Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection

by D. N. Erikson

  “Fuck…you.” Not the best use of my limited oxygen, but immensely satisfying. I flailed and kicked with my feet, the sensible shoes coming loose on the rocks.

  “Do you want to know why I was willing to sacrifice my son? Both of them?”

  Because you’re a psychopath.

  But the question was rhetorical, seeing as how I was all out of breath.

  Malcolm’s fingers pressed deeper against my neck, his short nails digging into my throat. “Because they didn’t have the stomach for what needed to be done to succeed.”

  “It’s called a soul.” Roark’s voice cut through the cavern like a chime. From the edge of my blurry vision, I saw him emerge from the pool, water dripping from his lean body. He spat on the shore and cleared his throat, brandishing a pistol. “A funny thing happens when you drink from the source.”

  “You see the truth.” Malcolm’s grip released slightly, allowing me a gasp of precious air.

  “I saw you, down in the Underworld. Trading your soul to become part Shade. To make sure Solomon Marshall was trained as a necromancer. And then returned to Earth. You caused panic for your own gain.”

  “Nothing sells like fear, son.”

  Roark cocked the hammer. “I should’ve shot you in the head.”

  “Well, now’s your chance, Colton.” Malcolm finally released my neck. I let out a wheezing cough and slumped to the rocky ground. MagiTekk’s CEO raised his hands over his silver hair, his imperious eyes urging his son to pull the trigger. “Come on. Do it. Kill your old man. Prove you have what it takes.”

  “Revenge won’t fix anything.” Roark’s voice was surprisingly steady. Maybe what he had seen beneath the stream’s placid surface had told him that carrying that burden would be unbearable. Even if his father was an evil man, Malcolm was still his father.

  And he was the only family Roark had left.

  “I’m seeing a lot of talk. Whining. Who made you an FBI agent? Who made you a Ghost? That was me. My blood. My bullets. My tears.” Malcolm pounded his chest angrily, his aura turning savage. “I built an empire. And you’re nothing but an ungrateful little insect. A coward.”

  He stepped forward on the bank, tempting Roark to shoot.

  “I’m not my father’s son,” Roark said. “On your knees.”

  “Shoot me.”

  “I’m not like you.”

  “You’re right.” Malcolm’s eyes gleamed with intense disappointment. “You have no spine.”

  Then he charged forward like he’d been shot out of a cannon. Roark didn’t have the opportunity to shoot before his father was upon him, driving them both into the deep pool. The surface churned with bubbles before Malcolm emerged, his short gray hair slicked down to his skull.

  His hands were beneath the surface, holding Roark down in the cold water.

  I crawled toward the pistol, focusing my energy as Pearl’s written words echoed in my ears.

  When the time comes, Ruby, you will have to kill the father. Even if it means risking the hatred of the son.

  But if I was going to do this, I had to be sure.

  A vision fired through my synapses, showing two divergent paths. Malcolm Roark in jail, awaiting punishment for his crimes. The media in a frenzy, people wondering if he deserved the worst. After all, he had protected them against the supernatural in a time of upheaval—there being no playbook for such matters. His sentence drawn out over years, dividing and cracking the Realms until there was nothing but fractured souls and hatred left.

  And then the alternative—what Pearl had always warned me about. Roark unable to look me in the eye. But not because I’d killed his father, but because he knew who I was.

  That I would do bad things to prevent worse ones.

  The vision faded, leaving a dull thud in my temple.

  I grasped the pistol, feeling the slick grip in my palm as I aimed it carefully at Malcolm’s head, right between the eyes. Shades were hard to kill. The cold water would help solidify his form, make sure the bullets didn’t pass through. But I needed to ensure that whatever restorative magic coursing through his veins couldn’t fix the damage I was about to inflict.

  Whatever Malcolm had used to block my shotgun rounds in the construction yard must’ve been technologically based. Stopping bullets clearly wasn’t part of his magical DNA, because Roark had perforated him only an hour ago.

