Paramount

by Nadia Scrieva

  Pax pressed her tongue against the tip of her canines. “If you agree to help me in return.”

  “Of course,” Amara said instantly. “What do you want, Paxie? I know you don’t need money…”

  “Your brother.”

  Amara hesitated. “You want him back?”

  Pax lifted her chin as a laugh rumbled forth from her throat. “No. I want his penis to rot and fall off. Metaphorically speaking.”

  “I understand, and I would love to help. But what can I do? My skill with magicks is limited. I stopped studying when you did.”

  “I never stopped studying,” Pax admitted. “I only stopped practicing… to some degree. But my power seems to be naturally fighting its way out of the cage. Lately I can’t seem to stop using prana to do every little thing.”

  “That’s dangerous. You could get addicted.”

  “I know. I need you to keep me in check. And I need your blessing—I know you love your brother, and I don’t want an enemy in you. I can only take on one Kalgren at a time.”

  Amara paused. She thought of Asher. He had come home to her, sweet and kind as usual, and unexpectedly made love to her in the shower. He had held her protectively and passionately—it had been blissful. It was the way she wanted the rest of her life to continue. But as soon as he had finished, as soon as he had found his release, but before he had even pulled out of her, he was telling her apathetically it was over. She could not understand. Where was this coming from? Asher had pulled out of her body and ripped her heart out as he turned his back.

  Her eyes became cloudy as she thought of her brother. She could not help but feel that the blame should fall on Thornton. The older man had always been a role model for Asher. Why had Asher never mentioned the reason why Pax had skipped town? Did Asher condone what his friend had done to his niece? Amara felt her insides churning with the questions.

  She knew one thing for certain. She understood why Pax had fled the state, leaving behind her job and her family. She understood why Pax had enough anger to blow up a decent chunk of the globe every few minutes. This anger was generated to mask grief. Amara appreciated that her friend had returned to help her in her moment of need. She also appreciated that Pax had spared her brother. The twenty-seven-year-old woman hovering before her was also a descendant of a demigoddess, and if she had wanted Thornton dead, Amara was sure that her brother would be. No, there was a much more complex game that Pax wanted to play.

  “You have my blessing,” Amara said. “I would like to make him suffer.”

  “Who?” Pax asked. “Thorn or Ash?”

  Amara smiled cryptically. “Neither of them, and yet both of them.”

  Chapter 3: Babylonian Instruction Manual

  “This shouldn’t be so difficult,” Amara said as she rushed around in her pink lab coat with a mortar and pestle. She huffed and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Goddesses shouldn’t need to sweat in order to make something out of the ordinary happen.”

  Pax smiled as she looked up from her Babylonian instruction manual. “That’s what we get for being mostly human. I bet our ancestors could have done this type of thing with a sneeze.”

  “Of course,” Amara said as she dusted a powder into a small bowl, “and it takes me days just to gather and prepare the materials. Deuterium? Pyroelectric crystals? Classic! Had to be the only things I didn’t have in my lab.”

  “You had the palladium,” Pax reminded her. “Frankly, this place is so well-stocked that I’d be shocked if there was anything you didn’t have. I’m just about finished with this translation.”

  “There better not be a single other ingredient…”

  “Nope. And once we activate the process once, we won’t need any ingredients. Just the incantation and our own prana.”

  “Well, that’s swell. That’s just peachy. That’s ten kinds of…”

  “Nervous, Mara?” Pax asked with a chuckle. She gently closed the old volume and picking up her translation, moved over to sit cross-legged before the bowl.

  “I won’t lie. I’m having second thoughts.” Amara’s eyes darted nervously to the materials that were spread out over their workspace.

  Pax pulled her lips into a grim line. “Well, I can’t do this without you. You can’t do this without me. So decide.”

  Visualizing Asher’s smiling face, Amara quickly dropped into a seated position on the other side of the bowl. “Go. Do it now before I change my mind.”

