A Reckoning So Sweet
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Cover Design by Daniela over at www.Stunningbookcovers.com
Chapter One
I know it’s coming.
With each passing day, it draws closer and closer, inching toward me, growing in size and gaining momentum until I’ll be forced to deal with it. The earth shakes, hungry and ready to devour. When the day arrives, it will change the world. The Reckoning will bring magic back to earth. Large scale magic. Think bigger than Weres, Vampires or the odd Troll. Magic that will change the environment, morph the world into an unrecognizable state.
Good thing, too, especially after the last few months. The world is looking worse for wear. Humanity is all but gone, though I’m sure we’ll repopulate after the Reckoning, when those who were saved awaken and emerge into the New World.
I was there that day, when Humanity’s chosen were locked away. I don’t know how many are asleep, and in reality, it doesn’t matter. Not to me, not anymore. I have other things to worry about.
It will be a Reckoning between Heaven and Hell.
If only that was all. It’s not, naturally. There are other forces in play here, mainly Hades, who wants to battle both Heaven and Hell. The Underworld leaves a lot to be desired in decorating and resale value apparently, though I know real estate isn’t why he wants to fight.
There’s no way earth will fill his void, because nothing can fill the void death leaves when someone you love dies. Everyone who’s still alive knows this.
Still, we do our best and really, that’s all we can do.
Survive, in spite of our wounds. Live with the memories of those we’ve lost. Make them proud.
I stand near the edge of the island, a crude bow slung across my back. A dozen homemade arrows sit between my shoulders. My black hair is tied back with a dirty red ribbon, but the wind does its best to still get some strands in my mouth and eyes. I stare at what used to be the ocean, past the crumbling statue of freedom, her torch broken off, sitting on her stone foundation. She is green no longer; instead a dusty red, caked and cracked with the harsh sun. It’s been a while since the sepia sun, since the others could venture out of the cave without burning instantly.
The ocean glimmers in the horizon, but it recedes every day. If David couldn’t play alchemist and change the properties of rock into water, we’d be screwed. It takes a lot out of him, though, so I don’t like to watch him do it.
Behind me, a large city sits. Its skyscrapers used to house millions of people, but now they lay broken and windswept. Every year, millions would flock to the streets to celebrate and ring in the new year. Such celebrations are a thing of the past, as are the people. It’s just how it is now. I never dreamed I’d see New York City or the Statue of Liberty after the apocalypse.
The world has truly changed. It’s scarcely recognizable. It’s so bad, in fact, that I sometimes catch myself wondering if it will be better off after the Reckoning. Surely it can’t get worse than this. There must be a light ahead, in this dark, terrible tunnel of life.
A warm hand touches my back, and I glance to its owner, watching as he stands beside me. A while ago, I finally got him to change out of his Mike apparel—now he wears a t-shirt and dark jeans. He looks more his age, even though I’m not sure how old he really is. His black hair sticks up, his deep blue eyes resting on me as two dimples appear on his cheeks.
Holy freaking cow, I think, blinking as I turn away. Still as attractive as ever, I see.
At least he can’t hear my thoughts.
Dagon doesn’t stare at the horizon, at the receding ocean and the harsh, bright sun. He’s too busy looking at me and making my stomach twist. “You are supposed to be scavenging, Lexa, not enjoying the view.”
“Why can’t I do both?” I offer. “It’s picture-perfect. Calendar-ready.”
“Scavenging typically involves looking around—”
I give him a playful shove. I’d be lying if I said I missed the old, brooding and somewhat awkward Dagon. He’s done his best to learn our mannerisms, to interact with others without sounding stupid. And he understands figures of speech!
Most of them.
Rolling my eyes, I say, “All right, all right. Back to it.” I turn and start walking back into the city, but I soon notice that my boot’s lace is undone. Heading to a bench, I lift my foot onto its warped wood and tie another knot. As I do so, I feel Dagon’s hand on my backside. The gall, the…who am I kidding? I’m not mad.
