by ST Branton
“It’s over,” I told her. “Just let go.”
She lunged at me, making a high, keening wail. I caught her, and her wings beat in my face. With pure strength, I threw her over my shoulder where she landed in a rough heap, struggling to get back up. I didn’t want to fight close quarters with her, but she refused to allow distance between us. Locked in a grapple on the floor, she seized my sword and it flew backward over her head.
“Dammit,” I shouted.
Eve produced an impish smile that didn’t belong to her new, tired face. She curled her legs between us and kicked, forcing me off of her. She jumped to her feet, but I was faster than her, and I grabbed her wing by the stem, jerking her backward. She fell hard against the marble floor. The crack of bone rang out like a shot. Ahead, I saw the outline of the hilt she’d wrestled away from me.
Her smile was weak this time, lopsided. The words that left her mouth slurred together. “Can’t blame me for trying, can you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Actually, I can.” I stood over her, my foot on her chest.
Her bedraggled form slumped down into the floor. I almost didn’t hear the reply.
“They loved me. They all loved me.”
With her last ounce of venom, she tried to fake me out and bring me down on top of her outstretched claws.
My hand shot out in the direction of the fallen hilt. “Gladius Solis!”
The sword rocketed into my hand. I summoned the blade just in time to block the ragged points of her nails. The heat grew blisters on her papery skin.
Eve bared her teeth, but it was just a formality now. The sword cast her features in a weird fiery glow as the blade disappeared through her chest. She looked incongruously fragile from this angle, little more than an old woman clothed in the red trappings of beauty. Her pale eyes went wide, she drew one final, heaving breath, and then was still.
There was no triumph in her death. Only emptiness.
When I turned around, I realized why.
Eve’s last shotgun blast tore straight through Brax and caught Silas Monk in the chest. Monk still lay where he’d fallen. His eyes were fixed and staring, and the wound in his torso was unsurvivable. I walked over and placed my hand on his neck. He was already getting cold. A pool of blood coagulated around him, and as I rose to my feet, I thought that at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the cleanup.
But where was Brax? An ominous silence reigned in the vault. I stayed where I was, listening for any sign of the missing Marked. His blood was still pooled with Monk’s, but only the inventor had died here.
Be cautious, Marcus advised. The Marked are extremely difficult to kill. If Abraxzael’s corpse is missing, he is still alive.
“Hey, Marcus. Can I ask you something?”
Anything, as long as you’re all right.
I sat back on my heels, emptying the air from my lungs.
“Do you ever have something positive to say?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Back in New York, I sat glumly on the mattress in my loft, alone and brooding. There was a newspaper on the table, and even from the low vantage point of the bed, I could see the frontpage headline: TECH GURU SILAS MONK FOUND DEAD.
I didn’t want to look at it, but my eyes couldn’t stay away from either the words or the full-color photograph underneath them. He was beaming in it, obviously on the red carpet of some big event, and I kept wondering if he had known Eve when the picture was taken. Was that the real Silas Monk, or the one she had built with false confidence and black magic?
Maybe it didn’t really make a difference in the end, but it sort of did to me. I wanted to believe that a person who gifted so much amazing shit to an otherwise mediocre world needed the influence of a harpy to end up dead in the middle of his own dream come true. I wanted to believe that because Silas Monk didn’t deserve to die.
Not everything was a loss. I had made a friend, and an ally, in Namiko. We had parted ways with brief goodbyes, but I had a feeling that it wasn’t the last time I would hear from her—or her from me. SplitScreen, as I first knew her, had plenty of connections that I guessed might come in handy soon enough.
But, I was still pissed about losing the drill. “That was our trump card,” I complained to Marcus one afternoon a few days after. “It would have been cool if we could’ve used it.”
It seemed right to be able to honor Silas’s legacy by shooting a huge-ass laser at the next crop of monsters. Something told me he would have approved.
We do not need another ‘trump card’ when we have you.
Those kinds of compliments never failed to make me smile. Call it juvenile, but I loved the idea of being any kind of secret weapon, let alone a secret weapon against the gods. And the more I got myself into hotter and hotter water, the more it seemed like an apt description.
“I guess I did kick a goddess’s ass,” I said, exuding modesty from my very pores. “It was pretty easy.” In my head, I was brushing off my shoulders, but I knew the gesture would be wasted on Marcus.
Do not get ahead of yourself, Marcus said. I could hear the smile in his voice, even though he didn’t have lips or a face. There are gods, and then there are gods. Lysiani ranks fairly low on that list.
“Ugh.” The cat hopped into my lap and started shouting her hunger, so I got up to take care of it, relieved to have something mundane to do. “Aren’t you supposed to be building my confidence? Telling me I can do anything?”
You wield the weapon of the only singular king our world has ever had, and you want me to reconfirm that you can do anything?
“Yeah, you’re right.” I grinned. “I guess I am pretty much a badass.” I put some dry kibble into the cat’s bowl and set it on the floor for her. “Can we finally talk about this Brax guy, though? You’ve been sketchy about him ever since he showed up.”
The Marked are dangerous and untrustworthy, Marcus said, as he had every time I brought it up. “I have no doubt that he still lives. Perhaps he just feels you may still be of use to him somewhere down the line.
