The Game of Gods Box Set

by Lana Pecherczyk

  As we approached, voices halted me outside the open stone arched doorway. I held up a palm and Jed stopped next to me. I made the shush sign—finger to the lips—and focused on the voices.

  “You said the honey cakes would be ready five minutes ago.”

  “No. I said they be out of the oven five minutes ago. Don’t get your knickers in a knot.”

  “Well, it’s the same bloody thing, in’it?”

  I smiled. Marc.

  “No dear, it is not,” the female said.

  “Why aren’t they cooling already? Is it my presence? Am I making the room too hot?”

  A snort and a chuckle I assumed came from the cook, then: “Dear, you make every room hot.”

  “See, this is why I like you, love. You’re so perceptive.” Thwack. “Ow. Why did you do that?”

  “Because they’re not ready yet.”

  “But I don’t like waiting.”

  “Sometimes waiting is the right thing to do. Eat the cakes too early and you scald your mouth. Then again, wait too long and the cakes are stale.”

  “How do I know when they are ready?”

  “Maybe you should stop hiding in the kitchen and ask.”

  Silence extended.

  “You’re not talking about the cakes are you, Maggie?”

  An agreeable sound came as it seemed Maggie paced around the room.

  I cleared my throat and entered the kitchen.

  Marc sat on a stool at the center island, chin in his hand, drooling over a set of steaming cakes on a cooling rack. He wore his youthful teenager appearance, dressed in tight jeans, skin-hugging shirt—open at the chest. When I entered, he whipped his head my way. Icy blue eyes widened. A glance at my collar. A conflicted frown, and then he disappeared. The tiny grains of dust and particles that made up his clothing construct cascaded to the ground.

  The cook cursed. “Now I must sweep that up.”

  As you would expect in a castle like this, the kitchen was a carved, raw stone structure but with modern appliances. Stainless steel benches for food preparation contrasted against the antique oak table taking up the rest of the room. There were tins and pans and utensils hanging from hooks around the room. Lavender bunches hung upside down over the stone archway behind the stove along with Rosemary twigs entwined into a bouquet, and garlic from string. Unlike the rest of the castle, the room was warm and welcoming, perhaps an atmosphere helped by the plump (but not overweight) cook wearing a gray apron now using a dustpan and brush to sweep up the mess Marc had left. She had thin brown hair tied at the nape of her neck into a knot. Her cheeks were flushed red and perspiration dotted her nose and forehead, giving her pale skin a mottled look.

  “Can I help you, dears?”

  I stared for a moment, trying to ascertain if she were human, Nephilim, or Seraphim. A surge of irritation flashed in me. If I hurried the hell up and got my abilities under control, I’d know that straight away. In the end, I settled for Hungarian.

  “Hello,” I said and gave a short wave. “I’m Roo. I’m… ah… I’m staying here with Cash.”

  She gave Jed a knowing look then smiled at me. “I know who you are, dear. I’ve been making your meals for the past few months.”

  “Oh. Great. The food tastes wonderful, by the way. Really top-notch stuff.”

  “Top-notch, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment. What can I do you for?”

  “I’d like to have a nice meal made up for tonight, it’s a special occasion for me and Cash.”

  Maggie tried to hide a smile as she returned her pan and brush to a hidden alcove. “And what do you want for tonight? The rest of the house is having Brisket.”

  “Um.” I had to think about it. Cash’s eating habits were still a bit of a mystery to me. I’d bet if she asked him what I wanted, he’d have an answer quick smart. “Brisket is fine, thank you.”

  “And the cakes. You should take all of them to your room.”

  “All of them?”

  She smirked. “Then a certain someone will have to stop dilly dallying and finally get out of my kitchen.”

  Smart lady, that Maggie. She set the cakes in a Tupperware container and urged Jed to help me take them up to my room. They smelled delicious. If Marc didn’t turn up, I certainly wouldn’t have trouble polishing them off.

