“NO!” Logan screamed, struggling to be free of Seti’s embrace. “No! It can’t be! He can’t be dead!”
Chris’ face looked stricken as he glanced up at Logan and nodded slowly.
Grief and guilt tore a hole in Logan’s heart and a ragged scream from his throat as the pain of Jason’s death seared him. Hot tears flowed unchecked down his cheeks as he buried his face in Seti’s neck. “Why Jason? He didn’t have anything to do with this! It’s my fault! I should be the one who’s dead, not him!”
“It is the will of the gods,” Seti answered. “I am sorry I could not protect him.”
As Logan trembled in Seti’s arms, his grief quickly gave way to a terrible, numbing blackness that filled him. It was his fault. It was Seti’s fault. It was Ethan Wilder’s, Perry’s, and God’s fault. It was everyone’s fault but poor Jason, yet he was the one who’d paid the ultimate price.
Outside, the wail of an ambulance and police cars drew near. Blankly, Logan watched Chris step over the dead gunmen, ready to wave the paramedics and police into the apartment. Wrenching himself away from Seti, he said, “Go into the bedroom, Seti. The cops can’t find you here – you don’t have any identification. Don’t let them find you.”
“I will not leave you,” Seti said, shaking his head.
“You don’t have a choice. I have to…take care of Jason,” Logan said, his voice tremulous. “He needs me.”
“Logan, do you not understand that he is dead?” Seti asked in a soft voice.
“Don’t say that! Don’t! He can’t be dead. He’s hurt, that’s all. They’ll fix him, right? Leo, tell Seti that they’ll fix him!” Logan yelled, looking wildly at Leo for his support.
Leo shook his head, his face pale and wet with tears. “Seti’s right, Logan. He’s gone, buddy.”
“Oh, God!” Logan cried, sinking to his knees next to Jason again. “How? He was only twenty-four years old! How can he be dead? Oh, God, it is my fault – all of it!”
“Logan, come on. It’s not your fault. Chris is right - you didn’t kill him,” Leo said.
“I might as well have pulled the trigger. I should never have taken the job as Perry’s assistant in the first place. Then I wouldn’t have found Seti, and none of this would have happened.”
“You cannot blame yourself, Logan,” Seti said, reaching for him. “In war, men die. That is the way of it.”
“This isn’t war! At least, not Jason’s war! Not Chris’ or Leo’s or mine! It’s only you they want,” Logan said. His brows knit. “But that’s all it is to you, isn’t it? War? And war is just a game you’re used to playing, right? Death means nothing to you, does it?”
“Logan, you are upset,” Seti said, pulling Logan to his feet again. “Come, we will-”
“Of course I’m fucking upset, Seti! My best friend was just murdered! Don’t make this harder on me than it already is,” Logan hissed, shoving Seti hard. His anger, fueled by his fear and pain, bubbled up through the grief, aimed at the one nearest him. “This is all your fault! We were fine until I got involved with you! Get away from me!”
“Logan- “
“Get the fuck away from me, Seti!” Logan cried, wrenching his arm free from Seti’s hand. “Don’t fucking touch me! Just leave me alone!”
Logan watched Seti back away, his expression confused as he walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Logan turned back toward the door, his chest hitching as his gaze fell on Jason’s body.
Logan was completely consumed by his grief, not realizing that he was moving until he found himself at the feet of the dead gunmen. Bending down, he picked up one of the guns. It felt inordinately heavy in his hand, cold metal that matched the iciness that gripped his heart. He stepped over the bodies into the hallway.
“Logan? Where are you going?” he heard Chris ask. Fingers clutched at his sleeve, pulling him back. But Chris’ voice sounded far away.
Logan turned, looking at Chris blankly. Chris’ lips were moving but he couldn’t make out the meaning of the sounds. The gunshot rang so loudly in his head, over and over again, along with the words dead, Jason is dead, that he wanted nothing more than to clamp his hands over his ears until it stopped.
He jerked his arm free from Chris’ hand and kept walking, out of the apartment and down the stairs. Shoving the gun into his pocket, he made his way to the service entrance at the rear of the building and slipped outside.
Chapter Fifteen
It should have been a minor annoyance, no more irritating than the bite of a flea.
The barest twinge that should have unnoticed in the vast, thickly crowded expanse of Setekh’s memory. As a god who had existed since nearly the Beginning, his memories were piled one atop the other in stacks so dense and high that he had nearly forgotten most of them. It was a tiny, insignificant ripple that should only have been acknowledged in the deepest level of his subconscious, if that. Certainly nothing that should have disturbed him.
A curse, laid long ago and forgotten, had been broken.
Setekh had cast thousands, perhaps millions of curses during the course of his existence, in every shape and form imaginable. Boils, drought, famine, disease, and a host of other horrors had been laid on one human’s head or another for their failings. At times, Setekh had cursed entire populaces into oblivion. The breaking of one of the plethora of curses he’d cast should not have caused him even minor distress.
And yet this particular twinge did not escape his notice. It bore upon it the mark of a man whose ancestors had been honored by Setekh, gifted by him, and who had worshiped Setekh in return. A man who, although he bore Setekh’s name, had flouted his esteemed heritage and had defied Setekh. One who had sought to turn the very powers given him by Setekh against the god.
