The Dragons of Styx

by John E. Siers

  “Like your jarls didn’t roll over and show their bellies when the Avramites showed up with their One God and their gold!” Pixel rose up on her toes. “Your people took their god and took their gold and then attacked our ancestral lands!”

  “Guys!” Liam had stepped over to the workbench but hadn’t picked up the crowbar. “Are you playing one of those live-action role playing games or something? Because if you are, I’m calling my garage out of bounds. Take your LARP somewhere else.”

  “We’ve come a long way to speak to you,” Einar replied, looking away from Pixel. “I’m from Asgard.”

  “Asgard? You mean like Thor and Odin? What kind of game are you playing?” Liam hadn’t moved from the workbench, but he’d mapped in his mind the steps he’d need to take to reach a stout pole which would serve as a staff while he back-pedaled to his workshop, where a half-dozen half-finished sword prototypes rested. From where he stood, though, he didn’t feel as threatened. He knew a bit about gamers because there were a fair number of them among the pagan community, and he’d absorbed bits and pieces of it. Maybe someone had pointed Liam out to Pixel as research about druids for one of these games—an over-enthusiastic player who wanted to more convincingly roleplay one.

  “Gods I hate those pocking things,” Einar grumbled, rubbing his forehead while Pixel stifled another giggle. “Look, can we sit down and talk to you? This is much more serious than some pocking games you folk play with your costumes and your toy weapons.”

  “This isn’t a game, and we aren’t hippies with New Age books and a need for self-validation.” Pixel added. Her eyes had faded to a lavender color. “Liam, we need your help.”

  * * * * *

  Get “A Reluctant Druid” here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07716V2RN/

  Find out more about Jon R. Osborne and “A Reluctant Druid” at:

  https://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/jon-r-osborne/

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of The Fallen World:

  This Fallen World

  ___________________

  Christopher Woods

  Available Now from Blood Moon Press

  eBook, Paperback, and (soon) Audio

  Excerpt from “This Fallen World:”

  He placed a coin in front of me. I looked at it in surprise. It was a solid gold coin from the Old World. Probably worth ten thousand scripts now.

  “This is a down payment,” Hale said. “You find her, you get another. Return her to me unharmed, you get three.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, Agent,” he said softly.

  I nodded.

  He passed me a folder, and I opened it to see a picture of a pretty young red-haired woman. She appeared to be late teens or early twenties and that could be bad. This fallen world is hard on young beautiful people.

  Warlords could swoop in with their troops and steal people at will. They were Warlords because the held the weapons or tech that gave them control over those around them.

  There had been incidents for years. I had a great disdain for the term, Warlord. They were the ones who had found some advantage and abused it, for the most part.

  There were a few good men, such as Wilderman, who held the reigns of fourteen city blocks. He provided protection to those who lived in his domain. He taxed his people but he also provided true protection.

  Miles to the East, there was Joanna Kathrop. She held sixteen blocks and ruled with an iron fist. She had found a cache of weapons and provisions in her area several decades back. Her cadre of loyal soldiers backed her and she established her rule of that area.

  There were others, both good and bad. The majority of them were bad. They ran single and double blocks. The Warlord that controlled the area where the Strike Zone was located wasn’t the worst, but he was far from the best.

  I turned the page and found the sector that Hale and his daughter had lived.

  “You were under Yamato?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “he took down the Bishop a decade ago.”

  “Yamato’s always been fair,” I said. “Did you take this to him?”

  “He couldn’t help me,” he said. “She was traveling across the city.”

  “What the hell was she doin’ travelin’?” I asked. “Was she in a caravan?”

  The Caravans were the only semi-safe way to travel the city. You paid for your ticket, and the Caravans paid their tax to run through the Zones.

  “She was going to the new College, set up by Kathrop, in a small Caravan run by a man named Drekk. He claims she never showed up for the last leg of the trip.”

  “Drekk,” I spat the word out. “I’ve heard of Drekk. If you want to travel anywhere, you have to use the Accredited Caravans. You can’t use people like Drekk.”

  His face fell. “We didn’t know about this until it was too late. We aren’t rich people, Mister Kade.”

  I looked down at the coin still in my hand, and looked back to him with one eyebrow raised.

  “The life savings of both my family and the family of Seran Yoto, her fiancée.”

  “Poor would not be what I would call this, Hale,” I said. “There are people right in this room who won’t see this much wealth in ten lifetimes. You dwell inside the Scraper. You have running water and electricity. Don’t ever try to pass yourself off as the poor. It’s insulting.”

  He nodded.

  “Who set up the Caravan?”

  “I set it up through a man in the Scraper. His name is Denton. He owns a supply store on the bottom floor.”

