The Game of Gods Box Set

by Lana Pecherczyk

  “I can’t do it,” he said. “I tried. Walked here from the SCG, but as soon as I got this close, I couldn’t do it. Been sitting here, thinking, for hours.”

  “Marc,” I breathed. “I’ll help you get the tapes. Jed, too. Just point me in the right direction. Better yet, take me there now.”

  “You always were the pragmatic one, Sephie.”

  “Who’s Sephie?” I asked.

  He jerked as though being shot. His eyes widened and he let go of my hand. “I’m sorry, love. I can’t do it.”

  And then he was gone.

  Electrified silence filled the air while Jed and I stared, gobsmacked. Nothing left, but a crumpled up white Cricket suit. I used my index finger to lift the fabric. Real. He must have dressed in the actual captain’s uniform. Not an illusion.

  Jed shrugged at my questioning glance. He had no clue, either.

  I got to my feet and dusted myself off. “Probably a good idea we let Cash know Marc is back. Let’s get back to the Ludus, I think I saw a food truck at the start of the park.”

  Chapter 29

  I woke in the morning to an empty bed, room and apartment. No sign of Cash anywhere. The separation anxiety that took root in my heart squeezed and suffocated until I had difficulty breathing. He wasn’t here.

  He hadn’t come home.

  He left you again, my passengers said.

  I got out of bed and checked my phone which had been charging in the kitchen.

  One message. From Cash:

  —Running late. Don’t wait up.

  That was it.

  Running late.

  I didn’t know whether to be happy or annoyed. He’d contacted me, but barely. I settled on annoyed because I needed him. Marc had come home, and I had no one to talk to about his weirdness. I shot a quick text back, telling Cash I wanted to speak with him. Minutes passed with me staring at the blank screen on my phone, waiting.

  A quick shake and I snapped out of it. If Kitty could see me now.

  Guilt speared me at the thought of my best friend. There were a mountain of unanswered texts from her on my phone. The urge to speak with her overwhelmed me. Having dated half the town, she had uncanny insights into the minds of men. She might be able to help talk me down off my ledge. The last time we spoke was when I landed in Sydney, but that was days ago, and even then it had been a five-minute call because I couldn’t exactly confide in the true nature of my life. She knew I was special, but not gods-playing-on-earth special.

  First rule of Game club, don’t reveal your supernatural status to humans.

  They were my friends. But they were human.

  The sooner I got these souls out of me, the sooner I finished the trials, and returned to my normal life back in Margaret River, working a monotonous job at a touristy bar. Sounded like a dream.

  If Kitty were here, she’d say, “Babe. You gotta take the wins where you can get them.”

  It was almost over. As long as the Tribunal didn’t rule against my interruption of Lincoln’s trial, I had one trial left. Then freedom.

  I shelved my angst and got dressed into some clothes. My wardrobe ran thin. Just another reason I needed to get back to work at The Cauldron. Whether it was the old motocross bike I bought from saved tips, or the perfume that smelled like freedom. I worked hard for my things, and I was proud of it. The stretch jersey dress I pulled out of my suitcase had seen better days, but I paid for it. The hem had a runner in it, and the thin straps had lost a bit of elasticity, leaving me to gather them and tie them into a racer-back style with a ribbon. You’d only noticed those things if you looked closely.

  I checked myself in the small bathroom mirror. Not too shabby.

  The beige cotton clung to my torso, accentuating my curves, and then hung loose to my ankles. The color blended with my tanned skin. I looked good. Too bad Cash wasn’t here to see me.

  There must be an emergency. That’s why he took so long. The Tribunal hearing went over time.

  Or perhaps Jacine wants him for something else?

  “No. Cash isn’t like that.”

  You’ve only known him for a few weeks. What makes you think you know him?

  “I know him plenty.”

  You know how he likes to wash you in the shower, but do you know what he thinks? What he truly desires? Has he told you?

