Books 1–4

by Nancy A. Collins

  “Where are you?” she called out as she scoured the frigid landscape for sign of her foe. “You can not hide from me for ever!”

  The frozen ground abruptly erupted, sending her flying as the Other climbed forth to greet her. Although they had shared the same body for over four decades, Sonja had never truly ‘seen’ it before. And, to tell the truth, she did not really want to know. But now she saw the Other in all her monstrous glory, for the Other was, indeed, female. Her skin was blue, and her breasts hung flat and empty against her ribs, like one of the hag-queens parents used to frighten their children into good behavior during the Dark Ages. She moved like an ape, her red eyes burning with an endless rage, and her hands were like the grasping feet of a bird of prey, with nails as long and sharp as knives. Although she was gaunt as a corpse, her lips were obscenely full and writhed like worms, exposing blackened gums and fearsome teeth.

  Sonja got to her feet and pressed the eye of her switchblade. The silver blade leapt forth, glinting in the moonlight. The Other dropped onto all fours and scuttled forward like a scorpion, her joints bending at impossible angles. Sonja tracked the monster as it circled her, making sure to keep the Other within her line of sight. She wondered if this was what the Pretenders saw when they looked at her and shuddered in revulsion.

  The Other launch itself at her, its claws tearing at Sonja’s midsection as its fangs strained for her throat. And then all conscious thought fled, replaced by the need to survive…

  Morgan watched as Sonja dropped onto the floor of the observation deck, her body contorting in what appeared to be a grand mal seizure. Foam flecked her lips and her limbs flailed as if hooked up to an electro-shock machine. Morgan did not dare get any closer because Sonja still held her switchblade tightly in one fist— and its blade was exposed. The last thing he needed was to get nicked in the leg by the damned thing.

  Morgan grimaced and placed his hands over his ears as squeals of psionic static ripped through his head like the scream of a dentist’s drill. He glanced up at the two-hundred and twenty-two foot tower that jutted from the very top of the Empire State Building like a hypodermic needle. The very air about its pinnacle was starting to churn, like thunderheads gathering before a storm. Morgan licked his lips in anticipation.

  This was going to be good.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Times Square: Edgar Tryon paced back and forth inside his studio apartment. He had lost his job at the magazine he used to work for a few months back. At first he had told himself that it would not take long for him to find new employment. But now, after four months, fifty resume submissions, and two unsuccessful job interviews he had exhausted his savings and was a month behind on his mortgage—and was about to default on the payment yet again. He chewed his left thumbnail until the blood came...

  Lenox Avenue: The baby would not stop crying. Normally it did not bother Yolanda that much, but tonight it was really getting on her nerves. She wished her mother would come home from work so she could go out and hang with her friends. Yolanda had hoped the baby would make her happy. And at first she liked the idea of having something that had no choice but to love her. But now she wished she was still in school and able to go out whenever she felt like it...

  Gramercy Park: Normally, Sam was fun to be around. He was Cindy’s one true love. They met at a friend’s wedding nine months ago. Sam was a struggling actor. Cindy worked for an investment firm. One thing led to another, and now they were sharing an apartment on the Upper East Side. All their friends envied them their lives. Even strangers commented on how happy the couple seemed to be together. Sam was normally supportive of her. But tonight was proving to be a major exception. He was in a really foul mood for no real reason, slamming down beers and making hurtful comments about her weight, her taste in friends and her intelligence. Once or twice she had caught him looking at her with this weird look on his face. As Cindy stood in front of the kitchen sink, washing the dishes, she began to think about she supported them both. Sam waited tables because he had to keep himself free for any acting gig that might come his way. Although they both worked eight-hour days, somehow she seemed to be the one to find the time to wash the dishes, handle the laundry, and clean the apartment. The more Cindy thought about it, the more unfair it became. No doubt he was planning on dumping her for some cute young thing the moment he got a break in his career. She was fuming by the time she dumped the silverware into the soapy water…

  Broadway: Father Ignatius closed his eyes and prayed for the visions to go away. Holy men were supposed to have visions, or, so the Bible claimed. But the visions that afflicted Father Ignatius were far from spiritual. He can see his mother sitting in their old apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, in her chair next to the window, fanning herself and looking through the chintz curtains at the street below. Sweating and fanning. Sweating and fanning. Her dress is open, exposing her massive breasts. Sweating and fanning. Sweating and fanning. She stares out the window, as if he wasn’t in the room. She hitches her skirt over her hips and, without taking her eyes off the street, begins massaging the thing between her legs. The room smells of animals. She twitches and moans as if she has hurt herself. Then she turns and looks directly at Father Ignatius and smiles, exposing bare gums. She is missing her upper plate. His mother is seventy-two years old...

