Ambryn & the Cheaters of Death Read online

  AMBRYN

  & The Cheaters of Death

  A Reemergence Novel

  Chris Philbrook

  Edited by Linda Tooch of Insight Copy Editing

  Designed and illustrated by Alan MacRaffen

  Ambryn & the Cheaters of Death; A Reemergence Novel

  Copyright © 2014 Christopher Philbrook

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America

  First Publishing Date 2015

  All characters in this compilation are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Linda Tooch of Insight Copy Editing

  Cover design and interior layout by Alan MacRaffen

  This book is dedicated to all the people in the world who are wrestling with the daemons of their own mistakes right beside me.

  Also by Chris Philbrook:

  Elmoryn - The Kinless Trilogy

  Book One: Wrath of the Orphans

  Book Two: The Motive for Massacre

  Coming Soon:

  Book Three

  Adrian’s Undead Diary

  Book One: Dark Recollections

  Book Two: Alone No More

  Book Three: Midnight

  Book Four: The Failed Coward

  Book Five: Wrath

  Book Six: In the Arms of Family

  Book Seven: The Trinity

  Book Eight: Cassie

  The Reemergence Series

  Tesser: A Dragon Among Us

  Ambryn: & the Cheaters of Death

  Don’t miss Chris Philbrook’s free e-Book:

  At Least He’s Not On Fire:

  A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head

  TABLE OF CONTENTS:

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: Tesser

  Chapter 2: The Story of Something Gone Awry

  Chapter 3: Mr. Doyle

  Chapter 4: Wayne Simmons

  Chapter 5: Jimmy Romita

  Chapter 6: Ambryn

  Chapter 7: Belyakov

  Chapter 8: Sandra "Sandy" Brown

  Chapter 9: Ambryn

  Chapter 10: Belyakov

  Chapter 11: Jimmy Romita

  Chapter 12: Mycroft Rupert Doyle

  Chapter 13: Belyakov

  Chapter 14: Ambryn

  Chapter 15: Agent Alanna MacTavish

  Chapter 16: Ambryn, The Dragon of Death

  Chapter 17: Brandon

  Chapter 18: Artur "The Romanian" Cojocaru

  Chapter 19: Cosmin "Uncle Cosmo" Dorinescu

  Chapter 20: Sandy Brown

  Chapter 21: Mr. Doyle

  Chapter 22: Tapper Special Agent Henry "Spoon" Spooner

  Chapter 23: Uncle Cosmo

  Chapter 24: Lieutenant Aaron Rosen

  Chapter 25: Artur

  Chapter 26: Tapper Special Agent Alanna MacTavish

  Chapter 27: Ambryn

  Chapter 28: Artur

  Chapter 29: Ambryn

  Chapter 30: Artur

  Chapter 31: Sergeant Danny Ronan

  Chapter 32: Wayne Simmons

  Chapter 33: Artur Cojocaru

  Chapter 34: Agent Alanna MacTavish

  Chapter 35: Ambryn

  Chapter 36: Mr. Doyle

  Chapter 37: Henry Spooner

  Chapter 38: Danny Ronan

  Chapter 39: Wayne Simmons

  Chapter 40: Artur Cojocaru

  Chapter 41: Aaron Rosen

  Chapter 42: Sandy Brown

  Chapter 43: Ambryn

  Chapter 44: Carnage at The Strip

  Chapter 45: Spoon

  Chapter 46: Ambryn

  Chapter 47: Artur Cojocaru

  Chapter 48: Mycroft Rupert Doyle

  Chapter 49: Wayne Simmons

  Chapter 50: Cosmin Dorinescu

  Chapter 51: Spoon

  Chapter 52: Ambryn

  Chapter 53: Wayne Simmons

  Chapter 54: Spoon

  Chapter 55: Ambryn

  Chapter 56: Spoon

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Additional Online Content

  Prologue

  Vegas. The city where the desperate seek out fresh starts, gambling their past gains against their future. Every trip to Vegas has its winners and losers, and the bus filled with California retirees headed home at midnight from Sin City was no different.

