Urban Mythic: Thirteen Novels of Adventure and Romance, featuring Norse and Greek Gods, Demons and Djinn, Angels, Fairies, Vampires, and Werewolves in the Modern World

by C. Gockel

  I really had been away from home, living as a human for too long, because my eyes were leaking all over the place and my chest was heaving air out in choked bursts. It was very unpleasant.

  I cried until I felt like I didn’t have any more in me to cry. Didn’t make me feel any better and I looked like shit. My face in the mirror was red and blotchy with puffy eyes, and I couldn’t breathe through my nose. I missed home, missed my own kind, but wasn’t ready to go home and deal with the politics, the power struggles, the stupid breeding petitions. I liked my life, here. When it got boring, fun was within arm’s reach. Humans were plentiful, and very entertaining. And Wyatt. I really liked being with Wyatt.

  There was no logical reason for what I was about to do at all. I was staying here in this realm, but I wasn’t going to run off and hide under a new identity either. I couldn’t really go back to the way things were before this week. I’d just have to make the best of what lay ahead. What I was doing was a leap off the cliff, trusting in my instincts that things would somehow be okay. I got a much needed hot shower, changed my clothes, packed a small bag and headed west toward Washington County and Sharpsburg. Whatever happened, happened.

  Sharpsburg was a dot on the map. A series of country routes led there from the highway around the mountain and through Boonsboro. I prefer the steep winding narrow roads right over the mountain and down into the heart of the little town. With less than a thousand residents, it’s got that typical small, one street town kind of feel. The place would have faded into oblivion except for the fact that it saw the bloodiest day of the Civil War right on its doorstep. Over twenty three thousand dead, wounded or missing. That’s pretty impressive, even by demonic standards. The historical folks did a decent job with the battlefield site, too. It had scores of informative plaques, monuments and some cannons. It would have been far more impressive to have tens of thousands of mannequins posed for battle, bloody and shot to bits, and scattered around the fields so visitors would walk amid the carnage and really get a feel for the action, for the scope of the slaughter. It’s a shame preservation groups didn’t take these things more seriously.

  It was such a tiny town. I searched for Althean, trying different vantage points to make sure I covered the whole area. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, now that I was actually here. Should I wait for Althean to show up, and then swoop in dramatically? Should I text Wyatt, letting him know that I hadn’t left? Should I search for Gregory? Maybe not. I wasn’t sure what he’d do to me since I had not crossed the gates as told me to. I knew I was going to have to face him, eventually. Either way, I knew he wouldn’t be pleased. No, I really didn’t want to find Gregory. Not yet. I searched again for Althean, then went to the General Burnside Tavern for a drink. I was not really good at this waiting thing.

  The bar was small. One room with a few tables and a couple of dart boards. Some guy with a guitar played in the corner with his case open for tips. It didn’t have a lot of money in it and I suspected what was there was placed by the guitarist himself in an effort to prime the pump. Everyone ignored him. There were four guys at the bar drinking beer and watching football on TV. It was too early for the pro season or even college. Did they show football re–runs in off season? The best of last year? I plopped down next to them and ordered a Bud Light. I knew better than to ask for vodka in this place.

  Part of my thoughts went to a constant scan for Althean. That was a boring activity though, so I drank my beer, eyed the patrons and wondered what I could do to entertain myself until I could kill something. The four guys at the bar were riveted to the game on TV. There were a couple of guys playing darts. The guitarist started up again bellowing some ballad about love and tulips. One of the guys at the bar glanced at him in irritation and turned the captioning on the TV. I didn’t realize they close captioned football games. Huh.

  “What’s the guitarist’s name?” I asked the bartender.

  “Bob Burrows,” he told me, glancing over at the singer. “He annoys everyone, but the owner’s sister knows him so we have to let him play.”

