Table of Contents
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Opener
Part One
Casey L. Bond
Thomitus Caelius
Part Two
Jo Michaels
Sir Thomas Russell
Part Three
Tia Silverthorne Bach
Lt Thomas Anderson
Part Four
Kelly Risser
Tommy "Two Guns" Mazza
Part Five
N. L. Greene
Thomas "T-Dogg" Evans
Part Six
Judgement
Trials
Part Seven
Bonus Short Story
Fate of the Fates
About the Authors
7
By
Casey L. Bond
Jo Michaels
Tia Silverthorne Bach
Kelly Risser
N. L. Greene
Copyright © 2016 Casey L. Bond, Jo Michaels, Tia Silverthorne Bach, Kelly Risser, and N. L. Greene
Digital Edition
Published January 7, 2016
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be copied or re-distributed in any way. Authors hold all copyright.
This book is a work of fiction and does not represent any individual living or dead.
Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.
Cover design by Jo Michaels
Edited by Tia Silverthorne Bach and Jo Michaels of INDIE Books Gone Wild
Proofread by Kelly Risser
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.
Casey:
I give all thanks to God for his amazing blessings in my life. Those blessings runneth over and He has given me a family who loves and supports me, friends who are more precious than gold and everything I need to survive and thrive in this beautiful world He has created.
I’m thankful to have found the amazing co-writers of this novel. They are beautiful, intelligent and classy and I’m proud to call them some of my closest friends. I have to credit Janet Wallace, founder of Utopia, for her vision. She created a conference in which creativity thrives and this book is one of the many examples of that vision come to life.
A huge thank you to Jo Michaels, Tia Silverthorne Bach, Kelly Risser and Nichole Greene for their hard work on this project and for taking a chance on me and my writing. It means the world to me.
Jo:
When we started this project, I wasn’t sure we’d be able to out-do Fractured Glass. That book broke tons of “writing rules,” yet it went on to win two awards. This one is just as good—if not better—and I know it’s because of the women in this group. Thank you all for being so amazingly talented and fun to work with. I hope we’re all friends forevermore. Thanks to my husband—I love you so friggin’ much!—without whom none of this would’ve been possible, and to the awesome that’s Janet Wallace for creating UTOPiAcon—the conference that changed our lives, and the place this novel was brainstormed.
Tia:
I am overwhelmed with gratitude for my writing sisters—Jo, Kelly, Nichole, and Casey. I adore each of you, and I’m grateful for your friendship, shared knowledge, and unwavering support. A huge thank you to Janet Wallace for the amazing conference, Utopia, which brings together those who love the written word, allowing us to form lifelong bonds.
Many thanks to my husband of 20 years and our three beautiful girls. They are more than I ever thought I’d have, and I thank God every day for them and my many blessings.
For all the readers who invite us into their lives by loving our words, thank you! We hope you love our latest tale.
A special shout out to my writing buddies, friends, and family who support me. You know who you are, and I hope I tell you often what you mean to me.
Kelly:
“Any time women come together with a collective intention, it's a powerful thing. Whether it's sitting down making a quilt, in a kitchen preparing a meal, in a club reading the same book, or around the table playing cards, or planning a birthday party, when women come together with a collective intention, magic happens.” ~ Phylicia Rashad
To that I say, “Amen!” This book was truly a labor of love, one that we poured our hearts and souls into, and I can honestly say it would not have achieved this level of magic without input and effort from all these amazingly talented ladies that I am proud to call friends. Thank you, Casey, Jo, Nichole, and Tia, for sharing your time, talent and creativity. I love collaborating with you and can’t wait until the next project! Although, really, I can’t wait to see your faces again and give you big hugs!
As readers will discover, at its heart, 7 is about five amazing, gifted and loving women. I am fortunate to be surrounded by many women of this caliber in my life—for that, a shout out to my mom, sister, cousins, aunts, daughter, and girlfriends for always being there. I’d also like to give a big round of applause to the readers and bloggers who fall in love with our stories and proceed to tell us about it. Your enthusiasm for Fractured Glass is what led us to 7.
Nichole:
No matter how many books we write, Jo, Kelly, Casey, and Tia, you ladies will always be affectionately known to me as my FG girls! I am so honored to call all of you my friend and will forever treasure the time we’ve spent creating these worlds together. You four are not only fun to work with and extremely inspiring but I love that we laugh together, share our family’s moments, and even our problems. That is true friendship and so rare, which makes me even more fortunate to be experiencing it with you ladies. I love you all to the moon and beyond! I can’t wait to continue our journey together, writing stories and making memories until we’re all old and grey! XOXO
Five.
The daughters.
Always sent to guide.
They stood in the white place and lifted their palms to the center of the circle. “So it has been done; so it shall begin.”
As though a star went supernova, an epicenter formed at the joining of hands and radiated outward. When the light dimmed once again, the daughters were gone.