  “He wants me. I know he does.”

  Or does he simply want someone not the queen?

  “Shut up!” I yelled at my reflection, heart skipping wildly.

  When my bright, fiery eyes blinked back at me, I realized I’d been talking to myself. I grabbed a brush off the bench and yanked it through my tangled red hair, the bane of my existence. The color stood out like a sore thumb.

  Red hair.

  My gaze narrowed on the strands.

  That’s when all this nonsense started, when my hair had changed. I’d showered one day and took the towel off to discover my hair had inexplicably turned red. Tommy had said I looked like a fox on poke berry day, or something like that. Oh wait, it was redder than a fox’s ass on poke berry day.

  A lethargic breath consumed me. My heart grew heavy, and I ached to be with Cash wherever he was.

  You should’ve known this would happen, The Others taunted me. One night was all it took for you to fall hook, line and sinker, and one night was all it took for him to fall back into old patterns.

  Gone.

  Again.

  “Shut up,” I screamed and threw the brush at the glass. It bounced off and clattered onto the counter. In the deafening silence that followed, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. Time to take control back. I didn’t need Cash with me. I could do it on my own. With concentration and willpower, I glared at my hair in the mirror.

  Brown.

  Turn brown.

  I urged my hair to change appearance, just the way I did when putting up a disguise. Start small. Think big.

  I owned this. I controlled this. It was my body.

  Turn brown.

  Tingles and prickles broke over my scalp in a wave, and the color bled from red to auburn, to light brown.

  I smiled, elation lifting my chin.

  Take that, Others.

  Now the trick was to keep it that way.

  Brown, brown, brown. My new mantra.

  With a hop, skip and a jump, I flicked my hair dramatically over my shoulders and entered the main room. Brown. My hair is brown. I kept repeating the words until my eyes snagged on the little pot plant still on the dining table. I watered it, then returned it to the coffee table near the couch. When I leant down to place the pot on the surface, my foot kicked something under the table. I bent down to have a look.

  It was the book Wren found at the depository, the one Cash had taken from her arms. I pulled it out and dusted the top of the leather jacket. It was heavy and about the length of my forearm. When I opened it, the first page had the oroboros symbol etched on… but this one was slightly different. This one had two snakes entwining before eating their own tails. One snake symbolized ones eternal soul. So two snakes, perhaps infinity linked together. My finger traced the outline of each circle. Soulmates. Written by someone who’s name started with S. The rest of the inscription had been smudged and stained by water, as had much of the book. Time hadn’t been good to the pages.

  I flipped the pages carefully, reading with unbridled curiosity. Much of the book was about using blood to link souls. Nothing much new. I already guessed that through my abilities. There was more in the book, mostly equations I couldn’t understand, but what I found most interesting, was the reference to The Book of the Dead. The same soul-scientist who’d written this book had also written that one.

  The S person.

  In the park, Marc called me by a name that had started with S.

  I shut the book. I had to know. All the secrets could be locked away in my memories. I left the apartment, ignoring the queasy roll in my gut. People in control didn’t second guess themselves. People in control had the
power to never be alone again.

  I went to the entrance to the Ludus and forced the timid admin guy to show me where I could find the librarian on a map. Then I went there.

  I did not have breakfast, did not collect two-hundred dollars, and did not pass go. I went directly to the librarian where I was ready to gamble my way out of my predicament.

  A girl stood outside the nondescript opaque door, arms folded, chewing her nails. She looked up, and I recognized her—goth girl. I should probably ask about her name. Goth girl was getting tired.

  “Hi,” I said as I approached. “I’ve seen you around, but I’m afraid I’ve not worked up the courage to ask you your name until now.”

  She lifted her gaze, surprised. “You talking to me?”

  “Yeah, I’m talking to you. I’m Roo. What’s your name?”

  She bit the nail on her thumb, assessing me, as though I were a complicated math problem.

