Children of the Storm Read online

  The last few months have been good to me. No one’s tried to kill me in weeks and things are unusually peaceful. My luck’s never this good, so it can’t last.

  And it won’t.

  I’m about to discover enemies I didn’t even know existed and new allies I never thought I’d have. Unfortunately, this too will come at a cost. The real question is: will I be strong enough to survive it or will this destroy me?

  Children of the Storm

  Book 3 in the Warden Global series

  By Ken Lange

  Children of the Storm

  Ken Lange

  Published by Ken Lange

  Copyright © 2019, Ken Lange

  Edited by Danielle Fine

  Cover Art by Danielle Fine

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Acknowledgments

  Special Thanks

  Special thanks to my editor, Danielle, for doing such a wonderful job with this book.

  To Rick G. I can’t thank you enough for helping me get on the right track.

  There are seriously way too many people thank individually but know that I appreciate everything that you’ve done for me.

  Dedication

  For the King of Hlidskjalf, Odin, the Ancient One.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Journal Entry

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  About the Author

  Connect with him online

  Want more?

  Journal Entry

  Children of the Storm

  By now, you really should know who I am, but just in case you haven’t been paying attention, my name is Viktor Engel Warden.

  The last few months have been decent—scratch that, they’ve been great. My crazy ex is out of the picture, no one’s tried to kill me recently, and I took a few days off. That might not sound like much to you, but to me it’s been amazing.

  It’s going so well that it can only mean one thing. Something’s going to screw it up.

  My luck is never this good.

  Chapter 1

  May 2nd, 1602

  The air is so thick that it’s pressing against me from all sides and it’s difficult to breathe. To make matters worse, the winds out of the south are pushing a storm my way. It won’t be long before the roiling clouds above blot out the light of the moon completely. Which, for me, isn’t a problem, but my horse…well, that’s an entirely different story. Unfortunately for both of us, there’s still a lot of swamp to get through before we can consider making camp. This really shouldn’t come as a surprise, though. Since I came to the new world, things haven’t exactly gone my way.

  Not even the weather in this godforsaken land will cooperate with me. This place is so vile it’s made a weapon of the heat and humidity to ensure that I’m a sticky, sweaty mess every second of every day.

  When I first arrived, I’d wrongfully believed that a good, hard rain would cool things off and, with a little luck, drive away the bugs. Instead, all it does is make things worse. Honestly, it’s as if Mother Nature herself has gone out of her way to make me as uncomfortable as possible. You’d think we’d dated or something.

  Whatever the case, I’m stuck here now.

  Literally.

  Not long ago, I was hunting a rogue sorcerer who’d murdered a couple of friends of mine. I took his crimes a bit personally and chased the bastard through half of France and eventually to America. There, I finally caught up to the asshole…or what was left of him, anyway. He’d been unlucky enough to encounter several wraiths, and when they decide to kill someone, they’re…less than subtle about it.

  Considering how fresh the corpse was, and the fact that I nearly collided with someone who had the good sense to run away, I probably should’ve hightailed it out of there as well. But I didn’t, and the same wraith that’d gutted the guy happily handed me my ass on a platter. The only reason I’m not worm food is because Hustahli intervened, put me back together, and healed my wounds. In return for his generosity, he tasked me with safeguarding the people of this new land from the encroaching darkness. So far, though, the only darkness I’ve found is the goddamn mosquitos. Seriously, I’m not sure how the locals haven’t been bled dry.

  So, on the one hand, I’m alive and feeling better than…well, ever. On the other, I have a massive debt to pay off. Overall, though, it’s a good deal, because I like breathing.

  The scent of burning oil, soot, and wood is carried on the breeze from somewhere up ahead. My horse slows then stops, snorting. The thicket in front of us isn’t impassable, but it’ll make things more difficult than I’d like. It takes us about ten minutes with me walking point to push through the brush, and when we do, I find the source of the smoke. About a quarter mile ahead are a bunch of torches burning in a field a few hundred yards from a massive two-story home.

  I glance up at the sky and frown. It’s just past midnight—kind of an odd time for anyone to be out tending their crops. There’s something about the scene that doesn’t sit well with me. I step up into the saddle and head toward the light.

  As I get closer, the sound of a man yelling reaches me. I can’t make out what he’s saying but given the tone and volume, he’s furious. His anger is punctuated by the terrified screams of a woman. While I’m sure he didn’t mean to, he’s got my full attention…and that’s probably not a good thing for his overall health.

  I pat the horse on the neck. “Come on, girl, we need to hurry.”

  She picks up speed, and a few minutes later, we break through the thick brush. At the far side of the field, three young boys are tied to posts. Anger and revulsion course through me at the brutality on display here. Near the house, a burly white man slaps a much smaller black woman to the ground. “You black-hearted bitch.” He points past me. “How could you think I’d allow this?” Disgust washes across his features. “I’d rather see them burn.”

