Rise of the Discordant: The Complete Five Book Series

by Christina McMullen

  With one pitying look back, Donna followed me to her car.

  “Damn it!” she swore as the Buick’s speedometer crept towards ninety.

  “A friend?”

  Donna looked over at me in surprise and laughed. “What, Jim? Hell no. I hate that asshole. That’s what pisses me off. Stupid Discordant! Always forcing me to have compassion for jerks who have only themselves to blame for getting into these messes. Isn’t there supposed to be a Guardian or something to take care of this?”

  “There is,” I assured her. As frustrated as I was with the fact that we still had no new Guardian posted, I was glad to see that Donna had finally forgotten Abbey. “What’s this guy’s story? Who is Suzanne?”

  “Jim’s one of Betty’s exes,” she said in a way that suggested this should explain everything. When I gave her a look that said it didn’t, she continued. “Betty has the worst taste in men. Like, you know the stereotypical chick who thinks every toad she kisses is a prince in disguise? That’s Betty and that’s how she met Jim. He was dating a harpy.”

  “Suzanne?”

  “That would be Suzanne,” she confirmed. “Betty was the one who realized what was up and banished her. Next thing we know, Betty feels sorry for him and then the two of them are dating. Jim turns out to be an unemployed sponge. He’s lazy and manipulative, and now he’s completely addicted to painkillers because of how many times he’s faked injuries to get out of working for a living. Shit, Amara probably didn’t even have to have sex with him. She probably just told him she’d pay his bills.”

  It was difficult to feel sympathy for someone like that, but such characters were simply part of what balanced the Cycle. Jim’s punishment would come in the next phase of his soul’s journey, if it survived that long. My job was to try to ensure that this happened. If Myrna was correct, there was hope, however slight. My only hope was that Seth could provide some insight as to who he was, and who might have the missing fragment of his soul before it was too late.

  Chapter 9

  The Storm Before the Calm

  Donna and Desmond beat us to the Five Penny because Louise insisted that we stop and pick up something to eat, since our dinner plans had been ruined. Well, sort of. Mostly we were delayed because Louise couldn’t decide between Taco Bell and Subway. Then we had to stop at Starbucks, where she agonized over whether she wanted her drink iced or hot and added about twenty special instructions to confuse the poor kid behind the counter. Desmond’s frown said he wasn’t happy with the delay, but I just shrugged and handed over the large coffee I had picked up as a peace offering. Betty was already there, having come directly from her shop down the street, and had been chatting with Bogie when we walked in.

  “So, exactly what happened before I showed up?” Desmond asked me.

  The Five Penny was mostly empty. The crowds didn’t start pouring in until nine or ten, so we had time to sit down and discuss what had happened before Desmond was forced to chase Discordant out of the bar all night. I recounted the day in detail, beginning with Amara’s unexpected appearance in my office and ending with the near brawl at the restaurant.

  “By the way, lunch was perfect,” I told Bogie with a wink.

  “If I’da known you was gonna use my pasta as ammunition, I woulda added more of a kick,” he said, reaching over to give me a high five. “I had a hunch she was plannin’ on playin’ dirty.”

  “I just can’t believe Jim’s such an idiot,” Betty said with a disgusted sigh. “I mean, he is an idiot, but that Amara chick is so obvious! I mean, after a harpy, you think he’d know better.”

  “Oh, don’t you start feeling bad for him,” Louise warned her. “Look, what’s that saying? You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” Desmond said. To be honest, neither did I.

  “All I’m saying is that if we’re going to end up losing someone because we can’t do anything about this chick in time, at least it wasn’t some poor innocent soul.”

  “Damn, Louise,” Donna exclaimed with a low whistle. “That’s harsh. Even for you.”

  Louise shrugged. “I’m just saying. Jim Parker doesn’t have a moral bone in his body. I’m not surprised he fell for not one, but two Discordant. He’s a path of least resistance kind of a guy.”

  “I don’t really care how amoral he is, no one deserves that,” I cut in, more than a little queasy that Louise could be so callous about a soul. “There’s got to be some way to break her spell or do something to save him.”