  “You don’t have to tell me. I just thought—”

  “You want to stop calling me goth girl.”

  I laughed. “Precog, right?”

  She nodded.

  “How does it work? Can you, like, see the lotto numbers before they’re drawn?”

  “No. Well, maybe. I haven’t tried, and I can’t control what I see.”

  I frowned. “But you see a lot about me, right?”

  She half-heartedly lifted a shoulder.

  “Let me guess, you’re not allowed to tell me, right?”

  Her tiny chest lifted in a sigh. “Yeah. I mean no. I don’t know what…” Her voice trailed off and her cheeks flushed pink.

  “It’s okay. It must be a tough gig. I get it. Believe me.”

  One side of her lips curled up. “Thanks. Listen, I have to go but, ah, yeah, thanks for introducing yourself. My name is Victoria.”

  “Please to meet you Victoria. I hope we can catch up again.”

  Her head cocked to the side. “Really?”

  “Of course. Maybe in the cafeteria one day, okay? Or better yet, the food van topside has amazing tacos. We should totally go there one night.”

  “Sure.” She lingered in front of me, staring. It was as though she wanted to say something but she bit her thumbnail again. “Bye.”

  “See ya.”

  She turned and took a few steps, then faced me again. “I really like your hair that color. Whatever you do, don’t change it.”

  “I like it too. Thanks.” I waved as she walked away.

  Weird.

  I pulled my hair in front of my face. Brown. Good.

  The waiting room I entered was quiet. A row of plastic, uncomfortable chairs lined one of the gray walls. On the other side was an unmanned desk behind a long counter. Posters of kittens being cute hung on the wall behind the desk. There were also other hand made signs taped up such as “Shh. Quiet, Please. Librarian at Work.”.

  Nobody here.

  I twiddled my thumbs for a minute and then noticed a small reception bell so hit it. Loud ringing echoed in the silence.

  “Can I help you?” A small woman with short hair and red-framed glasses came out of a door behind the reception area.

  “Hello, I’d like to see the librarian.”

  The woman lowered her glasses to the nib of her nose and inspected me.

  “Naturally. Have you been here before?”

  “No, first time.”

  She pushed her glasses back up. She licked her finger and singled out a few pieces of paper from a large stack on her desk. “Please fill out this form”—she laid one on the counter—“and this form”—she laid another—“and this one.”

  After searching the desk, she found a pen and slapped it on the bench. She looked at me with thoughtful eyes.

  “Sweetheart, don’t tell me you’re Nephilim.”

  “Yes, is that a problem?”

  She sighed loudly. “When will you kids learn? We can’t access your original memories. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. It’s against the rules. This service is mainly for Watchers who have lived for thousands of years and need help to access their internal archives.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I know that. I want to remember this life.”

  “What could you possibly want to remember, coming out of the birth canal? I can tell you now, sweetheart, it’s not as exciting as others claim it to be. A lot of blood, goo and screaming.”

  “I want to remember The Book of the Dead.”

  “From your memory archive.”

  “Yes.”

  “This an earth-soul request. Not extraterrestrial.”

  “That’s correct.”

  She gave me that silent, thoughtful look again. Eventually, she pulled out another form, and placed it on the laminate counter. “You’ll need to sign this waiver. Block letters, please.”

  “Waiver?” I picked up the paper and read it.

  “Honey, this procedure is for Seraphim. If your inferior brain packs it in, we accept no responsibility. The form is so that your House mentor doesn’t come looking for blood if you turn into a vegetable.”

  “A vegetable?” I gulped.

  “Or worse. Ring the bell when you’re done.”

  The beads around her neck clicked as she left.

  I gathered the papers and moved to a wobbly chair. The small coffee table in front of me had various books and other magazines with curled up corners. One of them would be good to lean on. I sat staring at the forms for a while, hesitating. Vegetable. She’d said vegetable.

