The Tynder Crown Chronicles, Season One: Episode One: The Tynder Crown Chronicles (The Tynder Crown Chronicles, A Novella Series Book 1) (4 page)

I’m imagining everything.
I continue to tell myself this over and over again as I race toward Joe’s office. Taking off into a fast walk, I am determined to get there as soon as possible. An attractive man with deep blue eyes catches my attention as I pass him. Instinctively, my eyes follow him as I turn my head to watch his Adonis-like body walk away from me. My breath catches in my throat when I see a long blue tail emerging from his backside.

Focus on the sidewalk.
Turning back around, I walk even quicker. When I reach Joe’s office, I’m practically running.

Thrusting open the door, I burst inside, slamming it closed behind me. I slip the deadbolt into place, and then fall to the floor, panting heavily, trying to catch my breath. “Joe!” I manage to yell at last.

The door that leads to the living quarters at the back of Joe’s office opens and then immediately closes. Sweat is running off my face and pooling on the ground around me. At last I manage to catch my breath. “Joe!” I shout again.

“He’s not going to answer you,” I hear Desmond say, as he emerges from around one of the dusty, old bookcases. Growing up, I used to love looking through Joe’s old books. Most of them are leather-bound and look as though they come from another time, a world completely separate from our own. Joe has always been a big fantasy buff, reading books on all kinds of mythological creatures. I have trouble believing we’re related sometimes. While he loves studying life, I’m determined to live it.

“Oh Jesus, Des, am I glad to see you,” I say, sitting upright. “You will not believe the day I’m having.”

Desmond crosses the room and reaches out a hand to help me up. When I rise, I can see his eyes are red, and there is pain in them like I’ve never witnessed before. His first words finally register with me.
He’s not going to answer you.

“Des, where’s Joe?”

He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, Tynder. I never should have left him alone … I know better. Damn it! How could I have been so foolish?”

“Where’s my grandfather?” I demand, panic flooding over me. None of the visions I’ve been having seem to matter anymore. Nothing matters except seeing Joe.

“He was acting weird. I should have known something was up. He gave me this long shopping list. I told him it could wait until we could go together, but he insisted. And when I came back … oh God…” Desmond trails off.

I no longer wait for him to answer me, and I start frantically searching the office for any trace of my grandfather. On the coffee table near the fireplace is the one oversized leather-bound book I remember I was never allowed to touch. Joe had said it was an antique, and the pages were far too fragile to be handled. The fire is low, but it still gives off a warm glow.
Where are you, Joe?

Shifting, I pace to the other side of the large room where Desmond’s desk resides. I’m not surprised to see the entire area organized and tidy. He is always cleaning up after Joe. I see the door to the apartment at the back of the office and immediately approach and reach for the knob.

“Tynder, wait, please,” Desmond begs, rushing up behind me.

My heart skips a beat. From his reaction, I know I’ll find answers about Joe on the other side of the door, and it terrifies me. Something in Desmond’s eyes tells me I won’t like what I find.

Pushing open the dark six-panel wooden door, I am hit with a charred smell. I wince, raising a hand to my nose to shield the offensive odor. “Christ, what is that?”

“Stop,” he cries, lunging forward, grabbing my arm. He’s holding on to me so tightly, my arm begins to ache.

“Let go,” I growl, looking at him intensely. I don’t even recognize the sound of my own voice. The way he looks at me, with terror and shock in his expression, I think I may have actually frightened him. He does as I ask, and I walk the rest of the way into the apartment.

The setup has always seemed to work well for them. There is a large area that consists of a living room and kitchen. Off to each side is a bedroom with a shared bathroom between them. Desmond used to sleep in the office when I lived here. After I moved out, I think Joe held out hope I would come back for the first year and only let Desmond take my room when he was certain I would not be returning to the nest. Though, I know if I said wanted to come home, my old room would be mine once again.