Their journey had begun.
Rome, August 1, 64 AD
3:33am
Thomitus
For Thomitus, rest was a myth. Sleep was the most exhausting part of his day; it was also the most intense. Night terrors had plagued him since he had been old enough to remember them. The scene played out the same way every time, starting in the same place and ending with Thomitus screaming and thrashing against the figments haunting his imagination. That night was no different.
The sour stench of my own sweat mixes with the smell of sweet figs, dates, and citrus. Gusts of wind thrash my tunic about. The air is dry, so dry my throat feels like the sand piling between my toes, finding its way into the crevices of the leather sandals strapped to my feet. Where had they come from? What was I wearing? My long hair twists into my face before being blown back again.
A scene unfolds before me. A man is being led away in shackles and chains. Soldiers shove him forward, and he stumbles, cutting his knees apart on the rocky path. He pushes himself back to his feet and hangs his head. A soldier shoves the prisoner again, but he stays upright. If I were in his shoes, I would lash out. What more does he have to lose?
But the prisoner does not protest, just follows peacefully, as thoug
h nothing in the world is wrong with their behavior. Everything inside me roils violently, in stark contrast to this man’s demeanor.
With the hilt of a sword, one of the soldiers strikes the man in the temple and he falls. His chin hits the ground, and the sound of his upper teeth colliding with his lower fills the air. It’s much more difficult for him to rise back up this time, though I will it with all that is within me.
Churning. Something is wrong. But, what? A roar, more thunderous than the booming from overhead, fills the air. I had made that guttural sound. I run to him, shoving the soldiers away. The tips of my fingers tingled to find the cold metal clamped to his hands, to release him. I was the guilty one. Not him.
“No!” I cry out. “Do not arrest him! Take me!”
My pleas are swallowed by the blustery wind howling through the fields. My feet stick as if I am wading through waist-deep mud. I cannot make them move. The world seems off somehow. My feet are stone. They keep me prisoner.
The soldiers, the man, they don’t seem affected by it at all. They move freely. Again, I call out, begging. “Please, take me instead! It is me that you want!”
They ignore me, acting as if I am not even there. I try to scream again, but I cannot.
Desperation squeezes my throat, choking off the very air I breathe. Molten lead flows through my veins, burning, cooling, and solidifying all at the same time. My muscles stiffen like stone.
I cannot move.
I cannot speak.
I cannot scream.
Josephine
Josephine, careful to avoid the hands of her lover striking out against something she could not even begin to wrap her mind around, gently tucked herself behind the unsettled man in the bed beside her. She whispered calming words, combed her fingers through his hair, and held him in her arms until he stopped beating the air in front of him, struggling against the blankets tangled around his limbs. She kept a tight grip on him, telling him he was okay, that all was right, that he was home. Josephine was one of the few people, including his parents and the soldiers who had fought beside him, that knew of his nightly battles. And she was the only one who had ever been able to calm him down during one of them.
Thomitus let out a groan that echoed across the low ceiling of their cubiculum. Shielding his eyes with his arm, ripples of taut muscle tensed and then relaxed again, concealing the steel beneath the soft skin that had been scraped clean the previous day at the baths. Josephine sat up beside him, clutching the linens close to her chest. She drank him in as she did every morning.
Through the villa’s windows, the earliest rays of the sun filtered into the room, slowly caressing his bronzed skin like the hands of a lover. For a moment, she became jealous of the pale yellow light. Grinning as she thought of the previous night, she bit her thumb and watched him fight to stay asleep. He shifted positions from his left side to his right, fluffed his pillow, and squeezed his eyes closed. When that failed, he covered his face with it.
It was all she could do to rein in her mirth, knowing her giggles would make him aware he was being watched.
In the end, Thomitus gave in. He always did. There was much work to be done, and idleness, though tolerated within their higher class, was not something Josephine was accustomed to partaking in. Even as a small child, she recalled her father’s words: Anyone with a mind could find something with which to busy themselves. Idleness only led to trouble.
When the skin of her bare feet met the tesserae, she shivered. That day was to be hot, but the air of the morning still provided a cooling breeze. August had been nearly unbearable, and the Great Fire had made it doubly so. She washed her face and toweled off, quickly arranged her dark blue stola, and affixed the golden brooch that ensured the garment stayed in place.
More rustling sounds came from the bed while Josephine sat at her small wooden table and combed through her long, silky strands of dark brown hair. As one particular knot gave in to her ministrations, Thomitus groaned, acquiescing to the time of day. Through the mirror, she watched him rise and dress, proud of him for accomplishing so much at such a young age. He had been a warrior for Rome, fighting bravely to extend the boundaries of the Empire, and soon, he would be a Senator. Of course, that fact would have to be kept secret for a while.
