Thread of Fate - 1. Chapter 1

Oberon slowly swirled the whiskey, watching the ice clink against the glass. He wasn’t sure if this was his eleventh or twelfth drink, they were finally beginning to blur together. Leaning heavily against the wood of the bar, his long fingers furrowed through his silvery white hair. The air was stifling with the clouds of cigarette smoke, it was packed in here. On the stage behind him a zydeco band was playing live music, and drunken coonasses were whooping and cheering as they twirled and danced on the hardwood floors.

It was just the cacophony he needed to drown his disappointment in. He’d been so sure this lead was going to be the one, but he’d been too late at the price of someone’s life. When David had called him to tip him off that there had been activity down in New Orleans, he’d thanked the dragon and covered himself from head to toe before doing something he hated more than anything in the world, he got on a plane heading South.

From the time he landed to the day spent canvassing the Crescent City, in his head he kept retracing every step he’d made but in the end it all came back to the same ending. A shipping container hidden amid all the rest at the port, the door ajar and the stench of blood and steel making bile rise in his throat. They had been long gone, impossible to track further, and all he found were the twisted remains of some poor guy, a werewolf by what was left of him.

Supernaturals were being targeted and murdered all over the world, their body parts harvested and gods knew what was being done with them. Whoever was behind it moved quickly, grabbing a victim and immediately took them elsewhere to dissect and dismember. Nobody deserves to go out that way. Fucking cowards, their prey of choice was the young and inexperienced, probably fresh out of their parents houses. Very rarely did they bother with someone old and powerful, too much fuss. They were creatures of opportunity. Fucking cowards.

Downing the rest of his whiskey in one go, he pushed the empty glass across the wood, waving away the bartender when he went to refill it. Digging in his pocket he dug out a slightly crumpled ten dollar bill, pushing it across the bar as a tip.

Pushing himself to stand the world wobbled around him precariously, grabbing a hold of the wooden bar stool he waited for everything to right itself. Oberon had not indulged so extremely in a very long time. It took several minutes to pull his leather gloves from his coat pocket, slowly sliding them on over each finger. The music sounded garbled and echoing, as though it was coming through a long tunnel.

Looking down at his feet he carefully put one in front of the other, inching his way to the door. His glamour in place, to the rest of the world he looked like a middle aged businessman in a suit, dark hair mussed by his drunken nervous hands.

After what was probably an eternity he reached the doors, steadying himself once more he pushed against the panes of etched glass, avoiding the metal handles out of habit. Nobody paid any attention to him as he let himself out onto the cobbled streets of the French Quarter.

Up and down Bourbon Street music spilled out into the streets, melting into a great din of sound. Oberon squinted up at the festive purple, gold and green lights twisted about the wrought iron balconies. It was carnival season, and the streets were packed full with wandering drunken tourists and locals alike. He fit right in.

Any other time he’d ‘Laissez le bon temps roullez’ as they said in these parts. The Fae adored parties and decadence, and he was the Seelie King.

Death cast its dark pall over any happiness he might have felt. The young wolf he’d failed would never see another carnival, lift another drink to his lips, nor so much as see another day.

Somewhere in his liquor addled brain, Oberon noticed people were staring...not at him, but at some space in front of him on the sidewalk. Mixed in with the amalgamation of music, someone was yelling loudly insistently.

“Tasukete! Tasukete!”, Help, Help.

Screaming in Japanese, a man was barreling towards him, slack jawed onlookers stepping back and away like he had the plague. At full speed he collided with Oberon’s chest, looking back over his shoulder at whoever was chasing him. Knocking them both to the ground, his arms snaked around the strangers shaking body, breaking his fall.

“Nani ga mondaidesu ka?” What is wrong?

Oberon answered him in Japanese, shock registering on his blurry face, the stranger began to plead in earnest.

“Karera wa watashi o korosu tsumoridesu!” They are going to kill me!

There were tears in his voice, and he couldn’t have been older than in his mid twenties. Oberon could feel the sidewalk shaking as people jumped back out of the way, thundering footsteps heading for them.

“Osoreru koto wa arimasen.” Do not be afraid.

Standing up to his full height of 6’9, Oberon gently bade the man stand behind him. His eyes, the palest lavender burned and glowed with his surge of magic. Suddenly he felt much more sober, pity that.

Five men were nearly upon him, barking demands that he ‘hand the kid over’. They hemmed in around him, not a single soul stepping in to intervene, but it didn’t stop the sea of cell phones turned their way.

Frozen behind him, Oberon could sense the mortal fear emanating from the young man. His breathing was ragged and his clothing mussed, and it was obvious he’d already ran quite some distance through the wild streets of New Orleans, with not a single person coming to his aid.

This time, he wasn’t already too late. Whatever danger the stranger was facing, they had chosen the wrong faerie to fuck with. Movement to his left signaled their first move, a chop aimed for Oberon’s throat. With the smallest of movements he caught the man’s wrist in his grasp, snapping his hand back unnaturally with a crisp crack.

Behind him and to his right, aiming for his blind spot no doubt. Throwing his head backwards, the assailant’s nose broke, the coppery hint of blood running down his face.

The remaining three paused for the barest of moments before attacking him at the same time, in obvious desperation. Whatever reason they had for coming after the young man, returning empty handed was obviously not an option they wanted to face.

Too fucking bad. Just wasn’t their day, apparently.

Magic coursed through him burning like fire in his veins, a hair's breadth from reaching him they stopped did in their steps, the panicked twitching in their eyes belied their fear. Muttering ancient and powerful words, all five fell to the hard concrete of the sidewalk, screaming and writhing in unendurable pain.

Oberon turned back to face the young man, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Anata wa kizutsuite imasu ka?” Are you hurt?

Eyes wide as saucers, he mutely shook his head ‘No’.

“Watashi to kite.” Come with me.

This time nodding in quiet assent, Oberon wrapped an arm around the man’s still shaking shoulders. He quickly led him away from where the men were still on the ground, screaming in agony. Stone sober now, he ducked them off into an alleyway, taking a more circuitous route back to his hotel room.