  Pax nodded and began to peel off her leather gloves. She never removed her gloves. Not even when she slept. She felt naked without the layer of security and feeling of normalcy they provided—they served much the same purpose her lengthy locks had. When the grotesque scar tissue of her burned palms were uncovered, she extended them outward.

  “This may take a few tries to get it right,” she told Amara. “You’ll have to touch my hands.”

  Amara shuddered at the thought.

  Pax noticed the subtle motion. “Look, I’m trying not to whine about it, but imagine how I feel. Your brother was probably the only person strong enough to bear my touch.”

  “Oh, Paxie.”

  “Stop calling me that, and do this damn spell with me,” Pax barked, repulsed by the pitying tone.

  Amara nodded, reaching out hesitantly. “Are you sure about this?”

  “No,” Pax said, “but I don’t have anything to lose. Do you?”

  She thought of Asher again and sighed. “I suppose not.”

  “If you want to back out, do it now,” Pax advised sternly. The dark-haired woman began to chant softly as she extended her fingertips above the bowl. A dark magenta glow began to emit from her palms. It ignited the powder in a small inferno of energy.

  “Shit, Pax! That’s powerful. I thought you said you haven’t been practicing!”

  I haven’t been. Pax communicated telepathically as she rhythmically continued chanting. You can thank Thorn for this—it’s like he awakened something primeval in me. The rage has me constantly throbbing with energy. My insides are ablaze and I feel like I’m going to disintegrate. I need to do this, Amara. I need to channel it outward. I can’t live with this smoldering inside of me anymore.

  Then let’s do it, the blonde woman responded purposefully. Amara gritted her teeth before extending her own hands into the magenta glow until her fingertips barely brushed against Pax’s. She flinched, feeling the hotness rapidly travel through her until it burned her core. Instantly, empathy overwhelmed her at the glimpse of what her childhood friend was feeling. She felt guilty for burdening Pax with taking care of her, when the younger woman was obviously dealing with her own demons.

  She had not touched Pax’s hands in over a decade, and now she remembered why. The heat was too intense. She could smell her own skin singeing, and wanted to withdraw her neatly-manicured fingers to save them from being scalded. But she couldn’t. For along with terrible tremors of fear, the vivid magenta flames sent the delicious thrill of power through her. It reminded her of something she had known long ago, and something she had long since forgotten.

  The fuchsia glow began to gradually spread from their knuckles to their wrists. Amara was trying to be strong, but she could see that even the tough Pax was grimacing at the pain. The energy was moving along inch by inch, and when their hands were fully engulfed by the radiant blaze, Amara began to hyperventilate. It seemed that the whole basement laboratory under her house was rumbling with the newly invoked power. Amara visualized her beautiful house crumbling into ruins around them.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this!” Amara shouted. She cringed at the sensation of her perfect skin beginning to bubble under the high temperature.

  “Silence!” Pax hissed in a dark voice that sounded nothing like her own. She immediately resumed chanting. The magenta fire was spreading steadily to their elbows.

  “Is my skin going to be boiled too?” Amara screamed over the thundering sound of the energy. She could no longer feel her hands and forearms. There was onl
y heat. She imagined losing her limbs altogether and how awful she would look in a sleeveless dress as an amputee. If Ash hadn’t wanted her before…

  Maybe. Pax continued chanting, swept away in the magicks and paying no attention to her friend’s fear. She naturally transitioned to chanting in English, her voice mounting to a furor as the air fizzed with crackling energy around them, electrifying their skin. Pax repeated the chant with such passion that Amara felt nausea. The words were so sharp that they penetrated her body:

  Be in me. Be of me. Be with me.

  Only but fragments, let us be whole.

  Seamlessly we unite, soul to soul;

  My heart is half yours, this half hour.

  “I can’t do this,” Amara moaned as her body trembled. “It’s killing me. It’s killing me!”

  “You said you’d pay any price,” Pax spat upon finishing her chant. She tightened her grip on Amara’s hands, interlocking their fingers. “Be strong.”

