Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters: Council of the Hunters by McGannon D. C. & McGannon C. Michael

Author:McGannon, D. C. & McGannon, C. Michael [McGannon, D. C.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Wyvern's Peak Publishing
Published: 2014-04-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

The council meeting was scheduled for Saturday.

With every school day that week being very not normal, the council meeting had to be rescheduled on a day when the group finally had a chance to kick back and relax. Video games, catching up on the latest series of binge-watching T.V., shopping, the mind-numbing act of scrolling through memes, posts, and feeds, even sleeping in—all of it was a no-go this fate-filled Saturday morning.

The walk to Hunter’s Key was nerve-racking and dead silent. Nobody wanted to admit it, but they were all nervous. One question weighed heavy in their thoughts: By the end of the day, would they still be considered Monster Hunters?

“You guys ready for this?” Darcy asked.

A few minutes later, coming through the East Wing hallway, they found Priest, Fish, and Dink sitting down in the Main Lobby, bruised and battered.

“What happened to you guys?” asked Nash.

“That pal of yours, Donnie,” Fish answered, sour.

“That story can wait,” said Priest. “The council is ready for you. Follow me.”

Dink waved sadly as they walked by. “Besta luck, you guys.”

“Where are they?” Charlie asked.

“In the war room.”

When they entered the room, the secret passage in the Library was open, and the council members were already seated halfway around a large table. The members of the council looked less like a governing body of powerful, influential hunters and more like a group of strangers pulled off the streets of New York City. Elizabeth sat next to Aisling, exhausted and looking as if she should be in bed recovering from a cold.

Behind the Council of the Hunters sat Quinn and Connor, attentively watching everything that moved, breathed, or shifted in the room, as well as Naifeh’s attendant. In the far corners of the room sat four gargoyles, silent and still guardians, witnesses, over what was about to take place.

Wotan Gregory raised a pair of silver-rimmed glasses off of the table, and balanced them on his nose. “Are we ready, then?”

“As ready as we ever shall be, mon ami,” said Bartholome from the opposite side of the table. He flashed his polished, black canines at Wotan.

Naifeh grunted. “No thanks to your late arrival, Bones.” She nearly spit the nickname at Bartholome, somehow managing to still sound polite.

“Nash Stormstepper, Charlie Sullivan, Darcy Witherington, Lisa Vadiknov, Liev Vadiknov,” intoned Wotan. “Today, these five young men and women are being considered for inclusion in the next generation of monster hunters. Depending on how our vote sways today, they will be properly trained in our ways and given the means to fight against the wolves at our door, or they will be removed from the ranks and traditions of the hunters. As well, we are gathered to address concerns that the Ancients are behind the recent events in Hunter’s Grove, and Drakauragh.”

There was an uncomfortable shift on the council’s side of the table. They grew serious, anxious, at the mention of the Ancients.

“Presiding over this discussion, and subsequent decisions, are the current acting members of the Council of the

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