Seti.
Setekh’s eyes blazed a bright, fiery red, his muscles tensing as he remembered the human sorcerer. How he had stood against Setekh, belligerent, arrogant, refusing to accept Setekh’s will. Daring to seek revenge. Even now, after five millennia, the audacity of the man still rankled.
He rose from his throne, stalking through the alabaster and marble halls of his palace, his long, crocodilian jaws snapping in irritation.
Setekh’s palatial residence rose high into the air like a glittering white jewel, a collection of exquisite, gleaming white domes, parapets, balustrades and arches. The palace’s beauty was at odds with the hideousness of its King, belying his vicious and unpredictable nature. Aside from his magnificent home, there was nothing beautiful or peaceful about Setekh, god of chaos and disorder.
The finest rugs, hand-woven in brilliant jewel tones, cushioned his feet. Bowls of rare, fragrant flowers lent their delicate fragrance to the air. Golden ewers of rich, sweet wine and platters of juicy, red meat graced his tables in a never-depleting bounty. Draperies and bedding of the softest, sheerest silk and the finest linen draped his couches. Music drifted in low, soft notes throughout the air from the flutes and lyres of Setekh’s musicians. Beautiful women and handsome men lay on couches scattered throughout Setekh’s halls, ready to slake his lust at the crook of his finger.
And yet, surrounding his palace of dazzling opulence and splendor was a dismal and noxious landscape that stretched in every direction for as far as the eye could see. Bleak and inhospitable, the Underworld’s harsh, unforgiving landscape made a sharp contrast to the beauty of Setekh’s palatial abode.
Stepping outside the palace onto the broad steps, Setekh’s nostrils were at once assaulted by the reek of decay. Foul and viscous water, the color of blood, flowed in a river of death that wound its way through the bleak and barren landscape in a lazy ribbon. Its banks were piled high with the bones of those who had not managed to successfully navigate the dangerous journey through the Underworld to the palace of Osiris to be judged.
Only after Osiris had weighed their hearts against the Feather of Purity would a man or woman be judged worthy or unworthy. If the scales were balanced, then the penitent would be rewarded in paradise
, the riches accumulated in life following them into their new existence. If the heart weighed heavy, its owner would face an eternity of torment, his soul eaten by Ammut, Devourer of the Dead. Those who did not complete the journey but fell by the wayside, ceased to exist all together. Their ka disintegrated into ashes, scattered by the hot wind, their bodies torn apart, fodder for the beasts of the Underworld.
Those who had been properly buried, whose organs had been removed and stored in canopic jars and their bodies mummified, who had the proper spells and prayers, might secure the assistance of Anubis to guide them on their journey.
Those who did not took their chances.
Setekh heard the hissing of the crocodiles that nested on the river’s banks, fearsome creatures, larger and more deadly by far than any that swam the Nile. Snakes, beetles, jackals, and all manner of loathsome beasts prowled the waist-high grasses that spread from the river like a cancer, choking the land.
The wind that blew was searing hot and malodorous as heavy, black storm clouds thickened in the red sky, pulsing with lightning. They were Setekh’s contribution to the hell-spawned landscape. The storms were his children. His servants.
A scream split the air, drawing the crocs from their nests. Water boiled with the resulting feeding frenzy. Fresh meat, Setekh thought, another pathetic soul succumbing to the dangers of the journey into the afterlife.
Weak, as Setekh himself had once been.
He cursed himself for his weakness and howled, shaking the very foundations of his demesne. He should have cursed Seti for eternity rather than a mere five thousand years. The limit had been reached. Seti had awoken, returned to life and its many pleasures.
“Setekh? What’s got your thong in a knot this morning? You’re making enough noise to wake the dead.” Osiris chuckled. His voice, as smooth as silk and as cool as water from a deep well, reached Set’s ears from afar, echoing in his mind. “Get it? Wake the dead,” he said. “I crack myself up sometimes.”
Osiris had taken an unfathomable liking to human pop culture of the twenty-first century. He sprinkled his vocabulary liberally with references whenever possible, especially since he knew that it nettled Setekh. “Please tell me that a human isn’t the reason for this little tantrum, Setekh.”
Setekh met Osiris’ comments with a wall of silence. Unfortunately, that was enough to give Osiris his answer.
“Ah, so it is a human. Really, Setekh. You never change. You’ve always let them get under your skin.”
“He bore my name. I made him a king among his kind and he repaid me by taking my gifts and throwing them in my face!”
“Oh, hell, no! Are we talking about Seti? Again? I thought you cursed him!”
“I did.”
“Let me guess – you didn’t make the curse permanent. You put a time limit on it, and now it’s up, right? Honestly, Setekh, you never think things through,” Osiris chided.
“This matter does not concern you, brother,” Setekh grumbled. He returned to the Main Hall, slumping down onto his throne. He gripped the arms of the throne until his knuckles whitened as he struggled to contain the fury that rose within him.
“Sure it does, brother. Ever since you expedited my way into the afterlife, I’ve made your business my business.”