  Lucille, an eighty year old grandmother of three originally from Santa Barbara, had hit it big on the penny slots earlier that night. She'd gone to Vegas on the senior's bus trip with forty dollars saved from her Social Security check, and she was coming back with sixty-three dollars and fourteen cents and a belly filled with complimentary gin and tonic. She slept with a snoring rumble at the front of the bus, her breath reeking of alcohol, the pine of gin, and generic cigarettes. This was her heaven.

  Gerald, a half Japanese spindly seventy-five year old Korean War veteran with a limp, sat two rows back from Lucille and had also hit it big on the penny slots. Five seats over from where she'd sat too. He'd taken down fifty plus dollars in winnings while putting back a steady stream of his drink of choice, vodka and cranberry. When they got back to Los Angeles, Gerald was going to spend the money on two new pairs of pants. Something that fit.

  Peter had the saddest story of all of the elderly folks who'd traveled to The Strip that day. Being that it was the fifth of the month, and that they were all flush with their monthly pension checks, he'd allowed himself to go a little overboard. But that was Peter's way. He'd gambled with his three wives and their emotions, he'd gambled with spending too much time away from being a good father to his three kids, and he'd gambled away every chip of goodwill he'd had with all of them. For him to lose nearly all his money at the low stakes Blackjack tables wasn't new, but this would be a painful month. He would have to pick up a few extra shifts at the parking garage booth he worked at, getting paid under the table. Hopefully the gang bangers dealt their meth on a different street corner this month, and he would be at ease.

  Rory was the unofficial leader of the journey of sin. He was the driver of the bus with fifty passengers on it. He worked for the tour company as a driver, and he'd done the Vegas runs with the old folks for going on ten years, and it was easy money, especially if they won. On their way off the bus in Los Angeles, coming off of the rush of winning and still struggling to stand from all the free drinks at the Casino, he'd pocket a hundred bucks in tips. Pretty good considering they were old folks with little to spare most other days. It had been even better since the dragons had come back, and all the weird mystical stuff had started up all over the world. When that little baby was born a couple months ago in June, the flow of money from the geezers gushed like a prune juice induced dump. He'd slap that mothball-smelling cash right into his money rotation for burgers and fries, his meal of choice at least twice a day, unless the taco stand was nearby. Rory had the jowls to show his dedication to the restaurants he loved, and a belly big enough to have put ten kids through college on the price of double cheeseburgers with bacon (no lettuce, and put down that tomato Goddammit) alone. Rory was already hoping Lucille would spot him a five on her way off the bus. She was good for a fiver, she also had that look to her tonight; he didn't have much cash, and he knew he'd want a burger on the way home after dropping the bus off at the company depot. The hope for the money distracted him from the rumble in his belly.

  Ahead on the highway were a d
etour sign and parked beside it was a patrol car with its blue lights flashing. A uniformed cop stood in the road with orange sticks that glowed in the dark. The cop waved them in circles, telling him to take it easy. Rory got the bus slowed down on the desert highway and gently turned off the impromptu exit to the surface street on the western fringe of the city. The cop waved at him.

  Rumbling over some flat ground covered in stones, Rory got the bus moving on a frontage road and kept it heading towards the Pacific. If this wasn't too bad, they'd still make it to Los Angeles in time for him to hit a 24 hour burger joint. Ahead he saw more flashing lights. Another police car rerouting traffic off the frontage road and into an urban area filled with businesses. This area of the city looked decrepit and abandoned. The economic recession hit Vegas hard a few years ago, and the city still suffered. Rory got the chills thinking about how many vast, empty buildings were in the city, and how the meth-addicted locals with their dry mouths, scaly skin, and cracked teeth were creeping around everywhere, just out of sight, thinking about his five dollar bill. Rory followed the cop’s instructions and turned down another street.