  I took a swig of beer and looked over at the guy. He was skinny, with a short beard and longish brown hair. Mid–twenties. His hands on the guitar were rough and calloused with a wedding ring on his left hand. He had that far away look in his eyes of a man whose dreams have been derailed by reality. The guitar was second hand, but in decent shape. The case battered with some band stickers that clearly were not placed there by the current owner. His sheet music was propped up in the lid.

  “How often does he play here?” I asked.

  The bartender shrugged. “A couple times per week if we’re lucky. He works construction. Went to Shepherdstown College across the river for a year for music, but got married and dropped out. His wife gets irritated if he’s out here too many evenings.”

  I got up and walked over to the guy. “Are you Bob Burrows?” I asked.

  He looked at me, clearly noting I was not one of the regulars, or even a local in this small town. “Yes.”

  “I’m a private investigator out of Hagerstown,” I told him. “I’m doing surveillance in a divorce case. I just wanted to let you know that your wife is fucking the propane delivery guy. His wife hired me to get proof after she found some naked pictures of your wife on his phone. You seem like a nice guy, and I just thought you ought to know.”

  I never saw a man scramble up his guitar and case so fast in his life. He raced out the door and a few moments later a truck roared out of the parking lot. His wife probably was cheating on him. Loser was so hung up on what could have been that he can’t have been very present in their relationship.

  I turned around to see the patrons staring at me. Even the four football watching guys had torn their gazes from the television to look at me with their mouths open.

  “You wanna play darts?” a short wiry guy asked me.

  Althean was still nowhere nearby so I played some darts and ordered the hot wings that were on special.

  The hot wings were good, but they didn’t improve my dart game. I finally gave up and started tossing darts into the various decorations on the wall holding the dart board. My favorite was in the nose of the mounted deer head. It was very amusing to see a lovely cluster imbedded in the deer’s left nostril. The patrons and bartender started to look at me warily. They probably were beginning to think they had been better off with the guitarist. Much to everyone’s relief, the bar finally announced last call. I’d filled the deer head and a painting of some military guy with dart holes, and was trying to convince one of the drunken guys to put a stalk of celery in his mouth in a William Tell–style feat of accuracy. The bartender managed to shoo us out the door before I impaled the guy.

  Still no Althean. It was two in the morning and I was getting bored with walking the one street town. I could go to the all night Waffle House up the road, but I was worried it would be too far to get an accurate fix on my target if he arrived. Everything was closed in this town. Crossing the street, I made my way again to Burnside Bridge Road, where a small gas station occupied a corner.

  The gas station had closed hours before, but there was a soda machine humming away outside the garage building. I only had change enough for one soda, so I used a small trickle of energy to dislodge the rest out of the machine and wasted some time shaking them up and pitching them against the gas pumps. The minimum wage attendant would get quite a shock when he opened in the morning and found the pumps sticky with dented soda cans strewn about.

  Finally, I couldn’t take any more boredom. I texted Wyatt letting him know that I had decided not to leave anyway, and that I was in Sharpsburg vandalizing a gas station. I told him that he should come down and bring some beer so he could drink with me. Then we could pitch the bottles into the road.

  Maybe I should just pick up Wyatt and go back to our houses. If I wasn’t allowed to kill Althean, then the whole thing was going to be pretty snoozeville. Although, I did want to watch and see what Gregory was going to do to him.
I could learn a lot from that guy. Wyatt called back immediately.

  “Sam? You’re really still here?” he asked in a hushed tone.

  “Yeah. Why are you whispering? Where are you? What’s going on?” I asked, whispering back.

  “Gregory wanted us both to leave, to go home and let him handle it, but Candy insisted she needed to stay. I think she wants to make sure it’s truly resolved before she goes back. I’m still here because I have the computer models, and I don’t have my truck so I don’t have a way back. We’re holed up at one of the werewolf houses off Burnside Bridge so Candy doesn’t get attacked separately again. Gregory has been gone for hours. He’s in a horrible mood. Seriously horrible mood.