“I adore your butt,” he says, his voice low. “Are you sure we can’t—”
I don’t let him finish. When I’m done tying my lace up, I spin, my head level with his wide, strong chest. My neck angles back as I say, “You know we can’t.” There are many reasons why—and as his hand drifts upward, away from my butt, sliding under my shirt, I have to remind myself of all of them.
It’s hard to abstain, but we have to, otherwise…I mentally shiver just thinking about it.
“Surely there’s some way we can…” Dagon begins, his other hand cupping my face. He doesn’t say his name, though. “There must be a way to stop him.”
Despite the seriousness of the matter, I find myself smiling. “That horny, huh? You’d go against all the powers of Hell just to sleep with me?”
The old Dagon would’ve said something like I sleep with you every night, but today’s Dagon knows exactly what I mean. His forehead is warm against mine as he whispers, “Heaven, Hell, your mother…I would do anything for you. Potentially sleeping with you would be an added benefit.”
“An added benefit?” I echo, deadpanning, “Keep talking romantic like that, and maybe I’ll let you take me right here.”
“I accept that challenge,” he whispers, his lips brushing mine.
Of course we don’t have time for this, but it’s nice not to think about our impending doom every once in a while.
Right as I’m about to cave into him, throw my arms around his neck, a rock hits my back, startling us both. Dagon pulls away, and I’m about to make a joke when I hear shushing sounds coming from an alley near us. Untangling from Dagon, I reach for my bow and arrow, but he stops me.
“Humans.” Even he’s stunned at the possibility.
We creep to the nearest alleyway, coming upon an area that once was probably a great place for drug deals, but now is nothing more than a thin sliver of respite from the harsh sunlight between buildings. Past the rusted dumpsters, we find a door. Its hinges creak as it swings shut; whoever it was, we just missed them.
“Shall we?” I mutter.
Dagon grins. “I’m right behind you.”
All I can do is nod and stop myself from saying anything snarky. I keep good hold of my bow as I push in, saying, “Is anyone there? We mean no harm. We’re just looking for stuff to scavenge—” My voice trails off when I see a group of deformed kids.
Five of them, wearing nothing more than rags, ranging from elementary age to the first few years of high school. Red rings dot their eyes, a result from looking at the new, severe sun. Whoever threw that rock at me, it’s a wonder their aim was so good. What skin I can see on each of them is bubbly and craggy, sores and pustules oozing a disgusting yellow discharge. Their parents are probably dead, and my heart aches for them.
I want to help them, I want to heal them.
Dagon could do the latter, but the pustules return within the hour. We’ve been lucky enough to keep our group (at least the Human members of it) free of the sores by keeping them inside. Once you go out, it seems you can’t undo the damage.
One of the older kids whispers to the youngest, “I told you not to throw that!”
The offending child looks guilty, but hides a smile beneath a bubbly, disfig
ured hand.
A third kid slowly walks to me, despite the no and don’t the older kids say. A girl no older than ten. Her blonde hair is hidden in a holey and worn bandana, and I notice the cracks in her scalp are deeper than the ones on her small, malnourished hands. Her eyes are less red than the others, their hue a natural amber. “Do you have water?” she asks, her light voice cracking.
Without hesitation, I grab the canteen on my hip, untangling it from my belt, and give it to her. She takes three gulps before handing it back.
I gesture to the other kids. “There’s more for you guys, if you want it.”
They jump at the opportunity for free water. My canteen is returned to me empty, but it doesn’t matter. I’d survive. It’s the only thing I’m good at. These kids, though…they don’t have much time left, judging by the size of their boils. Soon enough their entire bodies would be encased in them, their throats bloated to the point where they can’t eat or drink. They’d starve or die of dehydration.
The little girl who originally asked for water takes my hand silently, leading me through the group. Dagon calls my name, but I ignore him as we wander through the ground floor. Bank, store, office building—it doesn’t matter anymore. They all look the same. Their furniture is old and broken, their floors covered in dust.
She takes me to her sleeping bag, bending to pick up some old, dirty toy. The girl hands it to me, saying softly, “Thank you.”