  Another block ahead Rory saw a group of patrols cars with lights flashing parked on both sides of the two lane street. It seemed to be definitely a side street, as most streets in Las Vegas were four lanes at a minimum. In between the thick flaps of skin and fat on his belly, Rory felt a sudden slickness of extra sweat. It made him nervous to be in the neighborhood; having the bus in such a narrow space made it more than worse. He couldn't turn the bus around even if he wanted to. He was behind enemy lines.

  Another cop wearing an orange traffic vest stood in the center of the road where the yellow line should have been—or might've been years ago. He held up two orange batons crossed, giving Rory the X symbol letting him know he should bring the big bus to a stop. Rory obliged the officer and slowed the bus to a gentle halt. He put it in park and sat there, sweating. A quick glance over his shoulder told him the old people who were his charges were all still asleep. It was well past their bedtimes, even on a Vegas night. He was thankful they hadn't woken. They always bitched when there was a delay. Rory guessed disruptions were a bigger deal the shorter your fuse got.

  A metallic rap on the bus door snapped him back to the front. He hit the switch and the bus' side door opened revealing two sandy uniformed LVMPD cops, and a tall man wearing a nice suit with skin that looked like day old, cold coffee with too much cream in it. He half expected to see a cigarette butt suddenly float to the surface of his cheek. Rory hid a rude laugh.

  "Something funny bus-boy?" the tall man said after lifting his arm and taking a drag on a cigarette. He exhaled a thick plume of blue-white smoke, while Rory hunted for an answer.

  "No, just uh, something caught in my throat," Rory said, rubbing his neck for emphasis. "Is there something wrong?"

  "You got a burger caught in there? You smell like Sonic. Or Whataburger," the tall suited man said as he stepped up onto the bus, approaching Rory with a grace that seemed feline.

  Rory's sweat stopped abruptly. He felt cold. Clammy. "I had a … uh … I had a burger earlier," he blurted, confirming the man's statement. He had no idea what else to say to the man.

  "Yeah, I already told you that you smelled like it. Are you slow kid?" He had a faint accent.

  Rory could see him better now in the bus' illumination. He was Latin. Mexican. Or a beaner if you asked Rory's Dad. But something about him wasn't right. For some reason Rory kept seeing the man as if he were bald, even though he had a head of black wiry hair that was perfectly coifed. Then it hit him: he looked cancerous. Pale and translucent like water logged skin. The revelation did no favors for Rory's whimpering heartbeat.

  "What's going on here? Are you a detective?" Rory put his hands on the armrest of his driver's seat and started to stand, but the Mexican looked at him with eyes that were a pale shade of brown, like sun-bleached leather. Rory's nerve to challenge the strange stranger disappeared, and his girth settled back into the seat like a sweaty water balloon, spreading out to fill all the space it could.

  "That's right. Sit the fuck down," the Mexican said as he patted Rory on the top of his balding head. "What's your name Sonic?"

  "Rory," he gagged out, his mouth as dry as a blast furnace.

  "Rory. Good enough, Rory. My name is Jimmy Romita, bud. I work for a man called Uncle Cosmo. You heard of Uncle Cosmo?"

  "Is he like Uncle Sam?"

  Jimmy laughed at Rory's question. "That's good. I guess in a way you could say he's like Uncle Sam. Uncle Cosmo has needs Rory. Uncle Cosmo wants you," Jimmy said with a pointed finger and intense eyes. He turned and looked down the aisle of the bus and took in the fifty-odd elderly passengers of the bus. He looked faintly disappointed.

  "Needs? What does Uncle Cosmo need with this bus? And why are the police here?" Rory realized the cops were listening to this entire exchange passively just a few feet away, like this wasn't the first time they'd seen the act go down. He leaned over and looked around Jimmy to see them. They were smiling strangely. Rory thought of wolves. Or vultures. It was surreal.

  Jimmy put a hand back on the top of Rory's head and steered him upright. The fingers felt cold as ice on his scalp. At first Rory fought against the tall man's pressure, but his strength was incredible. Rory felt something pop painfully in his neck, and he acquiesced. He felt his whole head and neck twinge with pain over something now off in his spine. His fingers tingled.

