The Spawn of Lilith
Page 1
CONTENTS
Cover
Also By Dana Fredsti
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
Appendix
Acknowledgments
About the Author
ALSO BY DANA FREDSTI
THE ASHLEY PARKER NOVELS
Plague Town
Plague Nation
Plague World
A Man’s Gotta Eat What a Man’s Gotta Eat (e-original novella)
BY DANA FREDSTI AND DAVID FITZGERALD
Time Shards (January 2018)
TITAN BOOKS
THE SPAWN OF LILITH
Print edition ISBN: 9781785652608
Electronic edition ISBN: 9781785652615
Published by Titan Books
A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd
144 Southwark St, London SE1 0UP
First edition: June 2017
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2017 Dana Fredsti. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
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This one’s for Mom (aka Dorothy Carol Galante).
I am so proud to have been one of your spawn.
I wish you were here to read this.
PROLOGUE
Yahweh created Adam. When he did so, Adam was lonely, so Yahweh created Lilith from the same dust from which Adam had been molded. But Adam wished to rule over Lilith, and they quarreled.
Lilith was proud and willful, claiming equality with Adam because she was created from the same dust. She left Adam and fled the Garden, finding love with Ashmedai, a handsome demigod. Yahweh sent three angels in pursuit of Lilith. They caught her and ordered her to return to Adam. She refused, saying she would kill children, infants, and babes if forced to return.
The angels overpowered her, and she promised that if any mother hung an amulet over the baby bearing the names of the three angels, she would stay away from that home. So they let her go, but Yahweh, still angry at her disobedience, turned most of Lilith’s children into demons, which multiplied and plagued mankind.
Yahweh then imprisoned Lilith. She would remain imprisoned until such time as her human descendants could destroy all of her demon offspring.
Or so the legend goes…
“It does not pay a prophet to be too specific.”
—L. Sprague de Camp
“Danger is a very rare commodity in these times,
monopolized by intelligence agencies and stuntmen.”
—William S. Burroughs
CHAPTER ONE
VAMPSHEE: THE NETHERWORLD CHRONICLES, PART I
EXT – NIGHT – ROOFTOP
CONNOR, handsome half-werewolf, half-selkie, stands on a rooftop as LELA, half-vampire, half-banshee, balances precariously on the edge of the roof.
CUT TO:
CU – THE UNFORGIVING CEMENT BELOW
CONNOR
Lela! Don’t do it!
Lela looks at her lover, sadness and resignation in her eyes.
LELA
I have to, Connor. There’s no place for me in this world. I bring nothing but death, either by the taking of blood or the heralding of impending death.
Death. Nothing but death!
She moves even closer to the edge, teetering precariously in her stiletto-heeled boots, despite her supernatural vampiric grace.
CONNOR
No! Before you, my life WAS death! A slow living death as I tried to find my place in this world. As my two sides, werewolf and selkie, warred against each other. You bring both of my halves peace. A contentment and peace neither half has known before.
ANGLE ON LELA
…as she stares at Connor with deep sadness in her eyes.
LELA
I thought our love would be enough to quell my vampiric thirst for blood, and stop the banshee in me from its lethal wail. But it’s not. I can’t bear living by causing death.
CONNOR
Lela, I’m begging you…
LELA (interrupting him)
I’ll always love you, Connor. I’m sorry.
Lela steps off the edge, vanishing from sight.
Connor falls to his knees and raises his hands skyward, shaking his fists.
CONNOR
NO!!!!
* * *
That’s where I stepped in.
Dressed in Lela’s skintight pants, billowing trench coat, tank top, and thigh-high boots—all made of black leather except the tank top, which was a blood-red satin—I took my place at the edge of the roof, staring down three stories to where my best friend the airbag waited for me, just out of sight and situated far enough away from the building wall to compensate for the distance my body would push outward before dropping.
Pesky physics.
The street had been cleared of cars, garbage bins, and people. The stunt coordinator and three spotters waited below. Three different cameras waited to catch the fall from three different angles.
This film had a big budget for a piece of shit.
I was doubling for English film star Kaley Avondale. My landing in the airbag would be replaced in the editing bay with a shot of Lela’s leather-clad corpse. Never mind that she’d be back for Rise of the Vampshees: The Netherworld Chronicles II.
“Ready, Lee?”
I gave the director a thumbs-up, then stared down into the void. My airbag awaited me, some forty feet down.
