The Awakened World Boxed Set

by William Stacey

  "Go," she told him. His eyes met hers, and he hesitated. That was just like him, she knew, to think of her at a time like this. She remembered that time in Los Angeles when he had come back for her, saving her from a trio of ghouls when anyone else would have saved their own skin. “Go!” she repeated more forcefully.

  Mads nodded, turning away to slip through the door to his private chambers just as a long, drawn-out scream of pain froze him in place.

  Oh no, he's going to be an idiot, she thought.

  "We can do this toget—"

  "Mads, I have it! I've got your six." The last was practically a plea of desperation. Damn the stubborn, brave fool.

  The scream became a gurgled gasp, and then they heard the second guard open fire with his assault rifle, a long burst of fire that galvanized Mads.

  He spun away out the rear door, leaving her to do her job, and despite the adrenaline coursing through her blood, she heaved a sigh of relief. Thank you.

  She slipped out into the hallway. She loved Mads, always had, although she'd never act on that love, never even mention it to him. Somehow giving voice to her feelings would cheapen them. Mads had saved her from a fate far worse than whatever underworld hit men were coming, and she'd repay that debt no matter the cost.

  Jester faced the thick door leading to the stairs, her stance set. Besides, she had no intention of dying tonight. She was a better shot than anyone else in the city, maybe even better than the Seagraves. Whoever came through that door—if they even managed to get through—was going to get shot in the face.

  The heavyset security door exploded inward, and a massive dark shape stepped into the doorway. She fired, again and again, sending high-caliber pistol rounds into the intruder's face, but instead of dropping, he kept coming. The smell, my God!

  As the shaped moved into the light and she saw her opponent, she wet herself, wishing she had been the one to flee instead of Mads.

  Mads dashed through his Zen garden with its erotic Fey rice-paper paintings. Guilt twisted his insides. He shouldn't have left Jester. Despite their plans, despite how often they had considered this night, when his enemies came for him—or worse, the Seagraves—he felt like a coward.

  Like less than a coward.

  Astris, nude, burst out of his bedroom, fear in her beautiful Fey eyes. She ran to him, practically floating as her wings buzzed behind her. "What is it? What's happening?"

  Before he could answer, he heard the distinctive detonation of Jester's six-gun. In moments, the other woman had fired all six bullets. This had to be bad.

  He gripped Astris by the arm and dragged her to his bedroom. Just inside the doorway, he hit a secret button, and a section of the floor beside his bed slid back, revealing a hiding spot just large enough for a person to lie down. An assault rifle lay in the hiding space, one with a preloaded 20 mm grenade launcher. He took the rifle, oily to the touch, and thrust his pistol into Astris's hands. A second later, Jester began to scream in torment, a scream that sent a shiver down his spine. What could make Jester scream?

  "What's happening?" Astris wailed.

  He thrust the nymph into the hiding space. "Lie down. I'm closing it behind you."

  "What about you?" Her small fingers grasped at his chest, gripping the hairs.

  "Hurry." She didn't resist as he forced her to lie down. She stared up at him, her mouth trembling. "There's a lever on your right," he said, casting a glance over his shoulder at his Zen garden. "Do you feel it?"

  "I ... yes," she said, her fingers brushing the black lever.

  "Once I close the floorboard, pull the lever. You'll go down a slide. Don't worry, you'll be safe. You'll come out in the basement. There'll be another door leading into the alley."

  "What about you?"

  "Go home. Go back to your people, Astris. And ... thank you." He leaned over her and kissed her.

  "Wait!" She reached for him, but he had already pushed the button closing the hideaway. The cover slid into place seamlessly.

  Once it was closed, an intruder would never find it unless they ripped up the floorboards, and by then, Astris would be long gone. He slipped Nightfall through his belt and held the assault rifle tight to his shoulder, watching his Zen garden. He knew Astris didn't love him, had likely never really cared for him at all, but he was thankful just the same that she'd not be hurt. Jester had taught him that you could love someone without their loving you back.

