Children of the Eighth Realm Excerpt
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Like its creator, Halfer Home has lived many lives, few of
them happy. You have to understand, it eats those it loves. Its floors, its
walls—hell, its very foundation—are soaked in blood. I should know. I’ve given
more than enough of my blood to it. I do so to make myself a part of it for as
long as I’m required, for those who need me to use it to protect them and
protect them from it.
Truth be told, I’d sooner cut your throat than my own. I
didn’t set out to be a martyr. Yet I make this sacrifice without hesitation. To
do so is to spit in the faces of those who put me, and those like me, in this
position.
Maybe it’s for nothing. After all, hope is a smirking,
cold-blooded creature, killing us an inch at a time with promises it seldom
keeps. Sometimes it does keep them, though. So I bleed, and I dare to hope.
All I ask is that you accept my sacrifice. Live as many
lives as you can before it’s your turn to feed the Home.
Two weeks and three days until departure
The chief of the Syracuse Bureau of Elven Enforcement didn’t
know which was worse: the sound of blood dripping to the floor in steady plonks
or the retching of the other officers. He’d emptied his own stomach on the
Home’s rock-strewn excuse for a lawn. This was the worst crime scene in his
career. In any cop’s career.
He held his coat sleeve to his nose and breathed through his
mouth as he surveyed the horrific scene in the orphanage’s basement. Even after
several hours, his brain denied what his eyes told him.
This can’t be real. Yet it was. So real that no one
else could confront it. The half dozen officers who’d manned up sufficiently to
stay in the basement kept their backs to the game room.
It was as if some psychotic director had staged every
slasher film finale in a single room. Blobs of meat scattered across the pool
table’s surface. The same with the assorted card tables and chairs and bar.
More blobs stuck to the wall. The chief had spotted a couple identifiable body
parts in the mess: half a forearm with a hand attached. A pointed ear. All was
cast in the gruesome shade of scarlet, thanks to the gore-covered lighting
fixtures. He swallowed the burning tide that rushed up his throat.
The creak of the stairs was a welcome distraction, though
the chief doubted the long-absent forensics team was making a fourth attempt to
do its job. He turned from the abattoir, wondering why he was able to cope
better than the rest. He’d no doubt pay the price later. He was in for months
of nightmares.
Years of nightmares.
One of his sergeants nodded in respect as he descended. The
tawny-eyed elf stopped on the bottom step and came no closer. His gaze flicked
to the doorway behind the chief and away again. “The sun’s up, sir.”
“I’m happy for it.” The chief winced and tried for a milder
tone. “It’s been a long night. Do you have news for me?”
“Eleven boys and three counselors are unaccounted for. Could
all that be from fourteen people?”
“The missing children. How old?”
“Teenagers. Fifteen or older.”
The chief supposed that was something. Not much, but the
thought of the younger children of the Home torn into misshapen blobs would
have brought on another round of heaving. Even halfers didn’t deserve this. He
couldn’t imagine any living being heinous enough to deserve what had happened
the night before.
Except perhaps the murderous fiend behind it.
Plonk. Plonk. Plonk. Hours afterward, the blood
continued to drip. The sound would follow him the rest of his life.
Not bothering to hide his sarcasm, the chief said, “How
lucky for us that the new law putting halfers under elven jurisdiction passed
two days ago. Just in time for us to deal with this mess.”
“Sir?” The sergeant’s gaze flickered toward the game room.
Away again.
“Have the orphans been confined to their dormitories?”
“As you ordered. We’re doublechecking who’s who.”
“The bonfire outside?”
“Extinguished.”
“Have we tracked down the administrators and counselors?”
“A couple. That’s where I got the names of the missing
adults. Otherwise, no one’s talking.”
The chief almost pitied the terrified humans who’d been in
charge. After the call had come in from local law enforcement, it had taken him
and his men three hours to travel from the bureau in Syracuse to reach Peak
Valley Children’s Home. In that time, the staff had abandoned the halfers. They
probably hadn’t looked back. The chief had arrived to find one frightened human
cop guarding the crime scene.
Given the state of the basement game room, the humans who’d
run the orphanage had every reason to be hysterical with fear. It had bolstered
resolve to not answer questions, no matter how exacting the interrogation
methods.
It wouldn’t keep the chief from trying. “Get warrants to
bring them and any of the others we can find in for questioning.”
“What of the boys? There’s some question as to feeding
them.”
“Call for catering, but they’re to eat in their dorms. I’ll
begin interviewing them shortly.” Someone had to know which of the monsters
possessed the kind of magic that had ripped apart fourteen people.
“Sir? If this is the sort of magic we’d see from a…if it’s
what it appears to be…can we handle it?” The sergeant stuttered through the
mangled question, taking a step up as if ready to run as the humans had.
A chill passed
through the chief. He swallowed and decided against answering. “This is a
matter for the highest office. Find me a direct number so I can talk to the
chairman of the North American Council of Elves. Him, not his sycophants.”
Behind him, the steady sound of unfathomable death
continued, as if it would never end.
Plonk.
Plonk.
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