  “I’m not cut out for this! I’m not a goddess! My dad and brother might have power, but not me. The god genes must have skipped me—Pax! Stop! Stop this!” Amara tried to rip her hands away from the inferno as it approached her face. She could not move. “It’s too hot!”

  “It’s not heat,” Pax whispered. “It’s life”

  Amara was surprised that she could hear her friend’s voice over the crashing of what was surely her house collapsing. “Life! Where’s it coming from? Whose life?”

  “Mine. Ours. The prana surrounding you is coming from me, and the prana surrounding me is coming from you,” Pax was shaking from the strength of the spell. “It’s part of the coalescence process.”

  “Why is the life killing me?” Amara gasped.

  “Life and death are one. The same force which creates also destroys. Can you feel it?”

  “Yes! I don’t want to feel my life outside of my body.” Amara began to sob as the energy began to surround her chest. “Paxie! I’m being turned inside out.”

  “That’s right. It’s so good!” Pax threw her head back and allowed the magenta flames to wash over her. Her jaggedly-cut short hair was tossed around in the violent maelstrom of energy. Her eyes turned upward, and her usually dark irises began glowing golden.

  “Pax!” Amara screamed, seeing that her friend had lost control. As their bodies became completely engulfed with energy she tried desperately to pull away, but it was futile. She felt the atmosphere suddenly become very pressurized, and she instinctively knew that there would be an explosion. Pax felt this too and turned her golden eyes down toward Amara’s frightened blue ones.

  For a quiet moment, the two women exchanged an alarmed look. As debris floated all around them, frozen in suspension, they shared the same terrified thought. They knew that they had gone too far and destroyed themselves by channeling mystical forces beyond their capability for control.

  But it was not the last thought they would share.

  Chapter 4: Too Much Woman

  “I need a drink pronto,” Asher said as he clutched his head. “Still way hung over from last night.”

  Thornton sighed and leaned forward to open the minibar in his limousine. “I told you to pace yourself with water. We’re not teenagers anymore.”

  “What’s the difference? With the yearly rejuvenations, our bodies are as young as ever.” Asher reached out to take the scotch his friend had poured for him. “Thanks, man. Where we headed tonight?”

  “Tryst Lounge,” Thornton said, fixing himself a drink as well before leaning back in his seat.

  “Are you crazy?” Asher asked, choking on the liquid he was generously gulping. “That’s even more expensive than the last five places we’ve been to. I can’t afford that!”

  “I can.”

  Asher shook his head in amazement. “This really is the life. You have it made, Thorn.”

  “Sure. Of course I do,” Thornton said, extending his glass. “To the life.”

  With a grin, Asher clinked his glass against his friend’s and returned it to his mouth. “So,” he said, once it had been emptied. “What are we on the prowl for tonight? More delicious fresh fruit?”

  “I’m in the mood for something exotic. Dark skin and a thick accent—maybe Spanish or Brazilian,” said Thornton.

  “Amateur,” Asher said with a chuckle. “Those are easy. Hasn’t it gotten boring yet when they fall into your lap without a chase?”

  “I thought the whole point of this hedonistic binge was to have a pretty young thing on my lap at all times. Or two, or three. In various positions.” When Asher laughed at this, Thornton grinned and jostled the ice cubes in his glass in a circular motion. “What pleasures are you seeking, my friend?”

  “You know I have a taste for local dishes. Just a sweet, normal, completely naïve chick.” Asher smiled as he stretched out his legs on the ample seating room in the limousine. It was his innate duty as a man to take up as much room as physically possible. “I’ll feel out their energy, and I’ll find the purest soul. I’ll tell her everything she wants to hear; everything she’s ever prayed to hear a man say to her. Then I’ll rock her world hardcore.”

  Thornton raised his eyebrows at this description. “So you’re looking for a keeper?”

  “Nah. I just get a kick out of finding the most virtuous human girl around and corrupting her. They always fall in love. Bang her good, and she’s yours. Then you can disappear, breaking her heart and her innocence. You can feel the energy change from pure to perverted.”

  Thornton shook his head. “You’re twisted, man.”

