Burning Road

Boiling Point- Part IV

Khouri's blood was on fire. Beneath the thin shell of skin and flesh that covered his being burned an inferno greater than a bonfire and hotter than the sun. The essence of the Under Fruit filled him with an inner light. At first it blurred his vision, turning their little cooking fire into a swaying mote of oranges and yellows, but as he observed the dancing colors he saw through them and beyond.

He saw Littlehawk and the remaining Hoffman brothers. The former was severely wounded, wrapped in bloody bandages and being transported in a dingy van. Littlehawk's younger brother, Rowan, drove them along I-80 through western New Jersey. Defeat surrounded them like poorly ventilated cigar smoke. Everyone was grim-faced, but none as much as Yuri.

"This is bullshit! Why aren't we waiting outside the building for when the rescue teams dig his black ass out," Yuri grumbled.

"And what would we do then?" asked the driver. His tone made it clear he'd grown tired of the youngest Hoffman.

Yuri had that effect on people.

"We'd fucking kill him, his partner, the little Asian goblin freak, and anyone stupid enough to be in the line of fire."

"Wow, Einstein you are not. I hope you suck a mean cock. If not, then you're fucking useless." Rowan wasn't nearly as big as the late Sunny Hoffman, but he'd managed to be just as imposing.

Yuri glared at him but didn't lash out at the driver. If anything, he appeared taken aback.

"Are you a fucking queer?" he asked.

Sturges sat in the back, dividing his attention between Littlehawk and a spiral bound manual bearing the symbol of The Knights of Tamin.

"Queer? No. I love people, even bigoted pieces of shit like you."

"Great, Sturges. Not only are we working with natives, but fagots too!"

"Shut your mouth, boy," ordered the oldest Hoffman.

"This is bullshit! We need to go back!" Yuri was now yelling at the entire van, his temper rising with every word.

"And do what? Prince turned my brother's guts into Swiss cheese by himself. You want to fight that and the other Watchers on station?" Rowan asked. "Protocol says we fall back and regroup."

"Regroup? Regroup! That nigger killed my brothers!" The passenger side window stood little chance against Yuri's elbow.

As he savaged the door and dashboard the image danced like the flames of a small cooking fire in the barren waste. When his vision settled Khouri was seeing different enemies with a similar grievance.

Seven elders sat at a long table atop a high stage. Among them was Maurine Jeffers-Prince, her expression grim. Centered on that ancient table was a thick and equally ancient scroll, a replacement for the writings stolen by the defectors that would found The Watchers. Khouri had never been brought before The Order's Elder Council, but he recognized the faces gathered. All had once hunted beside his parents.

"Denver, this is your last chance to reconsider." Castle sat at a huge round table just below the stage.

His seat was reserved for The Guild Master and though the table was crafted with no head, his carried the most weight. Twenty-nine other hunters, leaders within The Order of Ceaseless Vigilance, occupied seats at the table. In the center was a twenty foot ring. Thomas Denver stood within.

"There can be no reconsideration, Guild master," explained a wizened member of the council. "A challenge has been made against your leadership and it must be answered here and now before Council and Leadership."