  Jed walked me through the large castle until we got to my upstairs room. After I said goodbye to him, I set about the room to arrange everything for my romantic dinner for two. I shifted the tiny round table closer to the window that looked over the grounds painted in sunset oranges and pinks. The bed was already made, and the rest of the room was immaculate. As usual, the cleaning fairy had been in while I’d been out. The four-poster bed had its coverlet straightened, its pillows plumped and the white curtains drawn back to reveal said pillows. I found the bottle of wine Cash had brought and placed in on the table with two wine glasses, and then I put the vial of Ambrosia next to it. Seeing the little tube of glittering liquid made my gut twinge. For a moment, I stared at it stupidly, then realized that feeling inside was guilt. And rightly so, getting Cash drunk to seduce him was a low thing to do… even if it did mean I might get control of my abilities. I also might not.

  Perhaps this was a bad idea.

  I took a shower and thought it over some more. I had no solid plan, but I knew I had to do something. What were my alternatives? The slow going therapy while Kitty’s unborn child was in danger? It wasn’t good enough.

  Every time I closed my eyes to wash my face under the hot stream, I saw flashes of the dead bodies in the Amazon village. They haunted me nightly. More so than losing my friends Wren and Lincoln. Yes, the images of their deaths were painful, but knowing their souls were safe and sound back at the Empire helped with that pain. Living like this was not on. I couldn’t wait any longer. I had responsibilities and friends to protect, not to mention all the innocents in danger from Urser’s macabre plans.

  I shut off the shower faucet, listless determination twisting my heart into confusion. I wanted—needed—to do something useful. My mind and skin were red raw, but I was determined… not desperate. I knew now that I couldn’t go through with Operation The Hangover. Cash’s dignity would remain intact. Instead, I dressed in some sensible jeans and a t-shirt and sat, barefoot, on one of the chairs next to the round table with my chin in my hand, staring at the vial.

  I still stared when, a few minutes later, came a timid knock at the door.

  “Come in,” I mumbled.

  The door creaked open, ajar for a few inches, and then paused. Mildly interested, I flicked my gaze to the gap to see if I could ascertain who was beyond the door. The collar around my neck still blocked the majority of essences and life-force from my senses. But, a little was all I needed to tell who was there. How could I miss him? His aura was always so virulent.

  “Come in, Marc.” I went back to staring at the vial. Surely my answer was in there somewhere. “I have your honey cakes.”

  The door swung all the way open, as though he’d decided to dispense with the shenanigans and project bravado instead. Marc stood in the hallway, dressed in a dapper three-piece-suit. His hair was brushed and styled, and he appeared in all honesty to be in his Sunday best.

  “Come in, Marc,” I said again.

  He took a deep breath and entered, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  “I missed you,” I said. “I haven’t seen you for a while.”

  His blue eyes popped at my words. “You missed me? I mean, you’re not angry at me?”

  “Why would I be angry at you? I’m not Cash. He’s grumpy at anyone, please don’t take his moods to heart.”

  “But I’m responsible for you almost dying. Real dying. Not fake dying.” The words choked out of him. I’d never seen him so distraught.

  “Really, Marc. I’m fine. And I’m a big girl. You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do.” I shook my head and went back to the vial. “Frankly, I’m a bit sick and tired of people thinking they can
make my decisions for me. Sit down, have a cake and let’s talk.”

  Marc promptly sat down opposite me on the only remaining chair, chewed his lip and fiddled with his suit collar. Eventually, I was silent enough for his gaze to wander down to the table to what I was looking at. Immediately, his expression lifted to joyful glee.

  “Hello, love. What’s this?” He picked up the Ambrosia and twirled it against the halogen lighting of the room, letting little shots of light twinkle and reflect on his fingers. Then he said with a knowing gleam in his eyes: “You’ve been holding out on me.”

  And with that, the tension between us dissipated.

  “Are we having a party?” Marc smirked.

  “No. Well. Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Then what is it, love? You can tell me.”

  I sighed. “I’m sick of this collar. I’m sick of this room. My friend needs help. Nobody is telling me anything about what’s going on out there. What else. Let’s see, oh yeah, I want to get drunk on Ambrosia so I can take the collar off and fix myself.”