I reached into the fridge and poured myself a glass of juice. The beer bottles on the bottom shelf always tempted me, but recent events had me wanting to run my ship a little tighter.
Monk was the first real, personal casualty in my new life, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t freak me out a little. It was a grim reminder of what I was up against, and now, I was searching for all the specks of light I could possibly find in the darkness. Including the ones with chain tattoos all over their bodies.
“I’m just saying, he didn’t seem like a bloodthirsty warmonger to me. Definitely a guy who’s willing and able to skew ethics in order to get shit done, but let’s be real—that’s me, too. That’s probably a lot of people. It’s not a perfect world.”
That is true, but it is worth noting that the Marked were not created with ethics at the forefront in terms of priorities. If they are not perfect slaves willing to execute their god’s most brutal orders, then they are consumed with the fires of self-righteous vengeance and do not think beyond their own gratification.
“Again, you’ve basically just described me in the early years of my vendetta against Rocco Durant,” I said. “I see the point you’re making Marcus. I really do. But sometimes people become that way for reasons that aren’t automatically apparent. There might be more to Brax than what you think about him. That’s all I’m saying.”
You may be correct about that. However, I lack information in which to put my faith. It seems to be that many of the Forgotten did not receive the same kinds of sensitization which humankind’s theoretical Creator has provided us.
“Marcus, are you monster-racist?” It was rude to poke fun at something that made him so serious, but I just couldn’t let it slide. “Come on, I’m sure there are nice vampires out there. I just haven’t met the right one yet.”
I said many; I did not say all. My ogre acquaintance at the club we attended is a prototypical example of creatures in his class. There are always
exceptions, but they are few and far between. Even more so lately, it seems.
“You don’t think the Marked, as a race, are exceptions? Seems like that’s exactly what they were made to be.”
He thought about that one for a while. Your mind continues to surprise me, Victoria. On rare occasion, anyway. I confess I had never considered the question from that angle before.
“Don’t say I never taught you anything.” I took a sip of my juice. “You think he’ll really be back?”
Abraxzael? I have no doubt your paths will cross again. It is evident that you have captured his interest for whatever reasons he may have.
“Maybe he’s lonely,” I suggested.
He was made to be lonely.
“Wow, okay. Now I want you guys to meet in person, just so I can see you fight.”
No. That means someone else would receive the honor of killing him in order to let him face me.
I had never seen Marcus carrying a chip on his shoulder, let alone one against a semi-demon slave warrior, Whatever history lay beneath that, I desperately wanted to know it. But I also knew not to push Marcus on a sensitive topic. So, I made a mental note to keep an eye out for guys who wore trench coats and sunglasses all the time.
“Hey, Marcus?”
Yes? He knew something criminally stupid was coming. He had to.
“Do you think they all dress like that, or is Brax just the coolest one?”
I just remembered that tomorrow’s training begins at four in the morning.
“Man, I’m just joking around with you. You don’t have to murder me in retaliation.” As I said that, I happened to look over and see Silas Monk’s face on the newspaper. Everything I’d just said suddenly felt irreverent and weird.
Do you wish to attend the funeral?
“Half yes, half no. Maybe a quarter yes, three-quarters no.” I sighed. “I want to go because I was there and because I only sort of knew him. It would be cool to get a bigger picture of who he was. But at the same time, I think the picture might be too big, if that makes sense. Does it mean something if I’m a mourner instead of a friend?” I shrugged. “Maybe that’s a stupid thing to worry about in times like these, but I think about it sometimes when I can’t sleep. And you know what else I think about?”
What?
“How I’m afraid of the way it would look if I went there. Not the way people would look at me—they’re free to think however they want—but I think the way Monk’s funeral would appear to me is like the view from the top of the first hill on a rollercoaster. The moment when you realize the only way from here on out is down.”
EPILOGUE
Even after all her plans had sunken like a battleship lost at sea, the mansion remained. It was a gift from one of her now fallen angels. Lysiani was grateful for its extravagant comfort as the front door locked behind her. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the hall mirror and recoiled slightly. Her worst fear confirmed: she looked as dreadful as she felt.
It had been so long since she’d felt pain like this—both from physical trauma and from failure. How dare that girl with the god-king’s sword come meddling in the affairs of gods! She would need to be dealt with, as soon as Lysiani’s body was restored. But no sooner; this concession, the goddess had to make.
She flicked on the light and screamed.
Standing in the entrance to the sitting room, Lorcan smiled. “We meet again at last, Lysiani.”
The goddess bared her teeth and talons, lunging for him. “You are not welcome here, you grim court jester!”
Lorcan simply batted her out of midair. She was so little to him, a feather against a storm. He stepped toward her writhing form and knelt upon her chest, bringing his face down close to hers. “Bold of you to call me a jester, fool.” She flinched, which satisfied him immensely. “I need not remind you of your many errors, but as long as I’ve got you here...I figure I might as well. What idiocy it was to try and acquire the LIGHT for yourself. If you would need it to defeat a god like me—and you would—then it is more than you deserve.” His pale eyes narrowed into slits.