  “Ok,” I said. “That’s where I’ll need to start. I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

  “But the Caravans don’t run at night.”

  “Some people, it’s safer to leave alone, Hale. When you get back to the Scraper, tomorrow, I’ll have some answers for you.”

  “How will you cross three zones tonight?”

  “I’ll walk, Hale,” I said. “Corporate Agents can take care of themselves.”

  “You haven’t been an Agent for twenty years.”

  “You’re right, there.” I said, “I’m something else, now. I’ll see you tomorrow night at your Scraper.”

  I stood and walked away from the booth. Jared was beside the bar, talking to several suits.

  “Yo, Jared,” I said. “I’m on a job for a few days. Ya can fill the table if ya need to.”

  “Be careful, Matt,” he said. “Last time Jenny took a week to get you patched up.”

  “I’ll try, buddy.”

  I had a feeling about this one. Things looked bad for Maddy Hale. Drekk wasn’t known to be trustworthy.

  Life can be dangerous in this Fallen World.

  * * * * *

  Get “This Fallen World” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KHLG54J.

  Find out more about Christopher Woods and “This Fallen World” at:

  https://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/christopher-woods/.

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of The Devil’s Gunman:

  The Devil’s Gunman

  ___________________

  Philip S. Bolger

  Now Available from Blood Moon Press

  eBook and Paperback

  Excerpt from “The Devil’s Gunman:”

  I eased the door open and braced for gunfire or a fireball.

  I got neither. I swept the entryway with my rifle’s sights. Nothing more offensive than some high school photos glared back at me, and I didn’t hear anything running down the hallway or readying a weapon. There were no shouts from police or federal agents, either.

  What I did hear, from the living room, was incessant chatter underscored by the occasional interjection of a laugh track. The chatter was accompanied by the soft peripheral glow of my television. Whoever had broken into my house was watching a sitcom.

  “I’m unarmed,” a man’s voice rang
out. “So put down the rifle, and let’s have a talk.”

  “The fuck we will,” I shouted back. “You broke into my home!”

  I moved down the hallway, keeping my rifle on the opening to the living room.

  “That’s part of what we have to talk about,” the voice said. I peered around the corner and saw a young Caucasian man. His pale features and dyed blue hair did little to mask the malicious smirk on his face. He was dressed in an oxford shirt and slacks with a skinny tie, as though he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to look like he’d just joined a band or an investment firm. He wore a silver tie clip with a red blood drop on it.

  I stood there with my rifle sights on his head.

  “I’m here as a messenger,” he said and flashed his teeth. I saw pointed incisors. That was enough for me. “This is peaceful, Nicholas. No need to be violent.”

  I lowered the rifle. I didn’t like the prick’s condescending tone; he sounded like he enjoyed the sound of his own voice. Those types were always eager to give up information.

  “Okay, let’s talk. Who’s the message from?” I asked.

  “I hold the honored post of Emissary of the Lyndale Coven,” he said politely, examining his nails. “We’ve taken a professional interest in you, and Coven leadership sent me.”

  “Oh yeah?” I asked. “What for?”

  “To dictate the terms of your surrender,” he said, locking eyes with me. His hands twitched, then curled slightly. I imagined him leaping off the couch and knocking me down. I fought the urge to bring the rifle to bear, keeping it at the low ready.

  “Thought your kind needed an invite,” I said.

  The man snarled.

  “We both know who built this house. I have a standing invite. The coven master says that the Duke no longer wants you, so you’re fair game. Our agreement, which I have right here, has the details.”

  He pulled a no-shit scroll out of his suit jacket and put it down on my coffee table. I glanced at it. The Lyndale Coven seemed to be under the impression that I belonged to them. I read the word “slave” once, and that was enough for me to decide I wasn’t interested.

  “No dice,” I said.

  “These terms are much more charitable than those the Coven Master wanted,” he said, warning in his voice. “Oath breakers aren’t normally given this kind of clemency.”

  I didn’t have much idea what he meant about oath breakers, but I wasn’t going to play ball with this pompous fuck.

  “Not charitable enough,” I said. “Why do you guys want me? Running out of blood from young clubgoers and runaways?”

  The young vampire smiled again, flashing his teeth with what I’m sure he thought was menace.

  “It’ll certainly improve our coven’s standings with the Duke if we prove we can clean up his loose ends. I’m sure you’ll make an excellent blood thrall. We’ll be taking a pint of blood every month, as—”

  I raised the rifle and sighted in on his head. He sighed, and rolled his eyes.

  “Look, you primitive ape, guns won’t—”

  I fired three times, the rounds earth-shatteringly loud in such a tight place. He screamed in pain and terror as the holy rifle’s bullets tore through him, the wounds leaving bright blue caverns of light.

