Honkytonk Hell: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 1) by eden Hudson (ebook reader with highlight function .TXT) 📗

This was the first time in my life that everything was absolutely clear, I said.

Desty

I had never needed to go into the Council Building back in Hannibal, so I wasn’t sure what to expect from the Halo Witches’ Council. Maybe tree stump chairs and people wearing long robes and moon charms—not desk phones, computers, and corporate casual. There was even a water cooler in the corner.

“Hey, Jax,” the receptionist said. “I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

“Hey, Celeste,” Jax said. He pointed at the woman in the peach shirt in the far corner of the office. “We’re actually just here to see Bailey.”

“Come on back,” Bailey said without looking up from the papers in front of her. She had one finger on a thick piece of vellum and the other running across symbols written in blue ink in a notebook. When we stopped in front of her desk, Bailey pushed down on both fingers like she was clicking a mouse with each one. She looked up at us and pushed her reading glasses back on her head. “I didn’t expect to see you today, Jax. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Desty,” Jax said. “Her twin sister is Kathan’s familiar and now he wants Desty to become joint-familiar.”

“So he can become a commander,” Bailey said.

“Yeah, and since you’re translating that Nephilim thing, I figured you could help us out.”

Bailey leaned back in her ergonomic desk chair.

“What exactly do you need help with?” she asked.

Jax looked at me.

“Really, I’d just like to know more about the whole thing,” I said. “Is it true that if he’s a commander there isn’t any brain corrosion to his familiars?”

“The problem with the way humans translate texts is that our brains are structured to look for patterns that create words and sentences,” Bailey said. “Even calling it a ‘text’ can be misleading. When you’re dealing with another race, you might find something completely different like a history recorded completely in colors or feelings.”

“Well, what you gave me is a whole bunch of words that read like sentences, so you must know what this Nephilim thing’s recorded in,” Jax said.

Bailey nodded.

“Therein lies the rub, Ajax,” she said. “Feelings or colors would be easier. The Nephilim account was recorded in… The closest way I can describe it is intentions or maybe unborn hopes.”

Jax closed his eyes and his lids flickered as he read.

“You got, ‘To rise to the level of commander it would appear that an alpha of certain strength must be able to impose his essence on two of the same nature and body at the same time’ from unborn hopes or maybe intentions?” He opened his eyes. “You’re badass, Bailey.”

“I am the best,” she agreed. She looked at me. “Jax can give you anything he’s uploaded to that brain of his, but I’m afraid I’ve only gotten what amounts to about a page of translation done so far. It’s slow going and lately I’ve been focusing on more important matters.”

Jax raised his eyebrows at her. “You’re going to sit there and tell me there’s something more important than—and you know I quote—‘a force able to grow and command the most powerful army ever to march the earth?’”

“Holy crap,” I mumbled.

“I’m telling you there are more things in heaven and earth than you or I have ever dreamed of,” Bailey said. “And I’m going to go ahead and assume that covers abstractions like ‘order of importance.’ For you, anyway.”

“Touché,” Jax said. “Thanks anyhow.”

“No problem.” Bailey scooted her chair back up to her desk and put her reading glasses on. She leaned over her papers again. For a second the spots where she’d last had her fingers glowed nitrogen-headlight blue. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

“Could you show me how to translate it?” I asked.

“How?” Bailey asked, giving me a look that very clearly said to grow up. “Magic?”

Jax shook his head at me, hard, but I didn’t take the hint.

“I mean,” I said, “This is the Witches’ Council, right?”

***

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Jax said in the car on the way back to the house. “I made the same mistake when I started working for them. They’re all pretty touchy about the magic/witchcraft distinction—especially with some of the morons that get born with the ability to do magic. Witchcraft takes more finesse.”

I pressed the back of my hands to my cheeks. If I could follow Jax’s advice and not care that I’d just been lectured like a child in front of a roomful of people, my face wouldn’t burn so bad.

“I wish your car had air conditioning,” I said.

“I’m getting it fixed when I get rich.” He slowed down by the bakery and looked over at me. “What would make you feel better? We could stop by Tiffani’s for a cookie or something.”

I shook my head.

“She creeps me out,” I said.

“She’s gay,” Jax said. “Maybe you’re homophobic.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“Vampophobic? You racist.”

I rolled my eyes and tried not to laugh. As we turned off the square, we drove by a sign for Rowdy’s Bar—featuring Live Music Thurs-Mon Night!

“Tell me a story about you,” I asked Jax. “That would make me feel better.”

“I will, but only if I can tell it in terms of ‘once upon a time’ and also you have to answer a question when I’m done,” he said.

“Sounds fair,” I said. I liked Jax. He seemed like the kind of person I could’ve been friends with in high school if I hadn’t stayed hidden in Tempie’s shadow.

“Once upon a time, a beautiful goddess fell in love with a warrior,” Jax said. “She loved him because he was different from