  The heart wants who the heart wants.

  When the dark form burst through the doorway from his office, Mads squeezed the trigger on the grenade launcher.

  Astris hid beneath the floorboards, her tiny heart pounding faster than her wings ever could. In her right hand, she gripped the lever, but she couldn't bring herself to pull it and escape. To her very great surprise, she found she cared for the mortal Mads, if only a smidgen. But that wasn't why she hesitated. She had been sent here to do a job, and running away wasn't that job. She was hardly the bravest of her kind, but neither was she a coward. Astris squeezed the handle, resisting the urge to pull it.

  An explosion rocked the building. The walls shook. Even her bones shook!

  She did something then that no one here knew she was capable of: she cast a spell. A simple one, merely an illusion cantrip, but one that hid her presence, masking her smell, any sound she might make. Even if she were lying out in the open, most people would just let their eyes drift over her, never actually seeing her. It wasn’t invisibility, but it was close. Mads had never even guessed, but Astris was a mage, and a more than competent one at that.

  Then she heard Mads open fire with his weapon, a long burst of machine-gun fire. She heard the weapon falling to the floor, followed by Mads’s roar of defiance. Then came his scream, cut off abruptly. He began to whine in misery, worse than any wounded animal. That frightened her more than anything else, and she'd have pulled the lever now—if she weren't locked frigid with terror.

  Something heavy clumped across the floor, dragging another object, and through it all she heard Mads’s animal-like whines. If she hadn't been so terrified, she'd have screamed when the black sword point came through the floor just above her face, stopping barely an inch from her eyes.

  Blood dripped down the blade and onto her face.

  Chapter 23

  Angie left Erin in one of the bedrooms and made her way to Char's sanctum. It was just after midnight, and Char was readying herself for the divination ceremony. Erin refused to sleep, but Angie had at least convinced her to drink the mixture Char had prepared to calm her. Is Lewis Seagrave dead? As unlikely as this whole “I can sense my brothers” bit was, Angie kind of believed it. God only knows it's not the strangest thing I've heard lately.

  She rapped on the thick wooden door to Char's sanctum and then entered. Inside, Char sat on a love seat with Andrej, wearing another of her short satin robes, his hand on her thigh. At Angie's entrance, the hand slipped away. They were like teenagers sometimes.

  "How is she?" Char asked.

  "As bad as you'd think. The drink seemed to help."

  "It will calm her but can offer little true relief."

  "Do you believe her, that Lewis is dead?"

  Char placed her fingers on Andrej's shoulder. "My love, would you?"

  He kissed her fingers. "Of course." With only a glance at Angie, he rose, left the sanctum, and closed the door behind him.

  Angie watched Char.

  "I do," her adopted mother said. "This is not the first time I've heard of such a bond between members of a lycanthrope pack."

  "They're family, not a pack."

  "The distinction is one of preference." Char rose, pulling the hem of her gown close about her powerful legs. She approached Angie, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What disturbs me is why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Why sacrifice Lewis?"

  She backed away, letting Char's hand fall. She felt numb, a foreboding that had been growing all night. "Why do you think that they..."

  "Becaus
e that's what the Tzitzime do. They practice blood magic, sacrificial magic. If they felt they needed to sacrifice one of their precious werewolf prisoners, they did so for a reason, one we will not like."

  Angie turned away, drifted to one of the closed windows, and pushed it open, letting the warm night air blow against her face. She turned, facing Char. "Who or what, exactly, are these people, the Tzitzime? Earlier, you called them the Children of the Star-Eater?"

  Char made a noise in her throat as if she were growling to herself. Then she joined Angie near the window, glancing out into the dark jungle surrounding her beloved home. Not that far away, a hunting cat roared, briefly silencing the birds. The insects maintained their constant cadence though. The jungle air was as sweet as Angie remembered it, although not even nostalgia could settle her racing thoughts.

