by Brett Adams
“―other than that it has to do with your wife.
Yes. Your instincts are right. She lives.
Please be quick.
Love?
Evelyne Speigh.”
For a moment I was struck dumb to my heels.
But only for a moment.
I took my coat back off the peg and re-slung it across my shoulders. I stalked into the bedroom, and unclipped my holster. I laid it and the Lady Smith snug at the back of the second drawer.
I went to the bookshelf where the record player lay silent. I felt under its edge for the catch and popped it. I swung it up and took a moment to gaze on what lay beneath.
A Russian KBP GSh-18 Pistol. Light as a Glock; able to pack armor piercing 9mm rounds. Grade AA, for Apology Accepted. No true safety catch. In my opinion, the most dangerous handgun ever carried, in either New York...
I call it the Black Russian.
I lifted it from its cradle, hefted it once, then strapped its holster against my flank. The wound there had finally stopped weeping.
Then I strode to the mirror in the hall.
I paused to appraise myself like I had done all those weeks before. For a moment I didn’t recognize myself. I couldn’t say what had changed. Maybe the Black Russian was pulling me off-center.
After nine years I’d tripped across a line to Grace. It was live, and its energy coursed through me.
The clock on the corridor wall was visible in the mirror. It read 10.37 PM.
So close to midnight and I was heading wild-side. I was done with the Cinderella act.
Steel don’t feel? Who said that? It’s bullshit. It feels, all right.
But it sharpens too.
And Newer York was about to feel its blade.
I stepped through.
Connect with the Author
For updates on what’s stirring the waters of the Dweoming Well:
Subscribe Email: http://eepurl.com/pUSvP
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DweomingWell
Facebook: http://facebook.com/DweomingWell
Goodreads: http://goodreads.com/author/show/6860949.Brett_Adams
Discover other Titles by Brett Adams
DARK MATTER ― Rasputin “Monk” Lowdermilk wanted to end it all. But when he is run down by a car on the way to his suicide, he finds that life is just beginning.
As he recovers from Chrysler-induced head trauma, he begins to discover strange new abilities. He can draw portraits so precise they look like photographs. He can remember with flawless clarity everything he’s ever seen or heard, no matter how trivial. He can read strangers so well it verges on telepathy.
But with these gifts come strange visions tinged with menace. And the one thing Rasputin doesn’t know is that his new abilities have been noticed, by ancient and evil forces who recognise what the gifts mean and what they will become. Unfortunately, his new life is only of benefit to them if he’s dead.
Dark Matter is a cerebral mystery that plays fair ― and dares you to solve it.