Desmond follows closely behind me. He’s no longer pleading with me; instead, he keeps his distance, watching me silently. I move farther into the room, looking around for any sign of Joe. The deeper I move, the stronger the smell is becoming. I walk around the kitchen island, and my eyes try to process what I see on the floor.

On the ground, facing up, is a life-size statue of Joe. It’s completely black in color, like it’s made of coal. In its chest is a dagger with an emerald green handle.

“What is that?” I ask apprehensively, looking back at Desmond.

His eyes widen, but he can’t seem to find the words to answer me.

“Desmond!” I shout. “What the hell is that? Where’s Joe?”

Still he says nothing, his eyes filling with moisture. His silence answers my question. Somehow I know what I’m seeing on the floor isn’t a statue at all. It’s Josiah Crown, my grandfather. I don’t think; I can only act. I have to fix this. I have to fix Joe. I need him. Rushing to his side, I collapse to my knees and reach out to take hold of him. I’m not sure what I’m thinking, perhaps that I’m going shake him back into reality, wake him from this state of nothingness.

“Tynder, no!” Desmond cries, lunging forward, his hands outreached, trying to stop me. But it’s too late. By the time he is close enough, my fingertips have already grazed the cheek of Joe, and the black figure collapses into a pile of ash and dust, the dagger falling to the ground.

“What the—” I freeze, scared to move or even breathe.

“Oh God, no,” a whisper escapes Desmond’s lips.

My body is still locked tight in its current position. “What’s happening?”

“It’s what happens to a Phoenix when they die … They return to ash. He would have only held his form as long as he wasn’t disturbed.” Desmond is speaking, but I am unable to process the meaning of his words.
Phoenix … return to ash … I must still be hallucinating. Maybe that means that none of this is real. Then that would mean Joe is—still alive?

Falling back onto my bottom, the ash from the floor coats my leggings and boots.
Then why does this feel so real?
I don’t react as Desmond moves swiftly. He slips off his sweater and picks up the dagger with it, wrapping it tightly inside. He moves and begins to open drawers and cabinet doors, looking for something. At last he pulls over a wooden dining chair, and, climbing up on top of it, he pries off the cover to a vent on the wall, then tucks the cocooned weapon inside and replaces the cover. Returning the chair to its original position, he’s now on his knees next to me.

His hands are on my shoulders, gripping me firmly; he stands, lifting me with him. I feel like I am a doll, being carried around, lifeless, and at the complete mercy of my master. He looks me in the eyes. “Can you hear me?” he questions, and I nod slightly in response.

“We have to get our stories straight.” His words startle me back to reality, and I shake loose of his grasp.

“What? What stories? I came in and found my grandfather reduced to a pile of ash, so what’s your story, Des? Where were you?”

“What are you saying?” he gasps, staring at me with his mouth hanging open.

“I’m asking what happened here? What happened to Joe?” I rattle off the questions racing through my mind.

“I don’t know exactly,” he answers.

“That can’t be him. Tell me that wasn’t him.”

“I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you we’ll find his killer.”

“Killer? He’s a pile of ashes … How in the hell did that happen? No killer could have done that.”

“You have to listen to me, we don’t have much time. The Heralds will be here soon.”

“Harold who?” I snap, digging my fingers deeper into the flesh behind my knees.

He shakes his head. “Not Harold. The Heralds. Think of them like the brute squad of The Council.”

“Council? You’re making no sense. Nothing makes sense anymore. I’m seeing messed-up creature things everywhere I go. Hell, my hair turned white,” I add, whipping my cap off. “And now this. What in the hell is going on?”

Desmond doesn’t seem surprised when I reveal my hair. “So the transformation did project onto you. With your father being who he was, we weren’t sure it would.”

“I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“All right, you have to listen carefully. I need you to get as much information as you can before they’re here.”

“Before who is here?”

He sighs impatiently. “The Heralds. Josiah didn’t want to make you a part of this world if he didn’t have to. He knew it was dangerous, and if your powers never manifested, there wasn’t a reason to bring you into it. A Phoenix usually needs to be a pure blood in order for the abilities to pass from one generation to the next. Your mom refused to follow the old laws, and she mated with a blood nymph.”

