‘I’m not sure I can guarantee that.’
She threw him another look then the light faded and he trudged along, accompanied by the soft scrape of her shoes and the thudding of the soldier’s boots.
Thirteen Roses continues in Book Four: Alone
Luke has a choice to make. With every day that passes, he’s becoming more human. He cares more and more about the people around him. But he can’t shake the belief that Az and Seph have got it right.
The plan is simple. Kill the Father, rule the Flights, rule everything. So why is he hesitating?
Maybe it’s because of Bayleigh. There’s something about her he can’t ignore, not even when he thinks about Sara.
Maybe it’s because of Jackson who, despite being utterly bonkers, is sticking to his misguided beliefs in the face of overwhelming adversity.
Maybe it’s because of Krystal. Luke would never use the word daughter, not unless he was sneering at the time, but he can’t deny his pride in her.
Maybe it’s because of Alex. The scientist can’t shake his guilt over creating the plague, but he’s still trying to make a difference.
Or maybe it’s because of Dave. Because there’s nothing like complete insanity staring you in the face to make you think twice about killing your own father.
As Luke and Krystal cross London in search of food, the others are dealing with a murder in the hospital. Jackson, meanwhile, has his own agenda. Except it’s not his agenda. It’s God’s agenda.
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The Spirit Room, (The Planets, book one) Superhero/Sci-Fi.
‘The Avengers meets Magician, The Assembly trilogy is superhero conflict on a global scale…’
An ancient cadre of magicians
A select team of extraordinary warriors
An unseen foe
As two ancient forces battle for control, reality as we know it is being torn apart. Caught somewhere in the middle, and tasked with ridding the world of the insidious alien intelligence are The Planets. Neptune hails from Rio, the gay daughter of strict catholic parents. Mars, from Ireland, still missing the sister he lost years ago. Uri grew up on the streets of New York, and Venus… well, no one knows and she isn’t telling. Imbued with extraordinary powers, these highly trained individuals take the fight across the globe. With startling and unnerving revelations at every turn, the depth of deception is only now becoming clear…’
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Chapter One: Mars
He was called Connor, before they named him Mars. He felt odd about the titles and wondered what was wrong with choosing your own. Apparently it was all about balance. Ten planets, ten agents, all with their own place, their own expertise. No prizes for guessing what his was. Of course, he could have ended up as Pluto, or Uranus, so he should be grateful.
His thoughts scattered as the wind buffeted him against the chopper’s open door. Below, the lights of London beckoned as the adrenaline began to pump. He grinned, nodding as the dulcet tones of Slayer blasted through the suit comms. The helicopter slowed as it flew out over the Thames, dropping lower until he could make out the people walking down Embankment.
He glanced back at the cockpit, where Luna gave him the thumbs up and a smile. He nodded, then turned back to the open door, facemask sliding up and sealing. The water waited, dark and choppy and he swallowed. It was a long way down; time to go. He cranked the volume until the music roared and grinned again, the vertigo fading as his anticipation of the night ahead grew. He unwrapped his hand from the strap and jumped.
Connor was confused and sick when they found him. Sick with fear of the world around him. Sick with the belief that something else was going on and he didn't know what it was. He didn't share it with anyone, or talk about it. He was too scared the doctors would look at him the way they looked at his sister Sarah when she'd shaved her head and begun talking about sub-programming of the reality field. But he couldn’t deny what was happening.
He watched his mother grow old, again and again. He’d catch sight of her out the corner of his eye and her face would look like a crumpled, yellowing map, like she’d aged decades in seconds. He shared his wild brown hair with her and seeing it turn grey and fall out made his stomach turn.
It happened more than once, enough that he kept his slate-brown eyes closed around the people he loved. That’s why he had run away. That and Sarah. They’d called her mad when she ranted about ‘parallel events across alternate realities’ and they’d locked her up. He’d believed them. He didn’t now, of course. Sarah had been entirely sane, there just hadn't been anyone to tell her that before the pills and blank walls and knowledge made death the only option.