  “Hey, Malcolm.” The silver-haired man stiffened in the clear water. “Let your son go.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Malcolm didn’t comply. Roark still thrashed in his father’s unrelenting grip, the water churning.

  “Just savoring the moment,” I said, telling him the truth.

  “Little bitch. You’re responsible for all this. You.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “We studied you all those years in the camp, like a little rat running through a maze. Found out how to transport the water between realms. Found out the weak points between them. All from you.” Malcolm looked at me with a crazed grin. “We knew everything. But in the end, I underestimated you.”

  I steadied the shaking gun with my free hand. “That was a mistake.”

  “You’re more than a killer. You actually care.”

  “Or maybe you found out exactly who I am.”

  I pulled the trigger, staining the river red.

  39

  I finished draining the source’s water after dragging Roark to the rocky bank. Upon climbing up the cavern’s precarious path, I had found the proper machines and turned on the requisite conveyor belts. The precious water was shuttled through the rift—but not to Malcolm Roark’s compound. Instead, I redirected the cache to the Fae Plains. MagiTekk had apparently figured out how to reopen the entrance through which I had originally come.

  Prince Martin would hopefully know what to do. And wouldn’t get punch drunk with the possibilities of the water.

  Given that everyone else had tapped out of the fight, it was my decision to make. MagiTekk had large drums stocked and ready for just this purpose. Why they hadn’t emptied the reservoir already was a mystery.

  Perhaps even Malcolm knew to tread carefully around such power.

  I didn’t waste time reflection.

  I still had one last job to do.

  The Tributary, idyllic as it was, wasn’t fit for humanity. I didn’t know what other power lurked in its verdant trees, but I doubted the source alone was the only thing lurking within this abandoned city of the dead gods. People would come searching for this power, as they were wont to do.

  Collapsing the Realm was the only way to prevent future bouts of extreme megalomania.

  Before I set paradise ablaze, however, I needed to make sure my allies were safe. I awakened them one by one, feeding them water directly from the fountain on the pedestal. The purest and most potent liquid of all. The magic seemed to cleanse their very souls, rejuvenating them beyond full strength.

  Kalos examined the once sparkling pool, which was now a deep chasm. “Where’d the rest go?”

  “Executive decision,” I said. “We need to leave.”

  Roark said, “We can build a new world here. Use the resources for good instead—”

  “You almost sound like this idiot,” I said, throwing a nod at Kalos. “It’s done.”

  “We should’ve discussed this together,” Roark said, looking hurt.

  “You either trust me or you don’t.” I glanced at my three companions. “I made the call.”

  “I don’t know, Ruby.” Argos lay down on the cavern’s rocky steppes and flicked his pointy ears back. I had a mutiny on my hands. That was what I got for saving all their asses.

  But it was a big decision. I didn’t expect everyone to agree. But in the vision, I’d seen something else: a future free of the gods’ legacy, and an alternative—one resembling our own, still tainted by it. I, for one, was sick of ancient secrets biting me in the ass.

  It was time for the world to rise from the ashes on its own. Wherever that path led.
>
  “You don’t have to agree,” I said, placing the pistol on the craggy rocks before heading down the narrow path. I stepped over Argos’s prone body. “But you should know something.”

  “What?” Kalos and Roark asked in suspicious unison.

  “I set the machines on a timer.”

  “To do what?” Kalos asked.

  “To drill at maximum capacity, until they overheat.” Without turning around, I mimicked an explosion with my hands, sending the cloud high over my head. “So you can stay, or you can go.”

  Alone, I walked back through the grotto, close to the edge of the empty pool.

  The Realm’s brightly colored wisps greeted me one last time, enveloping me.

  I couldn’t read anything in the rainbow of light.

  I’d just have to trust the Tributary was telling me I’d made the right choice.

  40

  Kendrick patted me on the shoulder and said, “Well, you did good, lass.” He stubbed out his cigarette against the bar’s wooden door.