  His screaming echoed in my head, so I kept shooting. I fired the rest of the magazine until there was nothing left but a corpse, riddled with holes and glowing softly, and me, standing there in my gunpowder-fueled catharsis.

  I dropped the mag and slapped in a fresh one, savoring the sound of the bolt sliding forward and knowing that if the emissary had any friends, they too, would be introduced to the kinetic light of St. Joseph.

  “Anyone else here? I got more.”

  * * * * *

  Get “The Devil’s Gunman” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07N1QF4MD.

  Find out more about Philip S. Bolger and “The Devil’s Gunman” at:

  https://chriskennedypublishing.com/philip-s-bolger/.

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of The Shadow Lands:

  Shadow Lands

  ___________________

  Lloyd Behm, II

  Now Available from Blood Moon Press

  eBook and Paperback

  Excerpt from “Shadow Lands:”

  The combatants, for lack of a better term, were both resting at the edges of the dance floor. To the left was a very butch-looking blonde in what looked to be purple leather, along with her entourage, while to the right, a petite, dark-skinned Hispanic in a princess outfit stood, surrounded by meat popsicles wrapped in leather. Vampire fashions make no damn sense to me, for what it’s worth. There were a few ‘normals’ huddled against the far wall, which showed signs of someone’s face being run along it, repeatedly. Sure enough, the London ‘Special’ was in the DJ booth. He killed the sound as soon as he realized we were standing there.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce the final players in our little drama, the Reinhumation Specialists of the Quinton Morris Group!” the Special said into the mike.

  “Fuck me running,” I said.

  “With a rusty chainsaw,” Jed finished.

  The two groups of vampires turned to face us.

  “Remind me to kick Michael in his balls when we get back to the office,” I said.

  “You’re going to have to get in line behind me to do it,” Jed replied.

  “You can leave now, mortals,” the blonde said with a slight German accent. She had occult patterns tattooed around her eyes, which had to be a bitch, because she would have had to have them redone every six months or so. Vampires heal.

  “Like, fershure, this totally doesn’t involve you,” the Hispanic said, her accent pure San Fernando Valley.

  “Jed, did I ever tell you how I feel about Valley Girls?” I asked, raising my voice.

  “No…”

  “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t kill ‘em,” I replied, swinging my UMP up and cratering the Valley vampire’s chest with three rounds into the fragile set of blood vessels above the heart. Sure, the pump still works, but there’s nothing connected to it for what passes as blood in a vampire to spread. On top of that, company-issue bullets are frangible silver, to which vampires have an adverse reaction.

  With that, the dance was on. The damn Special in the DJ booth at least had the good sense to put on Rammstein. Mien Teil came thundering out of the speakers as we started killing vampires. Gunny ran his M1897 Trench Gun dry in five shots, dropped it to hang by a patrol sling, and switched to his ancient, family 1911. I ran my UMP dry on Valley Vamp’s minions, then dropped the magazine and reloaded in time to dump the second full magazine into the Butch Vampire as she leaped toward the ceiling to clear the tables between us and the dance floor. As soon as Butch Vamp went down, the remaining vampires froze.

  “Glamour,” the Special called, stepping out of the booth. “I can control a lot of lesser vampires, but not until you got those two randy cunts thinking about how much they hurt.”

  “You. Fucking. Asshole,” I panted.

  Combat is cardio, I don’t care what anyone else says.

  “Yes?” he replied.

  I looked him over. He was wearing a red zoot suit—red-pegged trousers and a long red jacket with wide shoulders over the ubiquitous white peasant shirt, topped with a red, wide-brimmed hat. He even had on red-tinted glacier glasses.

  I felt his mind try to probe mine, then beamed as he bounced off.

  “My that hurt,” he replied.

  “You know, we don’t work with Michelangelo for nothing,” Jed replied. Apparently the mind probe had been general, not specific.

  I went through the messy side of the business—staking and beheading—assisted by Capdepon. Crash helped Jed sort out the normal survivors, followed by prepping the live lesser vampires for transport. The Special leaned against a wall, maintaining control of the lesser vampires until we could move them out. Once all the work was done so the cleaners could
move in, and the lesser vampires were moved out of Eyelash, I stepped wearily to the Special.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “You can call me,” he paused dramatically, “Tim.”

  I kicked him in the nuts with a steel-toed boot. Even in the undead, it’s a sensitive spot.

  * * * * *

  Get “Shadow Lands” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KX8GHYX/.

  Find out more about Lloyd Behm, II and “Shadow Lands” at:

  https://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/lloyd-behm-ii/.

  * * * * *