  “Sam, why didn’t you leave? What are you doing still here? You’re not safe, here. I don’t know what he’ll do if he knows you’re still here. He’s a sanctimonious jerk; I don’t think he’s going to tolerate you living over here now that he knows about you. Plus, the mood he’s been in this evening, he’s liable to just kill you on sight. You really need to make yourself scarce.”

  Sanctimonious was a good word. I had no idea Wyatt had that kind of vocabulary.

  I didn’t know what I was doing, either. What was I trying to gain from this? Why didn’t I just scoop up Wyatt and go back to the house? Because I was a stupid idiot and couldn’t keep away from this damned angel. I needed to see him, needed to know who he really was inside. Candy wasn’t the only one who needed to see this through. I had to see if Gregory would deliver justice or just cover it up. I shouldn’t really give a shit, but I needed to know if the angel was a hypocrite, to know what his moral framework was, to know if he lived by the inflexible code which fractured our races so long ago.

  “Where are you?” I asked Wyatt. “I just want to make sure you and Candy are safe. Don’t worry about me; I know what I’m doing.” Lie, lie, lie.

  Wyatt told me the address, somewhere off Burnside Bridge Road. I told him to stay tight, and that I’d call him in a bit.

  I went out again, casting around for Althean without success. Dreading what I was about to do, I drove to the outer portion of town, as far away from where Wyatt and Candy were as I could get and converted every cell of my being in a huge pop of noise. I hoped it was far enough away to not scare Althean, but close enough to jar Gregory’s exterminate instinct and bring him running.

  It was barely a second later before something large and rock like flashed an inch from me and knocked me to the dirt.

  I slid across the ground for about three feet. “Damnit, I just took a shower and put on clean clothes.”

  “You!” the angel said. He closed his eyes, and then opened them again, as if I were an illusion that would disappear. “The guardian saw you cross. She told me she saw you go through the gate with her own eyes. How did you get back here?”

  I wasn’t about to narc on the guardian. “I have mad skills,” I told him.

  He looked at me blankly.

  “I am a being with many diverse talents,” I explained. The guy really needed to work on his modern slang.

  “I know, what ‘mad skills’ means, I just don’t see what that has to do with anything,” he said. “Why? Why did you come back? I go against the council decree that I should kill you on sight, then actually allow you to freely return home and you not only come back to this realm, but you come here and bring yourself to my notice less than twenty four hours from when I let you go.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. “When I want you to stay, you practically kill yourself trying to get away, and when I want you to go away, I can’t get rid of you. You, cockroach, are truly my worst nightmare manifested. What was my sin that I am punished by having you constantly around, messing things up, thwarting my plans?”

  Thwarting his plans. It sounded like some bad guy in an old western. All he needed to do was twirl a long handlebar mustache and chuckle deviously.

  “Yes, well dastardly villains like you deserve thwarting,” I joked.

  “How do you think I’m a villain?” he looked confused. “Do you still think I won’t punish Althean? Or is it because I killed that human law enforcement officer? That was unfortunate, but I was not about to allow you to escape me.”

  “It was a joke. You know, because you used the word ‘thwart’ and it’s such a cliche word. Oh, never mind.” He had to have a sense of humor somewhere in that thick head of his. Or maybe not. “I came back because I need to see this to the finish. I owe Candy a blood price for killing one of her pack mates and my taking out Althean was the price. I don’t want it said I go back on my contracts, on my word.”

  “You know I will not allow you to kill Althean. So your contact is void. You are simply unable to fulfill it. Candy will have to renegotiate another blood price with you. Why are you really here?”

  I could hardly tell him I was obsessed with him and that he better get used to me stalking him like a creeper in a white van.

  “I have OCD,” I told him desperately. I don’t know how my mind made the jump to that. Maybe because I’d been thinking of Candy and I was fairly certain she had all the symptoms in the diagnostic manual.

  He sighed dramatically. “Okay, please enlighten me as to what this OCD is.”

  “Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It’s a mental condition some humans have where they do repetitious behavior, or actions that are driven by compulsion and not the logic of the situation. So you see, I have OCD and cannot quit in the middle of this. I just need to see the hunt through. If I can’t kill him, then fine, but I need to see it through to the end before I can move on. Or I’ll go crazy and wind up in an institution somewhere.”