  “I don’t know of anything,” Donna said, chewing distractedly on her nails. “But there is hope.” She slid a look at Desmond, who seemed uncomfortable. “Maybe.”

  “How’s that?” I asked, turning my attention to Desmond as well.

  “It’s a slim hope,” he said, raising his hands to emphasize his point. “We paid a visit to Myrna Rose today. She seems to think that your soul was martyred prior to your last cycle. She also thinks that when you gave up your life, you gave up a piece of your soul to protect another.”

  “Oh come on. Really?” I laughed. I couldn’t help it and there was little humor in the sound. I laughed because what Desmond described was not the way of the Cycle. That I could be strong enough to take on the role of martyr in one life only to fall weakly to the Discordant in another seemed absurd and highly unlikely.

  Yet still, I had no reason to believe Myrna was mistaken. Like her daughter, Myrna was more Discordant than human and this made her a powerful psychic. While some, like Desmond, would be skeptical, her ability to see beyond the Cycle had not failed us yet.

  “Come on, Seth,” Donna chided. “I know what you’re thinking, but it can happen.”

  “Okay, but how does this help us?” I asked. “Without a Guardian, we can’t look into my past lives and even if we could, what would it matter unless we knew who had the missing piece of my soul. We would be looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “She seemed to be under the impression that if anyone could discover this, it would be me,” Desmond answered with a look that conveyed his discomfort. I couldn’t blame him. That was one hell of a burden to place on his shoulders. Still though, hadn’t the Creator noted that Desmond and I had met before? The connection was there. We both felt it.

  “Is there anyone from your last cycle that I remind you of?” I asked hopefully.

  “One,” he answered with a flat, slightly uncomfortable smile. “But even though she had a tendency to put the needs of others before her own, she was not a martyr. It has to go back farther than both our previous lives. I read through Myrna’s genealogy book with the hope that perhaps it would give me some clues, but nothing stood out. Without a Guardian, I am just going to have to keep my eyes open.”

  “Well,” I sighed and tried to put a positive spin on the information we had gathered. “If there’s any place on Earth that attracts the unusual, it’s Blackbird. We at least have that going in our favor.”

  The words were barely out of my mouth when the air in the bar shifted dramatically. Desmond and I both looked to the door and the small group of vampires that stood on the stairs. Our wards were strong enough to give them pause, but only just. They could sense everything that I could. The evening crowd had slowly trickled in and the weight of their collective emotions was beginning to edge into my conscious. No lost souls in the crowd yet, but the overall vibe was unpleasant. The vampires hovered, drinking in the unease and waiting patiently for a victim to happen by.

  “Oh come on! It’s not even ten yet,” Desmond groaned. “Can you help me get them outside?” he asked the witches.

  “I’m on it. How do I feel?” Betty asked me as she altered her emotional state to one of gut-wrenching turmoil.

  “Migraine inducing,” I answered with a wince. “They won’t be able to resist. Be careful.”

  Betty slunk past the vampires and up to the street. They barely waited twenty seconds before following and Desmond waited even less before following them.

&
nbsp; “I gotta bad feeling about this.” Bogie raised his eyes in the direction of the back door, which led to the alley. More Discordant. Two pixies who were dressed like club kids were trying to make their way through the wards.

  “Is that short one the same little twit from last night?” Louise asked.

  “I think so,” Donna answered and stood up. “It is so on,” she added, dousing herself in pixie repellant before handing the bottle over to Louise.

  “Thank you, Bogie,” I said, giving the demon a smile as the girls chased the pixies out the door. “Has Desmond come around on the binding yet?”

  “I ain’t tried to leave the area or nothin’, but I don’t gotta worry about stockin’ the shelves or washin’ the glasses no more. It’s a start, right?”

  Thank goodness for small favors because I was going to need Bogie’s help in spotting the threats. For the next several hours, it was more of the same. We would identify a Discordant and either Desmond or the witches would be dispatched to put an end to them. Bogie kept an eye on the bar and I made the rounds, looking for those most vulnerable.