  “Get drunk and fix yourself.” His eyebrow raised on one side and for a moment I thought he was going to berate me, then: “Where do I sign up?”

  “You’re not going to tell me it’s a bad idea?”

  “Ambrosia is never a bad idea. Now, let’s see. We could just pop a few drops in our mouth but it’s got a bit of a bitter taste. Better use it with a glass of this.” He picked up the expensive bottle and inspected the corked neck.

  “Oh, probably not that,” I said. “That’s a special bottle Cash—”

  Pop!

  “I’m sorry, love, what were you saying?”

  I dropped my head in my palm. The glug-glug sound of wine being poured made me groan in exasperation. A sweet yet slightly tangy and plummy scent filled the air. Cash was going to kill me. I lifted my head and eyed off the now half empty bottle. “What the hell, I guess, in for a penny, in for a pound, right?”

  “That’s my girl. Here you go.” He handed me a glass and then swirled the burgundy fluid in his glass. He sniffed and moaned appreciatively. “Smells like bloody good plonk, this does.” He took a sip. “Mmmm.”

  I hesitantly lifted the glass to my lips and let the rich bouquet infuse my senses before I swilled in my mouth. The instant satisfaction and warmth radiated through my body and all my muscles relaxed. A sigh escaped me.

  “So good.” I licked my lips and took another sip.

  Marc turned the old bottle around in his hands. “Where did you say you got it?”

  “It’s Cash’s. It’s, like, hundreds of years old or something.”

  “What?” Marc choked on his drink. “The hunter’s?”

  “Don’t worry, we can save him some.”

  “Yes. Good idea, love. We’ll save him some.” Marc’s expression turned serious and he placed the bottle back on the table with care. He picked up a cake. “So how does getting sloshed help with your problem?”

  “Well, the idea is that, after I’m drunk, I’ll take the collar off and the energy I sense won’t cripple me anymore because I’ll be too drunk to care.”

  “Right. Right. Uh-huh. And what happens if you do care?”

  “Well, I guess, you can pop the collar back on.”

  Marc eyed my collar suspiciously. “And the hunter was okay with this?”

  I laughed. “No. He thinks I should take my time with the therapy, but … did you know I’ve been teleporting myself in my sleep?”

  “Yes. I did hear about that, love. In fact, old mate hunter has been riding my coat tails to come and see you to help. Bloody sod has been calling my true name for days. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to avoid you, but I honestly felt terrible about what happened.” He widened his eyes, his cheeks flushed red. Blinked a few times. Then he unstoppered the Ambrosia and added a few drops to each glass. He took a long, languid sip. “Blimey, this is good plonk.”

  “Yeah, you already said that.” I laughed, because I was feeling light headed too.

  “Right. Right.”

  “Now you keep saying right.”

  We both laughed some more. We ate some more cakes. For some reason they tasted especially delicious. We had another glass, then danced around the room to Prince. After half an hour or so, I was hardly able to stand without swaying, but it didn’t matter because we were dancing. Marc’s three-piece suit was minus a piece. His torso was covered only in his vest with the white shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie had been removed but now wrapped around his head like a sweatband.

  “Let’s try some teleporting,” Marc said. Cake crumbs flew from his mouth when he bopped and grooved.

  “I’ll have to take my collar off first,” I said, panting from exertion myself. My hand drifted to my neck to feel around for the clasp mechanism at the back, but there was nothing there. Bare skin met my touch. “It’s gone!”

  When I shot Marc a panicked glance, he raised his eyebrows dramatically as if to say, See what I did there?

  “You took it off?” I asked. “When did you do that?”

  “Love.” He danced a few steps and pointed at his chest. “God.” Danced some more. Pointed again. “In-between.”

  I stood, rooted to the spot. How long had it been off? How had I not felt Marc’s aura in the room? Oh no. It was there. Buzzing energy pushed at me from his direction. It had been there all the time but I’d been so caught up with my dancing, singing and laughing that I hadn’t noticed it. It was there, but I could handle it.