He'd been close to that when they found him, his strong features gaunt and lined. He was living in a squat, reality crumbling around him as he saw what people were going to do before they did it. When he was a teenager, he found he knew what a girl was going to say before he asked her out. It saved on the heartbreak, but he'd been lonely. As he grew older, so the power got stronger. By the time The Assembly appeared he could see a person’s entire life stretched flat like a sheet. Making friends with someone whose death you could predict was a difficult thing to do. As was falling in love.
The lights rushed to meet him as he snapped back to the job at hand. His on-board nano tech fed him all the necessary info but he liked to be 'live' before he landed. The smart suit tightened for impact then released anti-shockers as the Thames swallowed him up. He surfaced near Wapping, dumped the air-tank and travelled rapidly inland to a small house off the high street. Approaching the door, he checked for signs of life inside and, as Luna had assured him, found none. He pushed the door open and stepped in, read out providing both infra-red and daylight-vis. His suit disengaged the helmet and gloves as he prowled. He reached the second floor and there he was, just as promised. The God before him, if God was the right term, was a Shamanic totem made physical. His power came from thousands of years of worship and sacrifice. Why he chose to appear as a squat French man was beyond Mars.
“You are Mars?”
“And you must be Apport. I have to ask, is the look your choice, or is that really how your worshippers see you?”
Apport smiled. The room around Mars swelled and stretched away from him. The door became massive and towering and before him, the totem loomed tall and powerful.
“It is not so much how my 'worshippers', as you call them, see me, but how you do. What could we learn of you that you view a God in such a way?”
“Fair enough.” Mars grinned. Maybe not the right time for those sorts of questions. The room re-shaped and he stood looking down on the Totem, although he did seem somewhat taller and rather less fat than previously.
“My bosses told me you have something we want.” Mars said.
“Indeed I do. Your bosses can be quite persuasive. This thing I give to you is not something given lightly, nor should it be taken with anything less than absolute respect. However, those you work for should also have told you that you will be performing a small jo
b for me this evening, in return for the key to the Spirit Room.”
“I don't know anything about the Spirit Room, but if you've got the key then fire away. Hope we’ve enough time for this. Sun's up in four hours.”
“There will be plenty of time, Mars. You of all people should know that. Your task is to eliminate someone both myself and your employers wish removed from the struggle. He is a man called Edward James and is known to the country as the personal aide to the Prime Minister. He's also known in certain other circles as Jane, and shares with the Prime Minister an affinity for young boys in fishnets. He's also an agent for The Unseen. You will find him in 10 Downing Street. There's a private party there this evening so you are also welcome to take photos should you wish to create some chaos, assuming your masters wouldn’t mind.”
“They're not my masters. And would you rather chaos or The Unseen's version of order?”
Apport blinked. It only registered because it was the first time he had. Mars could live in this world forever and still never get used to the crazy shit he dealt with. He was having a conversation with a God and was about to break into the seat of power in England to kill someone he knew nothing about.
“Seems like a win-win to me. We’d have done this anyway, so why do you want this guy killed?” Mars asked.
“I dislike people who prey on children. He has been going further afield to find his more recent 'dates'. The PM and he enjoyed a boy who had recently emigrated from America, from a Native American family. Unlike the Christian God people here profess to love, the love of my people means more than simple supplication and goes both ways.”
“This guy steps on your turf and you retaliate. Seems reasonable.”
“I am glad. In that case, you should be off. I will be here when it is done.”
Mars left the house and travelled west towards the centre of town. Downing Street lay silent before him, black street lamps casting blacker shadows. He flowed between them, unseen. The shockers in his gloves heated up as he neared the house and spotted the two guards. One of them gestured to his colleague and walked away down the street. Mars moved silently behind the second man and laid on the shocks. He convulsed for a moment then collapsed. He reached the other guard in three leaps and put him down the same way, then headed back to the front of the house, scanning for movement. His suit put out reality mist, causing any digital surveillance to see nothing but blurred shadows, but in the flesh he was visible. His training made him fast, agile and entirely silent, but you could never be too careful.