The gentle jibe at their history together only served to fuel the rage that had been steadily building within Setekh’s heart. It had been a misunderstanding that caused Setekh to murder his eldest brother Osiris, and Osiris well knew it. Setekh’s wife, Nephthys (a cold-hearted, scheming bitch if ever there was one), had seduced Osiris by taking the form of Osiris’ wife, Isis. Infuriated by what Setekh perceived to be Osiris’ betrayal, Setekh had killed and dismembered his brother, scattering the pieces.
It had taken Isis a good long while to find all of the pieces and put Osiris back together again. Then Osiris had been given rule over the Underworld, and his revenge on Setekh had been ongoing ever since.
Osiris knew that Setekh had been deceived, but still he had never let Setekh forget the incident. He had forced Setekh to live with the consequences of his actions ever since, barring him from ever stepping foot in Paradise. Setekh had been bade build his palace - while as opulent as any other god’s - amid the horrors of the Underworld, where Osiris had decreed he live for all time.
“This is my affair, brother,” Setekh replied, failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I will see to it as I deem fit.”
“You’ve already ‘seen to it.’ This particular human has been punished enough for whatever crimes you think he committed against you. He’s paid his dues, Setekh. Did his time. Let him live his life in peace,” Osiris chided. “Don’t make me go Rambo on your ass.”
Setekh growled, his eyes blazing. “Yes, Osiris,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Every muscle in his body clenched, protesting his acquiescence. But Setekh knew better than to oppose his powerful brother – at least openly. What he did when Osiris was otherwise occupied was another story.
“Why do I not believe you?”
“I give you my word that I will not touch Seti,” Setekh said, his eyes narrowing. “He will be free to live out his days in whichever way he sees fit.” And so he would. There were other ways to cut a man, ways that would leave him bleeding and broken without ever having been touched, and Setekh was an expert in all of them.
He had done it before.
He could do it again.
Would do it again.
For the first time since realizing that the curse he’d laid on Seti’s head had been broken, Setekh smiled.
Chapter Sixteen
Logan strode purposefully along the city streets, although his mind churned in turmoil. He found himself standing at the entrance to one of the most easily recognizable buildings in the city. Seventy-two stories of glass and steel, the Wilder Executive Tower rose as a sleek black monolith, an obsidian spear driven deep into the heart of the city.
Logan barely remembered leaving Jason’s apartment building, or crossing any of the busy streets to arrive at Wilder’s doorstep. Everything since the shooting was a blur, a maddening maelstrom of petrifying fear, white-hot pain and smothering guilt. Logan bore the weight of his emotions like a man staggering under a burden so heavy that it threatened to drive him to his knees at any moment.
The only thing that kept him upright was his rage.
Black and as sharp as a razor, his anger dwarfed everything else he was feeling. Fury at Wilder, at the gunmen, at Seti, and most of all at himself, disallowed rational thinking, allowing only one thought, vague and shapeless but nonetheless consuming, to emerge.
Revenge.
Logan narrowed his eyes and slipped his hand into his pocket, fondling the cold, blue steel that weighed it down. It was the same gun that had taken Jason’s life. Logan would see to it that it took another before long – that of the man who was ultimately responsible for Logan’s pain. He had no set plan in mind, just an overriding need to deliver justice, to avenge, to share the pain that filled him to overflowing.
He glanced up and craned his neck trying to see the top of the building. It seemed to stretch forever, the upper floors barely visible from the ground. Somewhere up there, in that black tower, sat the man whose soul was stained with Jason’s blood.
Wilder.
“I’m coming for you, you bastard,” Logan whispered. His voice sounded like a stranger’s to his ears – low, gravelly, and filled with a hate that up until today Logan would have sworn he was incapable of harboring.
“Hey. I’m Jason. Welcome to Freshman Hell. Got any weed?”
The ghost of Jason’s voice whispered in Logan’s head, catching him off guard. His breath hitched as fresh tears burned in his eyes, remembering their first meeting. Had it only been six years ago that Logan had walked into the dorms on his first day in college and found that he was to share a room with a towheaded young man with a shit-eating grin and a photographic memory?
Jason had been happy to show Logan the ropes of colle
ge life. He’d taken Logan under his wing, helping him find his classes, showing him where the library and the cafeteria were located in the maze of the university’s buildings and pathways. Helped him to register, to figure out which classes Logan needed to take that semester.
Then, later that same semester, “You’re gay, aren’t you?”
Logan had become aware of Jason’s sexuality shortly after meeting him. Jason was out publicly; never once trying to hide who he was from his new roommate. Logan admired that, lusted after that freedom, but was still too deeply in the closet to admit that he shared Jason’s choices.
Outing himself to Jason had been difficult, but it had also been a blessed relief, the first time ever that Logan could remember being comfortable with who he was.
Logan remembered that day fondly. The sex had been quick and fun, with no strings or demands on either one of them. Playful, and just a little embarrassing; they’d laughed about it afterwards. It hadn’t been the hardcore, heart-stopping, overwhelming passion that he’d felt with Seti, not by a long shot. But the memory meant a great deal to Logan nonetheless.
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