  Char inhaled deeply, her eyes closed. When she opened them again, she nodded. "I dislike speaking of these creatures, because doing so draws their attention, and possibly one's own doom, but you have a right to know what I do, at least what is safe to know. The Star-Eater that the Tzitzime worship is an ancient entity, so powerful it may as well be alien. I don't know what its true name is, but a thousand years ago, it was called Memnog, and humans revered it as a god, just as they did its two offspring. While Memnog is gone, his offspring, the Children of Memnog, are very real and quite possibly the most dangerous creatures on this world.

  "Their names you heard earlier—or at least the names their human worshipers gave them: Itzpapalotl, the Obsidian Butterfly; and Tezcatlipoca, the Lord of the Smoking Mirror. The cult of human fools who worship them, the Tzitzime, call them the Blessed Twins. Others have named them the Twin Deaths."

  "What do they want?"

  "I do not know," Char said sadly. "None of the Fey Council do, or at least none will admit to knowing. But the one thing we are all agreed upon is that they are hostile to both humanity and Fey. The Tzitzime serve only their own inevitable death, no matter what lies they tell themselves."

  "Then why serve them?"

  Char snorted softly, the trace of a smile on her lips. "Power. The same reason anyone ever serves an evil master. The twins teach their human servants blood magic. They are behind centuries of death in the southern lands. I could not even begin to imagine how many hearts have been cut from living corpses to power their foul magic. Enough for the Aztalan Empire to grow from the ashes of what was once Central America.

  "But as powerful as the twins are, they are not without their own formidable foes, others such as them. They hide from those foes, employing surrogates such as Mother Smoke Heart to do their bidding. But their enemies also employ heroes."

  "You're talking about this man, the were-jaguar Tec?"

  She inclined her head. "He serves a powerful master, one I will not thwart. I shall release this man, this Teccizcoatl. Ephix will be angry, but she will understand. I must protect my own people." She sighed, fanning her face with her hand. "Just helping your friend risks bringing us into this secret war."

  "They started it, Mother. They tried to kill me, would have killed me if not for Erin, and again last night if not for Tec."

  "I know." She wrapped an arm and a wing around Angie as she stared out the window. "I will help your friend this night, and not just because they tried to hurt you, not just because they insult me by attacking my own daughter on my very doorstep, but because I choose to do this thing. These Tzitzime are a stain upon the land."

  Angie slipped her arm around Char's waist and gave her a quick squeeze, her emotions running loose. "Thank you." They remained like that for some minutes, quietly holding one another and listening to the zoo's animals. Finally, in a small voice, Angie asked, "Mother, what's a source mage?"

  Char stiffened, only for an instant, but it was there just the same. "I'm sure I don't know, daughter."

  Angie drew back. "Why are you lying to me?"

  Char turned, her dark face a storm of emotions. "Where did you hear this term?"

  "A dream, of that night."

  Char's breath rushed out. "Well then, there you are. Why worry about a dream?"

  "Because it wasn't just a dream. It happened. With all the other PTSD problems I was having, I must have suppressed the memory of a voice in my head—until the night the Tzitzime drugged me and kidnapped me from the hospital." Angie knew she was starting to hyperventilate again, but she couldn't help it, couldn't calm down. "Maybe it was the drugs they gave me, but I dreamed so clearly that time. It was like I was right back there again that night. I had heard a voice, a voice inside my own head telling me to rise and fight, calling me a source mage."

  Char stepped closer, her hand reaching for Angie. "Calm yourself, daughter."

  But Angie, unwilling to be placated, backed up farther until her rear hit the edge of one of Char's tables, knocking over a glass jar to shatter on the wooden floor, scattering small beads. "What aren't you telling me? It was the Other that night, wasn't it, that damned fire-demon that possessed me in this very room."

  "I ... I think ... maybe yes."

  "How? How, Mother? How does a shade speak? They're not supposed to be intelligent."

  "Different does not mean unintelligent. And whatever it is, it is far more than any simple shade."