He still hadn't decided how to enter, when fate gave him a hand. As he reached the door, it opened and another guard stepped out. Mars snapped the rigid side of his hand into the guard’s neck, knocking him out, then caught him as he fell and carried him inside. He swayed slightly as the adrenaline flowed through him. The sides of his vision began to blur as the bloodlust burned through him and he realised he was panting. He squeezed his left glove and the suit shot a small tranquilliser into him. He took deep breaths, coming slowly back to himself.
The house was silent, deserted, which made sense if the Prime Minister was engaged in less-than-proper activities. He activated his helmet and scanned the house. There were four people on the top floor and no one else. Moving swiftly, Mars soon pushed open the door of the room and stepped in. The boy lay unconscious on the bed. The Prime Minister, his wife and a man Mars assumed was Edward James, sat undressed in chairs near a curtained window. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of sex. His helmet took photos as Mars stepped across the room, ignoring the cries of outrage.
“Are you Edward James?” he addressed the man he didn't recognise.
“Yes, but...”
His gun was already in his hand and Mars shot him twice in the head. The PM's wife screamed, her warm glow ending sharply. Mars stood above them, swallowing the saliva that flooded his mouth. Killing people in cold blood was something he would never get used to. He wasn't sure whether it was that or what he’d seen here that made him sick.
“You will live, but only because I allow it. You're twisted fucks and soon everyone will know. You deserve to die but I think prison should be fun for you.”
He gently lifted the boy from the bed and left the room. He headed downstairs and scanned the street. The comatose guards had been discovered and there were six figures approaching the front door. He set the boy down carefully on a sofa in the lounge, then moved with readiness to the front door. The red mist returned, clouding his vision and this time he let it. As the first policeman stepped in the house, all reason left him.
He came too half a mile from Downing Street, running silently through darkened streets with the boy cradled in his arms. As he ran he emailed the photos to as many papers and websites as the suit could find.
The house in Wapping stood dark and quiet. Inside a Native American God and a Planet Warrior of The Assembly spoke in quiet voices.
“It's done, have you got the key?”
“Your masters spoke highly of you. I see now they weren't exaggerating. Although your tendency toward bloodshed seems ill-fitting in someone who would still claim to have a conscience. I have the key. I will take the boy. He may bring some solace to those of mine who have lost their own, and they will care for him.”
Mars carefully handed the unconscious child to Apport, who grew to make carrying the weight easy. In return he handed a slim, narrow box to Mars, who slipped it into the suit.
“Thank you.” Mars said.
“You may not wish to thank me once you have opened the Spirit Room. I remain intrigued as to why your masters have only now become interested in what lies within it…”
He trailed off, waiting. Mars shrugged and shook his head. “I’d like to know as well. Desperate maybe?”
The god watched him for a moment, head on one side and brows creased. “Desperate may indeed be right, if they think it is worth opening to find but one man. Mars, beware the lure of death. You do not seem to me to be a man born to end life and the choice is always yours.”
“I am Mars. I bring war and bloodshed. And they are not my masters.”
He slipped from the house and raced back to the Thames. He relived the kick of the gun in his hand, the throbbing that began low in his abdomen when he saw the blood, and the rush as his chakras whirred with energy. Trying to explain how it felt was futile, but The Assembly had chosen the right person when they named him Mars.
The sleek black motor launch idled in the river. Luna stood at the wheel, scarred face twisted in a wry smile as Mars slipped over the side.
“Did you get the key?” she asked quietly.
“’Hi, Mars, how are you? Gosh, I sure am glad you're alive, I was really worried about you.’”
She looked at him, unimpressed, and he gave her a sheepish grin.
“Yeah I got the key, good to see you too.”
The boat slipped away into the night, leaving the chaos of the city in its wake…
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Thanks to everyone who reviewed Thirteen Roses Book One and gave me the belief to keep going with it. I love this series, but a book doesn’t come alive until people read it.
Thanks, as always, to Elizabeth, CJ and Elyan, respectively, for their patience, cuteness and potatoness. (That is a word. I just invented it.)
Thirteen Roses Book Three: Beyond: A Paranormal Zombie Saga Page 20