  "Pay attention, Rory. And don't worry, that's just a sprain. Jimmy didn't break your neck, though I kinda want to. Nothing to worry about. Little bit of pressure on a nerve or two. So listen here Sonic; Uncle Cosmo needs some friends, and you know what they say about the elderly…"

  Under the icy-vise of Jimmy's hand, Rory shook his head and shrugged. It hurt his neck.

  "They don't fight back all that well." Jimmy flashed a grin like a shark, revealing a mouth filled with pointed teeth. Before Rory could flinch, or fight, or escape, Jimmy's mouth was latched onto Rory's neck, and the neck pain he had been so concerned about a few seconds ago was a pin prick compared to the sensation of having his life ripped out of his carotid by the human lamprey draining him to death. He couldn't even scream to the old people for help. Jimmy's hand had clamped over his windpipe like a vice. Rory died in less than sixty seconds. There would be no late night burgers for him tonight. Ever again, in fact.

  None of the lucky old folks woke up while the police officers boarded, and smiled their own hungry, shark-tooth grins.

  In the end, Jimmy was right. The old people didn't fight back all that well.

  Chapter One

  Tesser

  "You realize that Tapper has a plane set aside specifically for flying people like us all over the world right?" Matty asked Tesser, looking out the oval shaped window she leaned against. "I mean, specifically us."

  They sat beside one another on a massive intercontinental airplane in first class, speeding towards dawn over the Atlantic at several hundred miles an hour towards Matty's parents and Norway. Baby Astrid rested on her mother's bosom, sleeping soundly, her little purple eyes shut behind flickering lids. The crown of violet hair atop her head had grown, as had she. Christmas approached a few weeks away, and Astrid had reached six months of age. It had been a good year for the world.

  Tesser chuckled softly and looked over the aisle at his sleeping brother, Ambryn. The dragon of death had assumed human form frequently of late, and had insisted on staying at Astrid's side. The black haired man with pale skin who looked to be in his mid-twenties snored, and the older man next to him looked unhappy about it. I wonder if that old man knows that drooling slob next to him is an ancient dragon? The truth that awaits just below the lies of reality.

  Tesser answered his love, "Babe, I think it's important that we retain normalcy when possible. I thought flying first class was a bit much, never mind getting our own plane. This makes us seem more common. Identifiable. This is plenty nice."

  "Tesser,
we had to check luggage. You're a dragon, and I apparently am the first mother of a dragon. I think that entitles us to our own plane every once in a while," Matty said snarkily, but with a grin.

  Tesser looked at her and felt contentment. The mother of my baby. So pretty. Prettier than ever before. "Okay, how's this? Next time we fly, after we hang out in Norway with your family, and we meet the Troll envoys and tour their city under the mountains, I'll have Spoon get the Tapper jet for us. Will that do ya?"

  "It'll be safer for the baby," she said to seal the deal.

  "Our baby is a dragon. She is for all intents and purposes immortal. Even if we were completely incompetent, she'd survive just about everything someone threw at her. I'm not worried too much about her safety," Tesser said, leaning over to kiss her on the top of her soft baby head. She smells nice. Partly like her mother, partly like baby powder and soap, and all like magic.

  Matty needled him. "Can she feel pain? Huh, babe? Do you want your daughter to feel pain? Because that's how you wind up single."

  They shared a laugh. "She can feel pain. And I don't want her to feel pain, Matty, obviously, but pain in life is inevitable. We can't protect her forever, and flying first class on a plane with two other dragons and a distantly part-troll mother is about as protected as she can get."

  "Speaking of which, you gave Spoon the trip off for vacation, and he's our direct line to Tapper. Another asset for our daughter's safety. Not cool hubby of mine; sort of hubby, at least. We can protect her for now. She can have all the pain she wants later when she's a big-bad winged mamma-jamma. But right now she's Astrid, my little baby, and there will be no pain for my little baby. Capiche?" Matty said with a smile that told Tesser the conversation was done.