I’d checked the placement with the stunt coordinator. Cleared the area of anything extraneous that might interfere with my trajectory. I�
�d run the stunt over and over, visualizing the perfect fall and landing. A basic deadfall. Nothing fancy or complicated, and nothing I hadn’t done a gazillion times before.
And yet…
See, with every stunt—but especially high falls—there’s a moment when it’s all up to you. You make the decision. Once you push off with your back foot, that’s it. There’s no turning back.
That moment is special. It dictates that you still have so much respect for the business that it’s more important to dive into the unknown and risk injury, possibly death, than to say, “I’m sorry, I’m scared. I can’t do it.”
It’s the moment when everyone is waiting for you to go.
So I went.
* * *
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was how much my head hurt.
We’re not talking your basic headache here, or even a bad migraine. No, this felt like my skull was stuck between two wrecking balls—one in back and one in front—both smashing into it at regular pulsing intervals.
The second thing I noticed was the smell of antiseptic and bleach.
A hospital?
I heard the sound of beeping and the gentle pulsing of what was either a mellow Darth Vader or an oxygen machine. I tried to move my arms, but they wouldn’t cooperate.
“I think she’s awake!”
A familiar voice, but one I couldn’t place because of whatever was trying to crack open my skull. I tried turning toward the sound, but my head remained stubbornly where it was. When I tried to lift my right hand, something jerked it back into place. Even that minimal effort, however, was enough to drive one last spike of pain straight through my eye.
I slid back into blissful unconsciousness.
* * *
Next time I woke up, the two wrecking balls attacking my head had evidently been replaced by someone gently pounding nails into my skull.
“Lee? You awake?”
That same familiar voice.
I opened my eyes and found myself nose to nose with a man. I yelped in surprise—although the yelp was more of a croak, as if I hadn’t used my voice in a while. The man jerked his head back slightly, then leaned forward eagerly.
“Lee, honey. Do you know me?”
I stared at the face hovering above mine. Shaggy blond hair, sky-blue eyes, handsome, slightly weathered man in his fifties or thereabouts. I recognized him, I knew I did, but the name swirled around in a cloud of pain and fog.
Uncle Sean. The answer appeared in my head as if someone had flicked on a convenient neon sign. But I usually just call him Sean. And he’s not really…
The thought unraveled before it could finish forming.
“Sean?” My voice barely reached a whisper. My throat hurt.
His face broke into a relieved smile.
“Oh, thank God.”
The sound of Sean’s voice—warm, concerned, and familiar—sent slow tears trickling down my face. The feel of liquid on my skin made me aware of how thirsty I was.
“Water?” I croaked.
“Sure. Sure, hon.”
He vanished from sight, then reappeared with a plastic cup, complete with sippy straw. He carefully put the tip of the straw between my lips.
I took a sip, the cool water like ambrosia to my parched throat.
“Where—” I started to cough. It hurt like hell.
“Don’t try and talk, hon,” Sean said. “You’re in the hospital and your neck is in a brace, understand? You took a bad fall and… broke a few things.”
A few things? What few things?
My back?
My neck?
My eyes must have mirrored my fears because he patted me clumsily on one leg. I couldn’t see the movement, but I could feel it, which reassured me that I wouldn’t be paralyzed.
“Why can’t I move?” The words were weak, but clear.
“You’re wrapped in a shit ton of plaster and what not to keep you still so all the sprains, strains, and fractures can start healing up. Your neck and back were wrenched pretty badly.” He shook his head. “You took quite a pounding, but you’ll be okay. It’ll just take some time.”
“How long—”
Another coughing fit. He brought the straw back up to my lips. I sipped gratefully, the cool water soothing the burning ache in my throat. As I drank, Sean answered my last question.
“You’ve been out of it for over a week.” He paused, swallowing heavily. “We thought we’d lost you, Lee.”
“What happened?”
“The airbag. Some damn fool overfilled it and it got shifted a few feet sometime between your last rehearsal and the actual take. Marty—”
Marty, I thought. Stunt coordinator.
“—is still out for blood. No one’s manned up yet, though. At any rate, your mark was off, you landed in the wrong place, bounced off into the building and then hit the sidewalk. Even you couldn’t handle it.”
I vaguely remembered the wind rushing up to greet me as I fell, but the memories thankfully ended with the moment I hit the canvas, and not when my entire body smashed into the cement.
“Musta looked like Wile E. Coyote, huh?”
Sean gave a surprised snort of laughter.