  I laughed, surprised and relieved at the same time. “I’m okay!”

  “Course you are. Now, let’s try this.” Marc danced across the room to the window table where the cakes were. Half the Tupperware was now empty and for a moment I had a shock of guilt as I thought of Cash and our dinner. He hadn't returned to the room and I hadn't sent the final word for our meal to come up. It was getting close to midnight.

  “Right. Let’s do this.” Marc rubbed his hands together and crouched down next to a cake he’d placed on the table. He eyed it off as though it were his arch nemesis from high school. “Look at this cake, yeah? But I don’t want you to look at it as though it were a cake. Look at it as though it were a cake because of what is around it. Got it?”

  “Nope. Doesn’t make sense.”

  He blew air out of his mouth then shifted his weight. “Okay. Try this. It’s a cake. But it’s also a piece of food on a dinner table. Right?”

  I scratched my head.

  “I need another drink.” Marc poured two more glasses and then dropped a few more doses of Ambrosia into the mix. He swirled and handed me a glass.

  I hesitated with the glass hanging mid-air between us. “Cash should be back.”

  “Bah, he’s too busy with the special War Council business.”

  “Special? What do you mean?”

  “Oh, you know. Something or rather. A sinister thing Urser did has them all with their knickers in a tizzy.” He burped. “I mean knot. What was I saying?”

  My mood darkened and I snatched the glass from Marc and took a swig. “What has Urser done this time?”

  He laughed. “What hasn’t the miscreant done, is the proper question, am I right?”

  I took another sip. Panic started to pierce through my pleasant buzz and I didn’t like it. Another sip was needed. “Go on.”

  “Go on what?” His eyes lit up and he wiggled in excitement. He took his glass back and drank deeply. “Ooh, a talk show? Yes. Let’s go on a talk show. I hear Parkinson is pretty good. Or that other fella, James Cordon Bleu, or something. What was his name? Great idea, love. We can snap there in an instant!”

  “No, I meant, go on with your story. What has Urser done?”

  “All right, love. No need to get stroppy.” He pouted and sat hard on the edge of the bed. “Now, let me see. What was he doing? Whom are we talking about again?”

  “Urser,” I ground out. I must have the patience of a saint.

  I casually retrieved the wine glass before it spilled f
rom Marc’s wobbling hands.

  He saw that as a sign to get comfortable. He popped the buttons on his vest and removed it, mumbling about impractical real clothing then curled up on the bed. His eyes were puffy and drooped languidly as he zeroed in on my expectant face. “Oh, yes. Urser. He’s outed us to the world. Holding hostages or something on live television.”

  My stomach dropped so fast, its contents burned the back of my throat. “Why wasn’t I told?”

  “Like me, love, you’re not deemed responsible enough for these things, I gather. Now, turn the light off will you. That’s a good love.”

  Chapter 24

  I sculled another glass of wine and left Marc snoring softly on my bed.

  “Not responsible enough?” I muttered as I stomped through the castle. “I’ll show them responsf-resfp—” I couldn’t get my increasingly addled brain to function enough to speak clearly, but I didn’t let that stop me.

  I stalked through the halls. Okay. I didn’t stalk. I stumbled. Occasionally my hand may have leaned on a wall. And yes, there was an instance where I knocked into an antique buffet that held an arrangement of fake Peonies.

  Crash!

  Okay.

  They weren’t fake. They were all over the floor. Water splashed on my bare feet and bled to paint the carpet a dark, macabre maroon stain. I blinked a few times at the mess, deciding what to do, and then used my power to shift the broken shards to one side of the room. As though invisible strings pulled each piece of china and flower, the mess slid until it disappeared underneath the buffet.

  Yep. I could do this.

  My body tilted to the side, my head cocked and I concentrated on the puddle of water until it also slid under the buffet table.

  Yes. I fist pumped the air then growled menacingly. I was a bad-ass. Got this sorted. Yep. I sorted this energy thing, didn’t I?

  One foot in front of the other, I somehow managed to follow the direction of the largest gathering of energies in the house and found myself standing—swaying—at the front of a closed door.