
With nothing but green lights between me and the gym, I made the drive in eight minutes flat. I jogged to the small side room that was covered in wrestling mats, tossed my bag against the wall, and skidded to a halt.
The room that we used for training was empty.
“I’m not that late,” I grumbled, leaning back out the door. There was no sign of Steve. He was probably hitting on Amy, one of the cute personal trainers who, surprisingly, didn’t mind his advances.
I killed time by stretching.
Quinn had talked me into trying yoga a few months earlier, so we’d recorded a couple shows on one of the fitness channels. I’d rolled my eyes at the whole centering-my-Chia Pet part of it, but there was no denying its ability to get me limber. Alone in the workout room, I leaned forward, grunting as my bruised body protested.
I was halfway through Downward Barking Cheetah, or whatever the hell it was called, when the atmosphere in the room changed. A heavy, musky scent filled the air while tension replaced the calm I had been trying to channel into my inner child.
I froze, then slowly turned toward the entrance.
The beast was huge, filling the doorway with his massive frame.
Bred specifically to kill overconfident warriors who’d angered the gods, the creature was something straight out of a mythological nightmare. The human-ish body contained long, muscular arms and thick, powerful legs. The head, however, was that of a bull and covered with dark, coarse fur. Its horns were sharpened to points that glinted in the stark light from above. The long snout flared as the beast huffed.
I burst out laughing.
The Minotaur blinked. “What?”
“Nice outfit.”
Steve glanced down at the neon blue bike shorts, yellow spandex top and black combat boots. “It’s workout gear, smartass,” he growled. “Speaking of which, are you ready?”
“Yeah,
I rose on shaky knees and reached for the outstretched hand. The wrinkled skin was spotted and dry, but the grip surprisingly firm.
“Anytime.” Hopefully I wouldn’t have to honor that statement.
“I’d also like to ask a favor. The Council is still sifting through the wreckage, so until we are able to make an official statement about the incident, please keep your comments to the media to a minimum.”
“In other worse, keep my big mouth shut?”
The Elder suppressed a slight grin. “More or less.”
His Admin Witch appeared in the doorway, indicating for me to follow.
“One last thing,” Devon said as I turned to leave. He handed me a slip of paper.
“What’s this?” I asked, staring directly into Devon’s deep, gray eyes.
“The name of a good psychiatrist.”
Tension bled back into my shoulders. “I don’t need to see a shrink.”
The Elder inhaled, then released a slow, steady breath. “I saw what happened and yes, you most certainly do.”
Chapter Five
Of Mice and Minotaurs
The next morning it took a long, hot shower, two ibuprofen and a full pot of coffee before I started to feel human again. I was fixing myself another bowl of Corn Crunchies when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Arbent.
Heard about last night. Glad you’re okay. Give me details when you can.
I smiled. Arbent was a good guy and a phenomenal leader. He didn’t deserve the treatment he was getting from the Council, but maybe the attack at HQ would force the hand of the voting members. Between the rifts and the assault, they’d need every able-bodied Warlock they could get. Even if that meant reversing their decision on one of their best combatants less than a day after suspending him.
My phone buzzed with another text, but this time it was from my buddy, Steve.
WTH?
I frowned, then saw the time.
Aw hell.
There in 10, I sent back.
I hauled myself back upstairs, changed into my workout gear, threw a dry towel into my gym bag, and scampered down to the garage. My rusting Honda SUV, nicknamed the Gray Ghost, rumbled to life and I eased it onto the pavement.
With nothing but green lights between me and the gym, I made the drive in eight minutes flat. I jogged to the small side room that was covered in wrestling mats, tossed my bag against the wall, and skidded to a halt.
The room that we used for training was empty.
“I’m not that late,” I grumbled, leaning back out the door. There was no sign of Steve. He was probably hitting on Amy, one of the cute personal trainers who, surprisingly, didn’t mind his advances.
I killed time by stretching.
Quinn had talked me into trying yoga a few months earlier, so we’d recorded a couple shows on one of the fitness channels. I’d rolled my eyes at the whole centering-my-Chia Pet part of it, but there was no denying its ability to get me limber. Alone in the workout room, I leaned forward, grunting as my bruised body protested.
I was halfway through Downward Barking Cheetah, or whatever the hell it was called, when the atmosphere in the room changed. A heavy, musky scent filled the air while tension replaced the calm I had been trying to channel into my inner child.
I froze, then slowly turned toward the entrance.
The beast was huge, filling the doorway with his massive frame.
Bred specifically to kill overconfident warriors who’d angered the gods, the creature was something straight out of a mythological nightmare. The human-ish body contained long, muscular arms and thick, powerful legs. The head, however, was that of a bull and covered with dark, coarse fur. Its horns were sharpened to points that glinted in the stark light from above. The long snout flared as the beast huffed.
I burst out laughing.
The Minotaur blinked. “What?”
“Nice outfit.”
Steve glanced down at the neon blue bike shorts, yellow spandex top and black combat boots. “It’s workout gear, smartass,” he growled. “Speaking of which, are you ready?”
“Yeah,
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