  “Things ended up okay, didn’t they?”

  “I still got customers.” Kendrick reached down and handed me one of the glasses he’d brought out for my send-off. I was moving on, moving out. The call of the nomadic life whispered in my ear once again. “One more for the road?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” I clinked the tumbler against his and tasted the cheap whiskey. “Cheers.”

  “Don’t be gone too long, now,” Kendrick said, his wild white hair waving in the easy breeze. “You know Colton can’t handle everything.”

  He disappeared into the bar, the heavy wooden door slamming shut with a loud thud behind him.

  I winced. Pearl’s prophecy had contained more truth than I’d like. Roark didn’t agree with my handling of the Tributary. Nothing in this life came free, though.

  Not even being a hero.

  But I think things had turned out well, considering.

  Sending the source’s water to Prince Martin proved to be the right call. He was a fair ruler—and if he had any delusions about stealing it all for himself, and fashioning himself king of all the realms, I sure as hell never saw them.

  Upon taking the agreed-upon share—I insisted on a full barrel for his troubles—he arranged for the rest to be transported back to Earth. After that, I squared my debts with Aiko, even dropping off a gallon of the liquid for Serenity as a thank you. She’d kept me in the fight with the booster shots, after all. And the FBI crawling up your ass was never fun.

  It was the least I could do.

  Ever the good elf, she’d tried to give me a check-up, but I’d waved her off. Bed rest wasn’t my style. If I hadn’t died by now, I figured I was resilient. Besides, I’d drank a little from the source myself. It had healed the cuts and bruises, rid me of the radiation poisoning’s lingering effects, closed the gunshot wounds in my shoulder, and even smoothed away the light scars on my back.

  Impressive stuff, that Tributary. Good thing I’d destroyed the Realm. Didn’t need another Malcolm trying to tap its power. The drills had overheated, triggering a massive explosion. With most of the water gone, the Realm had erupted like a tinderbox, collapsing in upon itself.

  Then, like the Weald from which I’d arisen from the dead, the Tributary was no more.

  From there, the global healing process could begin. But shaking hands and healing cultural divides was less my speed, and more Roark’s. His father had left a significant gap in power, and someone needed to step into the void. You’d think the world would be hesitant to hand another Roark the reins, but Colton turned on the charm and had them eating out of his hand in no time. Between him and Eden Marshall, they bridged the distrust between law enforcement and the supernatural, stabilizing things as MagiTekk heaved its final breath.

  And, under the watchful eye of its youngest director ever, the FBI had been purged of its corrupt personnel, honoring Supervisor Emma Janssen’s memory. But then, I’d expect nothing less from Roark. Freed from the shackles of his past, he could fulfill his true destiny.

  I understood the feeling.

  Malcolm Roark’s compound was quickly ransacked and drained for the diluted water. It appeared on black market sites and in shady alleys, its peddlers promising wild cures for everything from gunshots to hair loss. The diluted version gave you a nice feeling of warmth and offered some mild restorative effects.

  But it didn’t do what people claimed. Nonetheless, ever searching for secrets and tonics, the public snapped it up.

  Meanwhile, Roark kept a watchful eye over the real deal. It’d eventually made its way beneath MagiTekk’s former HQ—but not for the purpose of building a successor to Malcolm’s Ghosts. Instead, it would be carefully meted out to heal a world which had suffered many wounds in the past twenty years.

  I watched the multi-story newscast play on the building across from Kendrick’s bar. Bag over my shoulder, wearing familiar clothes, I walked through the empty streets, accompanied by the clips of the week: Eden and I infiltrating Malcolm Roark’s compound. Santa Fe in flames from Malcolm’s demonstration of power. Eden shifting from a coyote. Her and Roark shaking hands, declaring a new era of cooperation and peace between humanity and the supernatural. The President emerging from whatever hidey-hole he’d scurried to after Santa Fe had burned. The announcement of the suspension of the internment camp program.