  The woman whimpers but doesn’t say anything.

  He grabs a nearby torch and whirls it across the emptiness, where it lands at the boy’s feet, setting the dry grass ablaze. I jump off the horse, run over, and stamp the fire out before it does any harm. “Hey, what in the hell is wrong with you?”

  The big man pulls his pistol, turns, and fires. Given the range, he’s a damn good shot as the ball only misses me by a few inches. I charge forward, catch him in the gut, lift, and dump him onto the ground hard enough to break several of his bones.

  A second later, the woman wails. I turn, and the boy I’d saved from burning moments earlier now has a hole in his for
ehead. I kneel and shove my blade through the underside of the man’s jaw. The tip erupts out of the top of his skull as the life drains out of his eyes.

  I walk over to the woman, who’s cradling her dead child. “I’m sorry.”

  She gently places him on the ground, stands, and slaps me. “You shouldn’t have interfered. He wouldn’t have hurt him if you hadn’t shown up.”

  I gesture at her other two children. “Lady, he tied them to a stake before I ever got here. Not to mention the fact that he actually tried to light him on fire.”

  She shakes her head. “No, he does this from time to time when he drinks… This is your fault.”

  I have no idea how long it took the abusive prick to warp her mind into thinking he wasn’t the bad guy, but he’d obviously done a number on her. One day, maybe, she’ll come to realize that her abuser was the actual monster. Until then, she’s welcome to blame me. “I’m sorry.”

  She slaps me again. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

  “What else is there to say?”

  Hatred burns in her eyes. “You’re an awful man.”

  Truth rings in her words and I hang my head. “That’s something we can agree on.” I walk over and slice through the restraints of the next child, a young boy. I give him a quick once-over. “You okay?”

  The kid looks up at me, wide-eyed. “I think so.”

  The woman’s voice cuts through the night. “Omar, come.”

  He stiffens as he glances between me and his mother before running over to her.

  She grabs Omar and pushes him behind her, careful not to take her eyes off me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was just passing through.” I hold out my hand. “My name is Viktor Warden.”

  Her expression hardens, and she spits on the ground. “I don’t care who you are.”

  Yeah, this is going well. “Fair enough.” I sigh. “If you change your mind and need my help one day, look me up. I shouldn’t be hard to find.”

  She gestures at her dead son. “This type of help?”

  I run my hand over the top of my head. “I’m really sorry about how this turned out. If I could undo it, I would.”

  She glares at me. “Your words are hollow, little man.”

  I can’t blame the lady; her son was just murdered in front of her. “Do you have a name?”

  Sparks leap between her fingers. “I do, but I see no reason to give it to you.”

  Of course she doesn’t. I point at the man I killed. “At least let me tell the authorities you had nothing to do with his death.”

  She glances over at her dead master and nods. “If that’s what it’ll take to get you gone, my name is Sylvia Jones.” She gives me a dismissive gesture. “Now go. You’ve done enough damage for one night.” Closing her eyes, she hangs her head in defeat. “I need to bury my son, and the rest of us must decide what we’re going to do since you’ve cursed us with false freedom.” A gust of wind rocks her back on her heels and sadness fills her voice. “Go back to whatever hell you came from—none of us need nor want you here.”

  I hadn’t considered how killing the man would affect their lives. With his death, she and the others are free...but this is the deep south.

  Goddamn, where’s a hole to crawl into when you need one? “All right, I’ll go, but before I do, could you tell me where to find the nearest sheriff?”

  Sylvia jerks her hand up and points east. “You’ll find the beginnings of a town that way.” She steps back toward the house. “But it won’t matter. They won’t listen. Or care.”

  I lean over, pick up the dead man, and place him over the back of my horse. “Again, I’m sorry… It wasn’t my intention—”

  Not bothering to listen to me, she turns and escorts her children into the darkness of the main house.

  Chapter 2

  June 1st

  With as long as I’ve been around and all the things I’ve seen, you’d think life wouldn’t have any surprises left for me, but if anything, the one constant is how regularly the world around me brings new things to my doorstep.

  Today, for example, out of the sweltering blue, I got a call from Baron Kriminel, one of the big bads of the loa. I’ve never met the guy, or fought him—hell, I’ve barely even heard of him—and now he wants a meet and greet.

  It’s like those emails you get promising money, sex, or drugs. You know it’s a scam and dump it into the spam folder to be deleted. Which is exactly what I should’ve done.

  But, as you can probably guess, I didn’t.