“I think you were hit in the head, too,” I suggest.

“The things you’ve been seeing, it’s because you have the sight now. Once Josiah died, his abilities passed onto you, and part of that is being able to see Fae. If you don’t have the sight, they all just look human. They can see you too now. All Phoenix bloodlines are what we call Royal Magistrates. It’s a sacred position held only by your kind.”

“Wait, that little toad creature in my apartment called me that, but I thought I was hallucinating.”

“No,” Desmond continues. “You weren’t hallucinating. Fae can sense you’re a Phoenix, and as a result, they look to you as a peacekeeper.”

“What? I don’t want to be a peacekeeper; I don’t want any of this. I—I want my grandfather,” I stammer.

“Tynder, I’m sorry, but he’s gone, and this is your life now.”

“Wait, can you see them? The Fae thingies. You’re a human, aren’t you?” I question in disbelief.

“Sort of. I am human, but I’m a wizard, so the sight is granted to me. All Phoenix are assigned a magic human companion. They’re a protector, as well as a liaison between the humans and Fae folk. It was actually an idea originated by your grandfather. He devised most of our customs when it comes to our laws. I was assigned to Josiah, but … I failed him…”

“None of this makes sense,” I state again.

I hear commotion from the office area.
How can that be? I locked the dead bolt.
Alarmed, Desmond grabs my hands. “They’re here. Listen, a Phoenix’s skin can’t be pierced by a blade unless it’s coated in the nectar of a thistle berry bush from the gray forest. All the thistle berry bushes were destroyed to keep the Phoenix bloodline safe. Someone has been keeping one alive, waiting for this moment. When they take us, say nothing, and trust no one. Your grandfather had many enemies for the things he was trying to change.”

“But I—” Just as I am about to beg him for more answers, the door bursts open. In walk three large men; at least, they appear to be men at first. As they come closer, I can see their eyes glow a brilliant red color. Their ears come to a point, and their skin has a gray tone to it—like a corpse. I have no clue what they are, but I don’t like them.

“We’re looking for Josiah Crown’s Crimlock,” one of the beasts growls in a low tone.

I’m wondering what that is when Desmond steps forward and lifts a hand. “That would be me,” he answers solemnly.

“On your knees,” the creature bounces back. Shock washes over me when I see Desmond comply. As if something has possessed me, I step between the muscle-bound freak and the only friend Joe knew.

“What are you doing?” I demand, holding up a hand.

“He failed in his task, so he’ll be taken into custody and brought before The Council for sentencing,” the thing answers me, continuing to cautiously close the gap.

“You’re not taking him,” I snap back.

“Tynder,” Desmond whispers.

“And who are you?” When the beast asks this question, the other two large suited beings laugh.

I widen my stance, place my hands at my sides in balled fists, and announce clearly, “I’m the new Royal Magistrate.” I hope this inspires some kind of fear in them, because honestly, I think I sound like a complete idiot.

The one closest to me looks me up and down, nods, then glancing over at one of his buddies, adds, “Take her too.”

I turn to take a defensive posture, and, before I can react, the warrior extends a silver metal staff. When the end touches my shoulder, I fall to the floor, darkness enveloping me.

THE ROOM I’M IN IS dark and cold. The way the air moves through feels odd and unnatural. I raise a hand to my pounding head.
What the hell happened?

“Tynder? Are you awake?” I hear Desmond’s voice—it’s near—but I can’t see him.

I sit up with a groan, still clutching my head with one hand, and steadying myself on the cool stone bench with the other. My eyes have not adjusted to the darkness, but to my right I can make out what appears to be metal bars. I lean back; the wall behind me is made up of stone as well. This is when I realize I’m in a cave-like room, the only exit blocked by an iron-barred gate. Fear washes over me, and I jump to my feet, my head bumping the dome of the cave.