  Notably absent were Amara and her latest victim. I had a feeling we wouldn’t be seeing either of them, but I found this to be even more unsettling than if she had come in to torment me. The only comfort I could take was in the fact that as long as she was trying to enslave Jim’s soul, she wouldn’t be out trying to ensnare others. Even a creature as greedy as Amara knew there were limits and for that, I was grateful.

  At around midnight, I encountered my first lost soul. Both the witches and Desmond were otherwise occupied and the overall vibe had become so downcast that I was no longer sure how long our wards would hold. The owner of the lost soul sat alone in a corner booth, nursing a drink and wearing a defeated expression similar to those I saw on a daily basis at the unemployment office. Whatever it was that had brought him down had taken hold and wasn’t letting go. Not having much in the way of options, I went to the bar and asked Bogie to keep an eye on him.

  “I have been,” he said, eyeing the lone figure in the booth. “His name is Gary, he’s new in town, and somethin’ is eatin’ at him big time. I could, uh… probe if you’d like.”

  I gave Bogie a sideways stare. Sometimes it was too easy to forget he’s a Discordant.

  “Not like that,” he amended. “I ain’t gonna give the guy a nervous breakdown or nothin’. I was just gonna see what’s eatin’ him. It might could help you keep the wrong elements away.”

  “Fine. Just be careful,” I sighed, momentarily distracted when I felt the presence of another lost soul. Bogie and I both turned to see a woman walk into the bar. Her outward appearance gave away nothing, but the amount of turmoil rolling off of her was enough to knock me over. I’ll give Bogie credit, though. He took her order, made her drink, and ran her card without giving away the fact that he knew anything was amiss. He even managed to get a chuckle out of her with one of his jokes. But when he came back to where I waited, he looked sick.

  “I didn’t even have to do nothin’. She’s an open book and it ain’t good.”

  “How not good are we talking?”

  “Murder type not good.”

  I nearly dropped the beer I was holding. “Are you sure?”

  He looked over his shoulder to confirm that the woman wasn’t paying us any attention. “She offed her husband and she’s still in shock. She’s got a good case for self-defense, but only if the police get to her before the Discordant.”

  For a town with as many Discordant issues as Blackbird, we had a relatively low crime rate and an almost nonexistent homicide rate. A case like this could catch the attention of the news networks as far away as Chicago and St. Louis, which might give us some bad publicity, but that was preferable to what the Discordant could do with someone like that.

  “Do you want the details?” Bogie asked when I didn’t say anything for a good long moment. “’Cuz I sure as heck ain’t got the imaginations to make that stuff up.”

  A glance around the bar left me frustrated. On any given night, there was at least one off duty police officer kicking back at the Five Penny. It figured that tonight, there would be none.

  “Okay,” I sighed, knowing I might regret my decision. “Do you think you might… That is… Could you perhaps get her to open up without doing any permanent damage?”

  “You want me to get a confession?” Bogie’s smile was endearing, if not completely inappropriate for the situation.

  “Don’t go nuts,” I said with a note of caution. “Just, maybe get her to talk a little. Make sure you’ve got the police on speed dial and whatever you do, don’t let her leave.” I turned to check on our other lost soul and deflated when I saw an empty glass and empty booth. Gary was gone. I only hoped he was stronger than the woman at the bar because I also sensed that more Discordant had come in while I was distracted. My long day was shaping up to be an even longer night.

  By the time we closed, I had identified six lost souls. With the exception of the one who left, Bogie and I were able to keep the remaining five from falling to the Discordant. Of course, we really couldn’t take too much credit. Watching a woman publicly confess to murder and be arrested was enough of a distraction to make most of the lost think twice about what was eating them on their own.

  Still, six lost souls in one night was dangerous. Without a Guardian, things could have ended much worse than they did. Desmond and the witches still had Discordant to track down, and after the bar was cleaned up and locked up, Bogie decided to use his newfound freedom to assist in the search. As much as I wanted to help and felt partially responsible, I barely had the energy to drag myself up the stairs.