  Which is why I’m up here, drinking whiskey on the roof, instead of downstairs in my air-conditioned apartment. Justine isn’t exactly pleased with my decision-making abilities. Okay, that’s putting it mildly. She thinks I’m a dumbass for even considering going. So I thought it best to give her some space. I’m not sure this qualifies as a fight, but if it does, I am woefully unprepared.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve fought with my significant others over the centuries. Take Katharine, for example. She and I were constantly at each other’s throats. Hell, I’m almost certain that was some sort of relationship prerequisite for the woman. Considering she’s more or less dust these days, that didn’t turn out well for her.

  Justine, however, isn’t a complete nutjob. I mean, she’s a little crazy—because who in their right mind would actually date me?—but she’s a genuinely good person. She has her faults, of course, but they’re comparatively minor. She doesn’t, for example, have a batshit-crazy ex chasing her across all creation to drug her into trying to kill me. Which is what happened to Lilith, my first ex. When she woke up enough to realize that she’d tried to forcibly remove my head, she ran off into the night. I looked for her for years after with no luck.

  Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that my significant relationships haven’t gone so well for me, and I’d like to change that. Hopefully, Justine was just blowing off steam and we’re all good. If not, fingers crossed it doesn’t wind up with me nearly losing a body part.

  And, honestly, she can’t be that angry. All I did was agree to meet the Baron. At sunset. In a graveyard.

  Yeah, okay, maybe I am a dumbass. Thing is, I’m curious as hell about these guys. In over three hundred years of living in the Big Easy, I’ve never had such an opportunity. As far as I know, no one in my circle has as much as spoken to one. So, this is huge. And yeah, I’m sure there’s more to it than meets the eye, but this might be a once-in-a-lifetime thing. It’s too important to pass up.

  After what feels like a small eternity, I check my watch. 7:20. Fantastic. Now I can get on with the more interesting part of my day. I’ve got roughly thirty-five minutes to make the meeting.

  On my way out the door, I pick up my phone and wallet. A pistol would be a really nice accessory, but showing up armed could possibly make them think I don’t trust them. I don’t, obviously, but there’s no reason to advertise. Plus, if it were that simple to kill the loa, someone would’ve done it by now. So, the less I do to make things awkward, the better. And I’m not exactly unarmed. I’ve got Draupnir and, while it’s mostly ornamental right now, Gungnir is still around my wrist.

  Five minutes later, I’m on I-10 on my way to the City Park Avenue exit a few miles away. It doesn’t give me a lot of time to think, but I try to run through the most likely scenarios—none of which are good for my health—before finding a place to park on Bienville. As the door closes behind me, I glance over at the horizon where the sun is hanging low in the sky. It’s not quite sunset, but it’s only a matter of minutes now. Guess I should pick up the pace.

  I’m about halfway down North Anthony when something heavy and metallic hits the pavement behind me. Something about the sound sends a chill up my spine.

  Stopping short, I pivot on the spot to find…nothing. If I have to guess, this is the Baron’s not-so-subtle way of trying to spook me. Guess he doesn’t know me very well. I don’t do fear, but annoyance…that’s something I’m a freaking pro
fessional at. A few seconds later, the high-pitched clinking of metal echoes through the quiet in the opposite direction. I can’t say why, but the repetitive noise instantly makes me want to murder someone. Turning to face the cemetery, I do my best to push down my irritation. But if this guy keeps messing with me, I’m going to have to figure out what kills him, force it down his throat, and watch him die. Probably not the best state of mind to be in when meeting someone new, but him playing games with me is rude as hell.

  Taking a deep breath, I set off again and turn onto Conti. There’s a weird screech in the distance. It sounds familiar, but it’s so far away I can’t place it.

  About a half block up, the gate meant to let hearses into the cemetery is standing ajar. Guess that’s where we’re meeting. The Baron hadn’t been all that specific, and the Masonic cemetery covers about a block on either side of Conti, so I could’ve picked the wrong side. Now, not so much. I hope.

  The dying sunlight casts ominous shadows across the pavement as I make my way back toward Bienville. A man I suspect is Baron Kriminel stands atop a raised mausoleum. He’s tall, or at least taller than me, with a stocky build, close-cropped black hair littered with gray, and chestnut eyes. He’s wearing an expensive three-piece jet-black suit with a perfectly tailored jacket lined in purple. His stark white shirt almost glows in the darkness surrounding him. Strands of red wrap around the ebony wood of his cane, twisting around until they reach the ruby eyes of the purple skull topper.

  His gaze falls on me and he smiles. When he speaks, his voice is deep and has a thick Haitian accent. “Greetings.”

  I wave. “Evening.”

  He gestures at the stairs behind him. “Come, join me.”

  Hey, this is going way better than I expected. Of course, I’ve only said one word so far, so there’s still time for it to go completely off the rails.