“Yeah, kinda.” He patted me again, just as awkwardly the second time around.
“That close, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Both of us ignored the way his voice choked up on that one word. Neither of us had ever been much for overt displays of emotion. Then he leaned forward, pressing something into my hand. It was cool and metallic. I couldn’t see it and I couldn’t close my fingers around it either.
“It’s your necklace,” he said. “The one your mom gave you. I found it with your clothes and bag in your dressing room.”
I struggled to remember what he was talking about. An image flashed in my mind, another one of those little neon bursts. An amulet on a leather cord.
“Can you keep it somewhere safe for me until…” I trailed off, unsure how to end that sentence. Until I could walk? Stand? Get the brace off my neck?
“Sure.”
Sean removed the necklace again, putting it in his pocket.
“It’ll be waiting for you, don’t you worry.”
After a few seconds I said, “Gotta ask you another question.”
Sean nodded. “Shoot.”
“Am I gonna get out of here soon?”
Sean knew me well enough to realize what I was really asking. He hesitated.
“It’s gonna be a while before you can get back to work, Lee. Maybe a few months. You’re gonna have to take small steps.”
A few months. I could live with that.
“Maybe even a year.”
Now that might be a problem.
* * *
“I’m hungry.”
“It’s too soon.”
“I don’t care.”
“Shhhh… You don’t mean that.”
“You haven’t always been this selfish.” Sala looked at her brother, visible in the mirror above the bar. He gazed back at her sadly.
“But you have. I just never noticed.”
She ignored that, instead pointing across the dimly lit club, where dozens of toned bodies clad in the latest expensive or knock-off fashions writhed to a repetitive techno-beat. An auditory tranquilizer.
“Look. That one,” she said.
He followed Sala’s gaze, honing in on her choice. A young ripe brunette, lushly figured, thick mane swinging in time to the beat like something out of a shampoo commercial. All impossibly glossy and perfect.
He grabbed her arm. “Sala, no.”
Sala’s stomach growled.
He heard it. And let her go.
She made her way across the dance floor, gliding between the dancers like smoke through cracks in a wall. Within seconds she stood in front of her target. The girl’s beauty rivaled Aphrodite.
Like any rival for a goddess, her fate was inevitable.
Sala waited until the girl paused in her
gyrations, giving her time to notice who stood before her. Brown eyes widened and a small pink tongue darted out to lick naturally full lips. Even in her current fragile state, Sala still commanded worship.
“Hello,” Sala said.
“Hi.” Voice breathless.
“Would you like to dance?”
“Oh, yes.”
They linked hands, fingers entwined. The music slowed as if in sympathy with Sala’s intent. Their two bodies swayed together in sensual rhythm, hands caressing up and down. Sala so very slender, even sinuous in contrast to the other’s full figure.
Slowly, she subtly maneuvered her partner across the room. The crowd seemed to part ahead of them, yet no one seemed to actually see them. Invisible, yet making their presence known.
The two left the dance floor and headed toward the hallway leading to the bathrooms and the back exit. Once outside in the alley, they began kissing, the girl’s hands buried deep in Sala’s hair, while Sala cupped her partner’s rounded ass in both hands.
Soft velvety kisses, tasting of mint and tequila. Under the lone light shining above the back door, the girl’s pink and fuchsia silk dress seemed spattered with clots of blood, instead of flowers.
They broke apart briefly, the girl panting with equal parts exertion and lust. Her breasts heaved in the low-cut halter top of her dress. She stared at Sala, eyes glazed with desire.
“I’m Mindy,” she breathed. “Why haven’t I noticed you before?”
“I don’t often come to this place.”
“This club?” Mindy reached out and touched the fine lines of Sala’s face. Sala caught her hand, her own slender fingers stronger than they looked.
“No,” she whispered, leaning forward to gently lick the soft curve of Mindy’s ear.
“Where, then?” Her question was lost against Sala’s lips as the two kissed again, tongues twining together.
“This world.”
Sala breathed the words into Mindy’s mouth. She reached one hand inside the girl’s top, hand cupping the full breast inside. The other hand curved around Mindy’s neck, pulling her even closer into a deepening kiss.
At first it felt like little tingles of electricity, tiny sparks going off in Mindy’s mouth wherever Sala’s tongue touched her. The frisson shot through her body straight to her groin, a pulsing energy that had her shuddering to orgasm in seconds. Even as those waves started to subside, more jolts of electricity rippled through her, just skating the line between pleasure and pain.