The War of Elevens| Book 1 of the Space Thief Chronicles

Chapter 6| The Bitter Bite of Criminal Fathers

The Shifter World

Bustokki City, Balalaika

At the same time Lillian Cart Ci found out she was a Shifter, Max Wikkens found out his father was a criminal.

The night began with a bomb and ended with a belt.

A mermaid from the River Thalis made the explosive. It was an incendiary device coated in sparkly purple shelling; it could have passed as a seashell or a crystal. Max hid it in an empty upstairs bedroom, started his stopwatch, and pressed the yellow button on the device.

The bomb began to beep.

Two minutes.

Max burst out of the empty upstairs bedroom and pounded down the stairs. He whirled around tables stashed with apple-stuffed dumplings and bell peppers dripping in mushroom marinades, dodging the grasp of Traders. He bumped into a dessert table in his rush, accidentally sending a teetering nine-tier cake crashing to the ground with a splat. Bloom Officials and party guests screamed in shock.

"Isn't that Official Wikkens's son?" they asked. "What is he doing?"

Max exited through the manor's front door. From the porch, the driveway slithered away from the house, lined with seas of jewels teeming bloody, sapphire, and lilac colors. Max exhaled his frustration; the path to the road was too long, and he wasn't a fast runner.

"Mal." He yanked a small radio clipped to his waist up to his lips.

"I'm here," came his twin sister's hushed voice. "With the kids."

"You have about a minute."

"What if I hack someone's wrist off?"

"Don't aim for any body parts."

Mallory scoffed. "You're such an idiot."

"Let me know when they're all—"

A hand snatched the crook of his arm, causing Max to drop the radio. He jumped and caught a flash of six-inch acrylic nails painted an ugly shade of red, and as his eyes trailed up to the woman that had grabbed him, his breath caught in his lungs.

An antlered headdress scaling four feet jangled above her, stuffed with bits of dead animals. Her makeup was oceanic...blue blushes, silver eye shadows, gems glittering against her tear ducts and lips. Her dress was billowy and sequined and, Max realized with sick revulsion, also crafted of dead animal parts. Preserved entrails were woven through the silk of the dress, dark and wet against the sequins. Frail bones lined the plunging neckline. Teeth had been strung together to form a belt around her waist.

Max suppressed the urge to puke. The woman pulled him close and sneered, "Little boys should be down there. How'd you escape the chains, dear?"

Actually, if Max had been a little boy down there, he would have escaped with the help of Mallory. She was in the manor's basement now, wielding an ax, hacking away at the chains that bound the children's wrists and ankles. 

He lied, "I didn't escape. I'm here with my father, one of the Bloom Officials. Let go of my arm, you fat old scumbag."

Fat old scumbag probably wasn't the smartest thing to call the fat old scumbag.

"You brat," hissed the woman, eyes slitting in ire. "Perhaps I'll fashion your skull into a crown."

Max jerked and twisted, but she wouldn't let go. How much longer did he have? Thirty seconds? He could hear the sounds of metal clanking, breaking, shattering from the radio on the ground. The rage ruptured within him, tumbling through his bloodstream like a landslide. Animal killer! Kidnapper! Torturer! Fat old scumbag!