  Is. Not was.

  Char's eyes widened in realization at what she had just said. "Daughter..."

  "It's still inside me, isn't it?" she whispered, knowing it for truth the moment she said it. A part of her had already known or at least suspected. "That's how I cast such a powerful Shockwave spell in the alley and didn't die. It's still inside me."

  Char's face fell, and she stared at the floor. "Yes. You're still bonded with it. Even I don't have the skills to exorcise such a powerful entity. All I could manage was to wall it up within your psyche, to hide your ability to feel it." She looked up, meeting Angie's eyes. "There is no grandmaster mage alive who could exorcise such a thing. You are bonded with this entity you call the Other and will be bonded for the rest of your life. Nothing I do will ever change this. But you don't have to be—"

  Angie spun away, retreating farther, her emotions a storm. Inside me. It's still inside me, the fire demon. Once again, she saw that night, saw the flames spiraling from her hands, twisting and moving on their own, hunting down the Norteno soldiers and burning them alive. "Cursed. I'm cursed."

  "You are not cursed. You're different. You've always been different."

  "I've always been weaker than the others."

  "Nonsense. That's Nathan speaking. And he only sees what he wants to see. His pride blinds him to the truth. You can be far more powerful than he or any other human mage ever was. In time. With the Other's help. That's why it bonded with you that night so long ago. It sensed you were different, worthy."

  The laugh-sob that slipped from Angie's lips sounded nearly hysterical to her own ears. "Worthy." She practically spat the word at her adopted mother. "I killed a man, two actually, even though one was little more than a boy. I killed them with a touch. I literally stole their life force, their mana. Except it wasn’t me, it was the Other. It took their lives, took them and then used me to cast spells no one should be able to cast."

  "I ... I can't explain that. But I think it's tied to your gift, your ability to sense the life force of others."

  "How?" The last was a yell.

  "Daughter," Char said, the anguish straining her usually proud voice. She shook her head. "There are things even I don't know, but you are miserable because you fight against your true nature. You must make peace with yourself. It is the only way. Accept what you are."

  Angie stormed to the door.

  "Daughter, wait!"

  She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, spoke without turning to look at Char. "I'll do this thing tonight. Then I'll help Erin get her brothers back. After that, I'm returning to Nathan, to the unit, to people who really care about me."

  "I care about you. I love you. He never did."

  "I'll never forgive you."
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  "Angela, please."

  She stormed out.

  As Angie left, Char held her face in her hands, her eyes watering. How long had it been since she had last cried? A dozen years? More? She’d always thought she was made of sterner material.

  She felt a presence materialize behind her, smelled the acrid smoke drift through the air. "How long have you been there?"

  A hand, with small fingers, surprisingly gentle, touched her shoulder. "Long enough," Ephix said.

  Char inhaled deeply, rubbing her eyes and forcing herself to deal with the issues of this night. "She hates me."

  "She doesn't understand. How could she when even you and I do not?"

  "I never should have put her near it."

  "Destiny, sister. The two are destined to be as one. Whether or not you were involved, they still would have bonded. One way or another."

  "It hurts, sister. Seeing her suffer like this."

  "You need to tell her everything."

  Char spun to face Ephix, now appearing as a young woman once more. "I can't. Not that. She's not strong enough, not yet."

  "She may never be strong enough, but she deserves to know the truth."

  "Not that," Char repeated. "It would kill her."

  Chapter 24

  Angie waited beside Erin as Char prepared the divination spell to locate Erin's brothers. It was just before three a.m., a time that Char insisted was of magical significance. Andrej and a handful of Char's servants waited nearby, forming a circle with lit torches around Char, Angie, and Erin.

  The night sky was cloudless and lit by millions of bright stars, as well as a bright quarter moon. They stood on an open field of tall grass, the former elephant enclosure. A hundred yards away sat a moss-covered lagoon. The elephants were long dead, one of the first casualties of the Awakening.