I take the stuffed animal—a bear whose button eyes are long gone. His left arm needs sewed, and there are a few questionable stains on him. If this was before the end of the world, I’d feel dirty holding him, but everything is filthy now. There’s no escaping dirt and grime.
I kneel to her level and push the bear back to her. “You should keep him. He can protect you at…” I’m about to say at night, but that would be deceiving. Nights are a lot longer now, and you never know when they’re going to come.
As I’m about to correct myself, the ground shakes. Dagon appears, along with the other children. “We need to go,” he states.
I watch the kids hurry to the basement. The little girl holds the bear tightly, throwing me one last sad look before disappearing. The sound of a metal bar lock sliding into place bounces through the room.
“They’re coming,” Dagon adds.
“I know, but—”
“We cannot take them all with us. We barely find enough food for our group as it is. The longer we remain here, the more of a target this place is.”
“I know,” I say, more frantic this time, “but—”
Dagon takes my hand. “We must go. Now.”
Through the broken windows, the harsh yellow sun vanishes in the blink of an eye, without any warning other than the earlier tremor. The world goes dark, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I know we need to go and to portal out of here, I run through the darkness, bumping my hip on a stone counter. I grab the girl’s sleeping bag after some fumbling in the darkness.
A sound of Locusts enters the air, the sound of wings, hard and grating, flapping. Bug chatter.
Not good. We have to go.
I wrap the sleeping bag around me and say into darkness, “I’ll lure them away from the kids—”
Dagon’s arm finds me and tugs me toward the door, away from their hideout. We are back in the alley, though the outside world has zero light. I can barely make out Dagon’s outline from the darkness. “You can’t save everyone.”
“Ignoring the pessimism, I’m going to try,” I state. “You, go up top. Once I’m surrounded, come down and do your thing. There’ll be at least a few less in the world.” Even one less Locust is a good thing in my book.
I hear Dagon sigh. The sound of buzzing grows louder and louder, and through it, he whispers, “You are lucky I kind of like you.” I’ll bet any money (which, granted, isn’t much…or worth anything for that matter) that he smiles as he takes off, flying high with wings as dark as the unnatural night that surrounds us.
I wait.
No one knows how many Locusts there are. Kind of like that old movie with Vin Diesel, they just appeared one night after a particularly violent earthquake. They hunger for flesh and from what I’ve seen, they have a hive mind. They all think alike. And, just like those eyeless, boney monsters in that same movie, the Locusts come right out of your nightmares.
The buzzing grows louder and louder. Wings chattering. Limbs cracking as they move. The first time I saw one, I wanted to do something along the lines of vomiting and screaming, but then I remembered my sanity, wrestled it back down and jujitsued it into submission…meaning I called for Dagon and had him light up the sky.
It’s a lot easier for him to use his powers than it is for me. Unlike him, I’m not the Human Torch. The heat I can make, the fire I can create—it takes time and concentration, neither of which I have enough of during sudden nights like this.
Loud thumps pound the ground near me, and I don’t need any light to know that I’m surrounded by Locusts. Through the darkness, clawed hands grab the sleeping bag, tearing it to shreds. Something about our scent, especially children’s, gets them riled up.
The torn sleeping bag is yanked off me, and in the blackness of this artificial night, the Locusts around me shriek. “Now!” I yell before my jaw involuntarily clamps and I cover my ears.
Somehow, someway, Dagon hears me. The sky lights up in a blaze of red-orange fire, flames billowing out like clouds. I make the mistake of keeping my eyes open—and come face to face with a rather tall, intimidating, ferocious Locust.
Two feet taller than me, its Human-like face glares at me, its mouth housing sharp teeth. Unlike Vampires, the Locusts’ teeth are all sharp, not just the fangs. Tiny razors the size of needles, more teeth than should naturally be in a Human mouth. Of course, these things aren’t Human. Their limbs, stretched to the bone, make them look like demented children’s toys. Insect wings sit on their backs, humming as they flap. Eyes as wide as saucers, black as this fake night. No irises, no color, no white. Curved, pointy, scaly tails that I can only compare to a scorpion’s, rest on their lower backs. Venom drips from their points. Clawed hands and feet, they are all completely nude, so I guess it’s wrong to call the one standing before me a she or a he.