  * * *

  Amara didn’t dare try to visit me at work the next day or the day after that, but she didn’t have to. I was used to staggering amounts of hopelessness in the unemployment office, but I had not anticipated the sudden shift for the worse. It seemed as if every person who walked through my door was lost. Even those coming to pick up their weekly disbursement of funds, which should have at least lessened their troubles, were far beyond the point where I could save them with a few words of encouragement.

  Without a Guardian, there was little that Desmond or I could do. Whatever was drawing the Discordant to Blackbird continued to do so in droves. In addition to our typical vampires and pixies, werewolves weren’t the only oddity. We were getting the gamut, including several demons. Fortunately, Bogie had been able to convince most of them that they were wasting their time in Blackbird.

  Notably absent, however, was the one creature with the ability to end it all. I’d yet to hear a report of an angel making its way to Blackbird. That this disappointed me was disturbing and something that, for my own sanity, I could not ignore. No one in their right mind has ever wished for the presence of an angel. That they were rare even in the worst of times was fortunate, as their destructive nature had been responsible for the extinction of entire races in eras past. Still, I couldn’t shake the very dangerous feeling that an encounter with an angel would be an easy way to put an end to everyone’s misery, including mine.

  It didn’t help that the increase in Discordant traffic meant that we’d had no time at all to work on figuring out who held the missing piece of my soul. Part of me wished that Myrna had kept that bit of knowledge to herself. I couldn’t help but feel as if the small shred of hope in a hopeless situation only served to make things worse in the end.

  By the noon hour on Friday, I couldn’t deal with the bombardment anymore. I was becoming as lost as those around me. Funny how less than a week earlier, I had balked when the Creator suggested returning to the Cycle. At the time, I considered it a move of weakness. Now that it was no longer an option, I was so desperate for the peace that can only be found in oblivion that I was considering the destruction of my own soul. I needed guidance. I needed to speak to the Creator. I shut my office door, even though I knew I would be gone less than a fraction of a second, and slipped out of the Cycle.

&n
bsp; * * *

  “I detect a certain measure of distrust,” said the Creator as it studied its paws. Today it appeared as the cunning Coyote. Seth watched with mild amusement as the trickster god walked upright on its back legs in a manner that mimicked the movements of man.

  “Forgive me for speaking bluntly, but I believe there is information that you have deliberately kept from me for purposes unknown.”

  “Have I?” the Creator’s whiskers twitched. “If you are referring to the fact that your soul and Desmond’s are known to one another, I have disclosed through Desmond rather than to you directly, but I have held nothing back.”

  “But you have told neither of us who the other is,” Seth accused. “My soul is at stake.”

  “You seek an answer, Seth,” the Creator stated. “An answer that I am unable to provide. To maintain the balance of the Cycle, my role is to create, not to affect.”

  Seth’s shoulders slumped. “What about our Guardian?” he asked.

  “Admin informs me that you will have your Guardian soon. Perhaps as soon as the weekend.”

  “But by then, more souls will be lost,” Seth countered, adding, “Quite possibly my own.”

  “Have faith, Seth. In the Cycle, in your familiars, and most importantly, in yourself.” With that, the Creator transformed into a dove, overriding the projection of distrust that Seth’s mind had cast. “There is never but one path,” it said, flying so high above Seth’s head that he had to shield his eyes from the bright desert sun to see which direction it took. “Remember…”

  As the Creator’s voice faded into the distance, so did the mountains. Left alone in the void between time, Seth paused to reflect on the possible meaning of the Creator’s last words. Of course, he knew that the ultimate choice was his. Order required balance and balance required choices. But for Seth, the clear choice seemed to lack a foundation in Order.

  “Faith.”

  The whisper echoed through the emptiness, as if the Creator had somehow read his mind. He wanted to trust. He wanted to have faith. He wanted the happy ending that he was far too old to believe in but still did, despite all he knew of the world and its ways. But time was running out and from where he stood, Seth saw his few options dwindling. It was time to take action.