Instead of the customary purple stripe adorning his toga, he wore one that was devoid of color. She imagined him wearing the true colors of the title he would soon hold: Senator.
Josephine was proud of his accomplishments. He wanted to be more, to work hard and make Rome better for everyone who lived within her boundaries. Josephine would not care if they both lived in hovels and wore burlap, because she loved Thomitus with her entire heart. Most marriages were arranged for the family’s benefit, to secure an upgrade in class or to gain land and privilege. But Thomitus and Josephine’s story was different. Both had belonged to the same social class and were born to wealthy families.
They had taken notice of each other during their final year of education. When Thomitus pursued her publicly, her family had not protested, but welcomed him as one of their own. The pair was well suited and made each other genuinely happy.
She pinned a portion of her hair up with the golden laurel twig Thomitus had given her the previous month, allowing the rest of the ringlets to cascade down the length of her back. It was how he preferred it, and she wished to please him.
Looking in the mirror again, she started. He stood behind her, quiet as a mouse, but much more deadly. Thomitus, her warrior husband, whose skin bore the remnants of wounds from nearly forty battles, gently eased a necklace over her head and fastened it. He worked his calloused thumb up and down the slender column of her neck, making her melt into him as if she were no more than a piece of glowing-hot metal under the control of a skilled blacksmith.
The breeze entering their villa still carried the remnants of acrid smoke and ravaged hope. Gray soot dirtied white linen curtains that danced happily in the wind, unaware of the tragedy that lay beyond the sill. Her gaze went to the fabric as it moved, and her eyebrows pulled together.
“You worry too much about things beyond your control, my sweet.” His deep voice usually had a soothing effect on her, but not that day.
“As do you. Your dreams were violent last night. At one point, I had to leave the bed because you were thrashing about so fiercely. You kept screaming not to take him, to take you. Who is he—the one you dream of so often?”
Thomitus’s thumb stilled, and he rested his hands on her shoulders as if weary to the bone. “I am not certain. I experience it every night, as you know, but as far as I can recall, I have never seen the man in real life, never been in a similar situation in all of my battles. It is—”
She searched his face for an answer, and when she did not find it in the mirror, she stood and clung tightly to him until he found it for himself.
“It is as if I am not just fighting a simple battle, but a war for my soul. I can feel the implications of the outcome resonate through me, down to the marrow. I just cannot understand why the dreams will not leave me. But, I suppose they cannot last forever.” His lips tilted in a smile that was probably meant to reassure her, but it betrayed the fact that he had not fully believed in his own words.
Josephine did not understand why he was plagued with such horrifying subconscious thoughts. Had he experienced trauma in battle, in losing friends before his eyes? He never let on and never shared those intimate details.
“Better to leave the past where it belongs. It is content there, and I prefer to dwell in the present,” he would say. And she would not argue with him, because she would never want to cause him more pain by forcing him to relive what were certainly horrific memories.
“Why are there only two silver bars on your necklace, Jo?” Thomitus raked the scruff of his jaw against the smooth skin of her cheek, and she loved it.
She dug her fingers into his back, urging him closer. And he gave in to what she was asking. “They represent me and my beloved—you.�
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“You had them before we met. How do you know that they were meant to represent us?”
Josephine fingered the cool metal. Two bars hung from a delicate silver string, one slightly longer than the other. Most of her jewelry was made of gold, but that silver was special to her. “I’ve always had them. I remember toying with them as a small child. As far as their representation of us? I just know it. In here.” She placed her hand over her heart and smiled up at him. “Please, be careful. You are fearless in battle,” she began, only to be cut short by his snort of derision. “No, listen to me, Thomitus. I know that you are brave; your valiance is legendary and is one of the many reasons I fell in love with you. But this is a different kind of battle. The stakes are equally as high, but you will be in unfamiliar territory with Nero. And I have heard that he tends to go mad. I do worry for you, for us. I realize what must be done, especially with the rumors coursing through the city, but I cannot help my feeling of unease. You are everything to me, and I am terrified I will lose you.”
With his fingers and thumb, Thomitus tipped her chin, making her look into his eyes. His dark hair was short, in the fashion of a soldier. He would always be one, though his battles had changed over the years. His hazel eyes churned brown, green, and golden. Nostrils flared, he breathed her in. With his knuckles, he brushed her cheek, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “And you are everything to me. You know the circumstances. If I can get close to him, learn his secrets, we can end this insanity. All of Rome will be free of him.”
She swallowed the thick truth down like bile. “I know. And I will keep you with me until you return. Here—” she moved their clasped hands to her chest “—in my heart. Just do not forget yourself in this ruse; I would not survive losing you in any capacity.”
He kissed her, passion pouring from his soul to hers. “I will return as soon as I am able. And you will also be with me.” Thomitus placed her small hand over his heart and held it there.
7: The Seven Deadly Sins Page 1