  It ended with a pardon of Kalos Aeon, who had been “unfairly demonized” for being different. I had to smile at the pun. At least the public finally could acknowledge his role in saving the world not once, but twice. Maybe there was such a thing as karma.

  Or maybe it was just luck.

  He was busy feeding Nadia Santos some of the source, anyway, so I doubted he’d show up for them to pin any medals on his chest. Roark had given him a barrel of water to pursue his mission of creating a new goddess.

  Kalos believed it would heal the world. Roark was optimistic about the possibilities.

  I thought they were both morons playing with fire. At least Kalos finally felt like he had fulfilled his true destiny: bridging the divide between the mortals and supernatural. Whether his would-be goddess would end up trying to eat all our faces remained to be seen.

  Forgive me for being cynical. In the past month, I’d dispatched a necromancer, crime lord, sorceress, cult leader, demoness, and CEO. Okay, I hadn’t pulled the trigger on all of them. But even with differing motives, the trend was clear: too much power was never a good thing.

  My phone buzzed, and I answered.

  “You’re famous, Ruby.” Alice was positively breathless. “They’ll probably build a statue of you.”

  “I didn’t see that in my future.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Never mind,” I said, not wanting to get into the nitty-gritty of my Realmfaring powers. “Glad you’re excited.”

  “I’m in Old Phoenix!” Alice actually squealed, forcing me to take the handset away from my ear. The moratorium had been lifted, the gate to the Fallout Zone permanently opened. Creatures were blood-tested for radiation sickness or anything contagious, but otherwise, they were free to come and go as they pleased.

  “You’ve been to Old Phoenix before.” Hell, I’d been with her in Old Phoenix not one month ago.

  “Like, without sneaking in, Ruby.”

  I didn’t know why she was excited about visiting the ruins. But I guess they were palatial in comparison to the Fallout Zone.

  Adjusting my bag, I said, “I’m happy for you.”

  “We should celebrate. Oh my god, we totally need to celebrate.”

  “Call Roark,” I said, staring at the horizon.

  “You’re no fun, Ruby.”

  “There’s still a few things I have to do on my own.”

  “Errands? Maybe we can get drinks after—”

  “It’ll take longer than that,” I said. “Take care, Alice. And stop cutting your own bangs.”

  I heard her fangs click out in annoyance on the other end as I
hung up.

  Smiling, I walked down the streets.

  Alone, but at peace with where my journey would take me next.

  Epilogue

  Three Years Later

  “You’re an ugly son of a bitch, you know that?” I growled, wiping a thin strand of blood from my lips. The troll roared, a foul stench greeting me from across the open lot. His dead companion lay in a twisted heap nearby atop a dead vampire. A long sword staked them together.

  Not quite the lightning blade. But it did the trick, considering that knife had disappeared with the collapse of the Tributary.

  The troll pawed the ground, his hairy face twisted in hatred. His two yellowing, cracked tusks reflected the neon light of the Vegas Strip. Flipping the spiked club in his broad hand, he unleashed another growl.

  After the Tributary had collapsed, some enterprising individuals had seen fit to search for the Realm Rifts and other ways of traveling between the worlds, wondering what sordid treasures might lie hidden within.

  This particular would-be entrepreneur had been the aforementioned deceased vampire. Eager to crack open the Realm Rift and explore the riches it might offer.

  Unfortunately for him—and the other idiots who had stood in my way over the past three years—that ran counter to my interests.

  With a smirk, I reached for my back and removed the shotgun. Time for the heavy artillery. With a weary hand, I racked the slide, breaking the cloaking wards. The familiar sound cutting across the empty lot.

  The troll cocked its head stupidly at the sight of the gun.

  “What, you thought I’d come out here with only a knife?”

  It stampeded across the dust and I fired once. A red light erupted like a firework, hitting him in the chest. The beast stopped, confused for a moment.

  Then he exploded, showering the area with troll chunks. His head bounced through the dirt, rolling to a stop next to my boot.