They have no discernable genitals. Besides varying colors and lengths of hair, they all look the same.
Since I don’t want to gaze into its terrifyingly black gaze, I look up, watching Dagon fall from the sky, in his true form, much like his father. Grey flesh, curled horns, reverse-jointed legs and feet, wings that can swallow up the world. The only thing he didn’t have was the snake-tail.
The sky is awash with Locusts, hundreds of them buzzing back and forth, screeching and fleeing from Dagon’s fire and light. They’re allergic—as in deathly allergic—to light of any kind. I figured it out a while back while scavenging with our last flashlight. Sadly, our flashlight is no more, but Dagon’s supply of Devil Fire is immeasurable.
As he falls from the sky, the flames follow him. Any Locust caught in the blaze burns up, sizzling until there’s nothing left. The Locust facing me lifts its tail, seemingly unaware of uncaring about Dagon’s descent. The gooey point curls over its body, long enough to hover over my chest. It could easily impale me, paralyze me—and let me say being on the pointy end of that stinger isn’t fun—but it doesn’t. It lets it linger as Dagon barrels down. I know exactly what it’s pointing at.
The Mark on my chest, hidden with my t-shirt and jacket. Lucifer’s Mark.
As if I need another reminder.
My mind roams, and for a split-second I’m staring at the original Fallen Angel instead of a Locust. All in my mind, sure, but that doesn’t stop me from growing furious. What a twisted, demented, evil thing. It’s because of him Hades hates us, because of his otherworldly need to stick himself in the woman Hades liked, maybe loved. If those gods are capable of love.
I’m not so sure.
With a blink, Lucifer’s smoky, scowling face fades into the
Locust and its creepy scorpion tail. Dagon’s wide frame collides with it, the Locusts in the sky nothing but ash. His black, strong wings fan the flames, blasting us with searing heat and light. I am immune to it, but the Locusts aren’t. Ear-splitting shrieks pierce the air, their wings beating rapidly as they try to escape. Light or fire, whatever gets to them first ends them immediately. Their hideous bodies decay into dust, their scorpion tails shriveling and disappearing. The light eats at their leathery skin until there is nothing left but bones, of which soon crumble to grey powder.
In a fast moment, Dagon returns to his Human form. His black, spikey hair still has that anime messiness that I described when I first met him, when I had no idea about Hades or the apocalypse. So much has changed since then. So, so much.
Around us, the flames linger on the dead weeds poking through the concrete, in the trash cans that dot the walkway. The black night has an unearthly, unnatural glow—everything is orange and yellow, but I’m glad for the sight, even if it’s temporary. Nighttime darkness I can handle…pitch blackness—no moon, no floating stars, no lights on the horizon—is another thing entirely.
“I don’t remember seeing so many congregate before,” Dagon states, blue eyes dancing with orange hues. He uses his forearm to wipe his face. “It might be drawing close.”
I stop myself from rolling my eyes. He’s said that about a million times now. It’s always drawing close. I’m about to make a snarky comment when I hear shouting.
The kids inside—how did I forget?
I take off towards the building, hopping through the piles of ashes, trying not to breathe any in as clumps fall from the sky. The outside fires that linger give me enough light to navigate to their hiding place. The door hangs off its hinges, its rectangular shape bent. I see nothing but blackness in their hiding place.
I slow my breathing, inching closer, trying to listen. As I do so, I mentally focus. Heat gathers around my hands. Sounds of tiny feet scurrying up the stairs give me seconds to prepare for what comes next. The young girl who offered me her bear dashes from the hideout, blood staining her clothes. A few of her pustules popped, their pus oozing down her face, acidic on her flesh. Her red-rimmed eyes spot me, and she reaches for me just as a spiked, hard stinger erupts from her chest. She lets out a stifled gasp, her head lolling back as her body becomes limp. The Locust who killed her, killed them all, smiles. It makes me sick.
A Reckoning so Sweet Page 1