  That was the stupidest excuse ever, but maybe he’d believe it.

  He scowled. “You are the worst liar in all of creation. I have no time for any more of your ridiculous falsehoods. You’ve drawn me away and even now Althean may be at the house attempting to kill while I stand here bantering with you”

  I’d been scanning constantly since I had arrived. “No, he’s not there. I can sense him and track him if he’s within a couple miles radius. That’s how I knew he was at the cabin in Waynesboro. Will that help you? Maybe you can use that skill of mine?”

  The angel paused thoughtfully. “I can’t sense him until he uses some energy, so your skill would possibly help save a life. If you try to kill him or hinder me in any way, though, I will not spare you. Don’t think that because I let you go once that you have special privileges. You are a cockroach and I won’t tolerate your interference.”

  I nodded. “If you’re not with me, let me know how I can contact you. You don’t have a cell phone number I can text you on, do you?” Damned angels were so backward about human technology I wasn’t even sure he could use a walkie–talkie.

  “No, I don’t. You’re energy use is how I sense you. If you convert something or use your energy to call me when he’s near, Althean will be tipped off and flee. You’ve nearly killed him twice. I doubt he’ll risk fighting you again.”

  It was really wicked, I know, but I ran my finger over the tattoo. “I can call you this way,” I teased.

  He ground his teeth. “Will you stop doing that? Stop messing with it until I can find some way to disable that unfortunate feature?”

  “Is it always this strong? Does it fade with distance or time? If I’d crossed the gate, could we still feel it? Would it even remain?”

  He rubbed his face and ran his hands through his chestnut curls. It was a very human gesture. “It will always remain and time won’t do anything but maybe make us more used to it. I don’t know what effect distance will have on it. Perhaps it will be weaker. Perhaps I won’t sense you at all if you’re far enough away or across the gate. The original binding that it’s based on, that it was supposed to be, is meant to summon you no matter what realm you’re in or how far away you are; to know your location when I want to find you and be able to gate to you; and to compel you to do as I command.”

  There was that com
pel thing again. He must have fucked that part up too because I didn’t feel particularly compelled to obey him.

  “So, you mean you didn’t intend to put a two way erogenous zone on my arm?” I asked, running my finger over it slowly. It felt amazing and I found myself wondering again if angels had genitals. He’d probably kill me, though. I got the feeling angels didn’t do sex.

  “No,” he ground out. “And if you don’t stop that, I’ll remove your hands from your body.”

  “Then I’d be forced to use my tongue,” I said, rather breathlessly. That sounded like an even better idea.

  “I’ll remove your tongue, then. Repeatedly. Until you get tired of growing it back.”

  He seemed very serious, so I reluctantly stopped. Besides, it was difficult teasing him when I myself was getting turned on twenty times what he was.

  “You will remain near me and tell me when he’s close.” Gregory said, in a voice that sounded suspiciously commanding. I was okay with what he was proposing, but the whole compel thing had me a bit on edge, so I decided to pester him a bit more just so he wouldn’t get any ideas that I was compelled to do stuff.

  “We’ll be joined at the hip,” I told him, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively. “Or maybe joined at other parts of our bodies.”

  “Not going to happen,” he said. “Although I may be tempted to drag you by your hair.”

  “I might like that.”

  He shook his head in exasperation. “Are you sure you’re not a Succubus? You seem really obsessed with the sin of lust.”

  “It’s a good sin. I like gluttony an awful lot, too. Sloth has its moments, but I just don’t understand acedia at all. I mean, what the fuck is that anyway? Oh, and greed is good, to quote Gordon Gekko. Anger, envy and pride,” I ticked them off on my fingers. “I don’t often have much use for them. It’s a shortcoming that I’m hoping to correct in the next millennium or two. I’m not very old; I can’t be expected to have mastered them all yet.”