“I deserve the world,” she growled. “More than a backstabbing snake like you.”
“You are nothing, Lysiani. Nothing more than a simpleton whose vanity and pride outweigh what little common sense she has. It was a mistake to kill my subjects. A mistake you will sorely regret.”
“How could it have been a mistake if it was so easy?” She smiled thinly. “Look at you, Lorcan. Thinking you’re so high and mighty. The man I see tonight is a far cry from the one I knew so long ago. How strong you were back then. How virile.” She lifted a slender finger to trace the line of his jaw. “And what are you now?”
Lorcan laughed dryly. “As if your tricks would have any effect on me, woman. Have you seen yourself? That little girl and her talking necklace made a mockery of you. I saw the whole thing—the scientist had cameras throughout his lab.” He sighed. “It is all a shame, isn’t it? Not that Silas Monk is dead—I had no real need for him anyway. But Abraxzael...for him, my hopes were high. He was there you know. Standing over the human’s body as she dispatched with your last pet. He could have crushed her like the insect she is. But instead he just turned around and left. Perhaps he thought I would welch on our deal, but his freedom was waiting if he brought me the sword. Instead, he chooses to run?” An edge of steel hardened his gaze. “A pity.” Then his countenance cleared. “No matter. I shall hunt him down like the animal he is and return him to eternal torment soon enough.”
Lysiani drew a shallow breath. “Is that my fate as well, Lorcan? Or is it the cold embrace of death?”
The god arched his eyebrows at his captive quarry. “Death? No, no, beautiful Lysiani. You are far too valuable to kill. I have great plans for you and your...gifts. But torment,” a Cheshire smile spread across Lorcan’s face, contorting his sallow features. “Yes, there will be torment.”
Author Notes - Chris Raymond
Written March 21, 2018
Dear Fabulous Readers,
Right now, I feel like I am underwater, popping meds for a head cold that has kicked me in the face and is standing over me laughing. But you know what? I’m laughing right back.
Other than the clogged ears and pounding temples, I’m as happy as an author can get, because a few hours ago, Forgotten Gods (Book 1) snatched its first bestseller tag on Amazon and is hanging out with a fistful of five-star reviews!
Take that head cold!
And you know what? It is all because of you, the readers. You are all freaking awesome. Thank you for reading, reviewing, and engaging. It means the world to us!
In my last notes, I told you all that I started writing for an audience of one: my sweet daughter Simone. Even if she was the only person in the world that ever read those quirky books about a bunch of kids stranded mysteriously on an island, every painstaking word I punched out on the keyboard was totally worth it.
And she read them. And then she read them again and again.
Simone came up with the craziest questions about those kids, what happened to them, and how it all would end. We’d lay in her bed at night and discuss our favorite characters, funniest lines, and who she would “ship”. (That’s kid lingo for who she would put together in a relationship. I had to ask.)
Now, years later, I get to write stories for thousands of fans. I chat with some of you about favorite characters, you post funniest lines on Facebook, and some of you ask me, “How will it all end?”
Being a part-time author ain’t easy. I burn the midnight oil. Right now, most of my friends are in bed, binging Netflix, or finishing their second drink at the local bar. And I’m here, at my little table in my quiet kitchen writing to you.
And you know what?
Just like writing for Simone, every painstaking word of these books, every hour of sleep lost, every show not watched, and yes, even every drink not imbibed at the local dive is totally worth it!
Once I’m done with these notes, I’m tu
rning to wrap up edits on Forgotten Gods, book 3. Lee and I (AKA ST Branton) aren’t sure what it’s going to be called yet (hey, we need to get on that, Lee), but the story is pretty great.
Vic is growing in her role as hero, and she finds herself in a new place developing new friendships that will help her conquer another Forgotten God! It is fast paced and superfun, and the only thing it made me wish is that we could create the stories faster. I CAN’T WAIT to see where it all goes.
Speaking of which, I better get to it. The clock is ticking, and the gods are coming!
Cheers,
Chris
Here’s my big PS for this book: Lee and I are becoming pretty prolific as authors, and we have a decent backlist of books as well. If you want to make sure you NEVER miss a release, a giveaway, or one-day fan pricing, please take a minute to sign up for our mailing list.
You can do it here: https://www.subscribepage.com/smokeandsteelnews
Author Notes - Lee Barbant
Written March March 20, 2018
So, great news in the Barbant household. Baby Barbant has learned how to stand on his own. It’s an awesome milestone, and stressful as hell. I now have to baby proof my house two feet higher than before. At the rate he’s growing, my top cabinets will be locked down tight by the summer.
I’m a first-time dad, so everytime something like this happens, I freak out a little bit. It’s cliche, I know. I’m the parent from every diaper/laundry/band-aid commercial. It’s just that they change so fast, and I have so little control over when and how it’s going to happen.
Why didn’t anyone tell me that beforehand? You all are supposed to be looking out for me.
When I started writing, I thought I’d have total control over my characters, too. I mean, what are they going to do? Talk back? I CONTROL THE KEYBOARD. SAY NO ONE MORE TIME, AND YOU’LL SPEND ALL OF NEXT BOOK WADING THROUGH A SEWER.