  “Said the pot to the kettle!” Asher accused. “Admit it, Thorn. There are mega-kicks to be had here. You get a rush from it too! It makes you feel powerful, doesn’t it?”

  “It makes me feel better for a few minutes,” Thornton said. “It makes me hate myself so much that I forget how much I hate myself underneath that.”

  Asher frowned. “You should talk to…”

  “It looks like we’re here,” Thornton said, grateful for the timing of the limousine stopping. He slapped his knees and turned to his friend. “Ready to go be a sick fuck?”

  “I learned from the best,” Asher said, watching as his friend slipped on sunglasses and ran two hands through his dead-straight blonde hair. Asher knew that there was no hope in styling the wavy black mop on top of his own head. Besides, the ladies liked it messy just as much as he did. Thornton’s perfect center-part and always immaculately-styled coiffure seemed unnecessary to Asher, but then he did not know what the grooming etiquette was for being a businessman.

  When the driver opened the limo door, Thornton exited in a fluid motion. He waited for a moment for Asher to join him before he began to walk through the crowd waiting outside the club. The people parted like a sea of admiration as they began to recognize the blonde man’s confident gait, even beneath his sunglasses. Asher groaned as the excited whispers and pointing began. He could almost hear the thoughts in all of their minds: Look! It’s the rich CEO of that tech company and… some other guy! Yes, he was just some other guy. With the pressure Thornton was always under at Kalgren Enterprises, he almost preferred it that way.

  Asher observed as his friend worked his magic on the hostess to allow them to bypass the stampeding hordes eagerly awaiting entrance to the club. He could not help rolling his eyes when Thornton gave his full name and rank along with a handful of hundred-dollar bills.

  “Thornton Vincent Kalgren the third. Esquire.”

  This somehow worked, and Asher waited until they were inside before he hit his friend in the arm and insulted him telepathically. Man, can you be any more pretentious?

  “Don’t complain. It gets us where we need to be. It gets you access to a bunch of quality babes you can bone. Smile and say thank you.”

  “Thank you, your royal highness, Mr. CEO, esquire, fancy pants…”

  Thornton grinned as they made their way to the VIP area to order bottle service. Shut up, Ash. You and I both know that all of those titles are gar
bage and don’t mean anything. We’re both the sons of demigods, and underneath all of these human hierarchies, we’re equals.

  Nah. You’ll always be the bigger jackass in my eyes, bro.

  Thanks. Thornton was barraged by the usual throng of admirers as the men made their way over to the shadowy, more secluded area of the club. Asher received his share of attention too; generally from cougars who assumed that he must be wealthy if he was Thornton’s wingman, but also from a few timid girls who wanted to be in the CEO’s spotlight, but were too shy and inhibited to approach him directly. Asher didn’t mind being fussed over, but he politely turned away everyone who approached him as he waited for the right victim.

  Just getting to their seats had been exhausting. Asher collapsed in the soft leather couch while exhaling blissfully. “It’s like they knew you were coming, Thorn. It’s like they were waiting around to attack you. Do you have people anticipating your every move?”

  Thornton nodded, reaching up to pull off his sunglasses as he sat down. “Money will do that.”

  “Sometimes I understand why my family went to such great lengths to live privately,” Asher remarked. “This could drive anyone insane.”

  Thornton shrugged. “You get used to it. See anyone you like?”

  “Nah, not yet. Let’s get drinks first.”

  The men signaled a waiter to order their usual bottle service, along with a sampling of everything on the menu. While most people in clubs did not eat much, Thornton and Asher were plagued by voracious appetites due to their special heritage. The men were almost constantly eating. Although the food was ridiculously overpriced, Thornton had shrugged indifferently and ordered a normal person’s feast. For him and Asher, it would amount to little more than a light snack.

  While they waited, they lounged and chatted in a combination of their voices and telepathy to conquer the loud music blaring around them. At the same time, their eyes scanned the crowd discreetly, like predatory hawks seeking out their prey. For perhaps the first time in their lifelong friendship, their gaze settled on the same woman.