  Inside me, The Others stirred, waking up. Not so afraid of me anymore. Gritty fingernails down a blackboard. What if this procedure didn’t just access their information, but gave them full access to my brain?

  I pulled a strand of hair in front of my face. Still brown. Still in control. I could do this.

  Chapter 30

  Once I’d filled out my forms, the librarian took me through the door behind her counter. Similar to the registrar’s office, a reclining chair sat in the middle with computers and surgical equipment around the room. A little sink and faucet took up one side.

  “Please, take a seat,” she said and perused my documents.

  I shifted myself onto the chair, sliding so as not to disturb my dress, then sat there, hands in my lap, awkwardly waiting. More motivational posters with cats were on the wall. One cat clung to a tree, with the caption: “Hang in there, baby!”. Another had a puppy winking and pointing its paw, saying, “Who’s awesome? You’re awesome.”. I chuckled a little and felt the tension roll out of me.

  As the librarian mouthed the words she read, her eyebrows lifted, and she made understanding noises. Fine lines wrinkled around her eyes. I looked closely. She was older than me, by at least a few decades. Unusual for Seraphim. Unless she wasn’t.

  “I’m sorry if this is rude, but are you a Watcher?”

  She didn’t break her gaze from the form. “No, I’m a Player, like you.”

  “How did you get to fill this role?”

  Now she looked up with questioning eyes. “I was born in Corvus and here I am.”

  “Is there a librarian every generation? I guess, what I mean is, do you have a choice, or are you forced into this because of your skill?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t really have a choice. None of us from Corvus House do. But we keep coming. So I suppose when we get back to the Empire, we’re okay with it. We’re a people of helpers, so we like to go where we can help.”

  “Huh.”

  “Right,” the librarian said. “Let me get this straight. You have one, two—three!—souls inside you, correct?”

  “Yes. Well, if you include my own, there’s four.”

  “But two of them have joined to make a larger soul, and the other knows about The Book of the Dead, correct?”

  “Yes. Sort of. The conjoined soul knew about it. The one on its own was pretty much The Book of the Dead in human form. Does that make sense?”

  “And you think we can reach into its memories and pull out the data.”

 
; “Bingo.”

  She tapped her finger on her lips. “If this will work, you need to have a foothold into that”—she made a circle shape with her fingers, trying to come up with the appropriate word—“being, soul, no… what is it exactly?”

  “The grimoire of a witch. A living breathing person who had their DNA encoded with the witch’s spells and memories.”

  “Right. Of course. And you want information—a spell to be specific—on splitting souls.”

  “Specifically how she fused two souls together. I want to split them apart.”

  “Okay.” The woman tilted her head and looked at me weird, as though I were about to eat her head off. “Very well. Lie back. Let’s get started.”

  I reclined on the chair, wiggled a bit, and settled in. On the ceiling there was another poster. Alvin and the Chipmunks.

  A light touch on my temples made all my muscles tensed with anticipation.

  “This might pinch a bit.”

  “Oh—kay——! Son of a—” Pain pierced my temples and radiated into my being. White light burned my eyes, searing, flickering.

  Holy mother of… were her fingers inside my head, actually pushing into my temples?

  I gasped, gurgled, tried to swallow. Waves of nausea engulfed me.

  “Relax, take a deep breath.”

  A slow shaky breath in. The pain receded but didn’t end.

  “And exhale.”

  Slow shaky breath out. Still hurt. I gagged, but kept from throwing up.

  “Now, tell me about the time you… ingested… The Book of the Dead.”

  Images rammed into the forefront of my mind. It was suddenly a few weeks ago. I was stuck in the bottom of a pit. A cave behind me. Rocky walls in front of me. Above. A boy. Laughing. Taunting.

  I swallowed. “He shot my friend in front of my face.”

  “Who did?”

  “The ancient boy. The grimoire.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I lost my temper. I pulled him to me with my power. He fell and landed, crushed at my feet.”