  As Morgan watched from a safe distance, Sonja’s body abruptly arched, bowing itself until she was balanced on the top of her skull and the heels of her boots. With a squeal of psionic reverb that threatened to split the lobes of his brain, a finger of dark energy leapt forth from her midsection, hitting the aerial overhead like a reverse lightning strike. The wind grew stronger as the clouds gathering in the sky above began to swell even further as if filling with pus.

  He cursed under his breath and pulled the gun from pocket. Normally he had no use for such crude weapons and preferred to either kill with his mind or the hands of others. But Sonja was a very special case. One that he had to make sure did not survive.

  Too bad it had to be this way. Fighting her would have occupied him for centuries. But, in the end, she was too dangerous to be allowed to continue. She refused to play by the rules. To her, vengeance was more than a game to while away the decades. She was sworn to destroy him and, sooner or later, she would do just that. But what made her even more dangerous to him was the fact she had made him love her. And to love is to be weak, and weakness leads to slavery.

  He sighted down the barrel, aiming at her head. “Farewell, my perfect love,” he whispered as he pulled the trigger.

  Sonja launched herself at the Other, knocking her to the ground. She quickly straddled the blue-skinned hag, grabbing her by the hair and hammering her head against the ice. The wind that blew across the frozen void shrieked in her ears. She had never been so happy before in her life. It felt so good to truly let go and fight without restraint. It was a feeling of freedom, of being severed from time and place and identity.

  He is going to kill us, the Other snarled as she slashed at Sonja with her razor-sharp claws.

  Sonja responded by kicking the Other in the mouth, sending teeth flying like Chiclets. “I don’t care! I’m sick of hearing your fucking voice screeching inside my head every damn day! You have ruined everything for me! And now it’s time I got rid of you!”

  What about me? The Other replied as she wiped the blood from her mouth. You think I’ve enjoyed being cooped up with a fucking Goody Two-Shoes all this time? You’re always wallowing in self-pity, feeling sorry for yourself because you are a Big Bad Monster. You think that’s a cakewalk for me? Go ahead! Beat on me all you want! Kick me! Punch me! It will not make a damn bit of difference! Face it, I’m here, and there’s nothing you can do to get rid of me that will not kill you as well!

  Suddenly the ice field shivered as if shaken by a massive earthquake. The combatants eyed one another.

  “Did you do that?” Sonja asked warily.

  Fuck no! the Other replied emphatically.

  A sec
ond later there came a cracking sound and a fissure abruptly zigzagged its way across the icy surface, splitting the ground between the two. There was a roaring sound, like that of the wind howling through a narrow canyon, and the moon overhead shattered like a mirror into a thousand silvery fragments. Then came another, even larger shudder than before and the split in the ground between them became a chasm, hurling them both into darkness.

  Gramercy Park: Cindy came out of the kitchen trailing soapy water behind her. In one hand, she clutched a carving knife. Sam was still watching the TV, his back to her. The nape of his neck was the only thing she could see. It was like the rest of him did not even exist. If she squinted, she could see the dotted line going across it…

  Times Square: Edgar Tryon heard screams and the sound of crunching bumpers and smashing glass coming from outside his window and went to look. As he peered out his window, he saw a cab barreling along the crowded sidewalk, plowing into pedestrians. The driver was hunched over his steering wheel, grinning like a fiend. A moment later a second cab slammed into a car with Jersey plates. The drivers got out and begin throwing punches at one another until the cabby grabbed the guy from Jersey and rammed his head through the windshield of the hack. Suddenly a lit Molotov cocktail sailed through the air, smashing through the front window of the Original Famous Ray’s pizza stand across the street, which promptly erupted into flame.

  Edgar Tryon turned from the window and went to the closet where he kept the rifle he used whenever he went hunting up north. He started out by sniping at the obvious tourists. He tracked one in particular with his scope—a well-fed, middle-aged Out-Of-Towner lugging bulging bags from the Disney Store and Occitane. He screamed as he shot the tourist as if was shooting part of himself. He continued to scream as he shot another, and then another…

  Lenox Avenue: The baby wasn’t crying anymore. The TV was still turned up as loud as it can go, but Yolanda could not hear it. She tossed an empty can of ravioli and a dirty diaper into the garbage can in the kitchen. As she rammed the refuse down further to make some more room in the bag, the baby’s hand popped up, the fingers already starting to stiffen. Yolanda told herself it was just a broken doll, nothing more. She has to hurry in order to get ready for the party.

  Broadway: Father Ignatius knelt in the confessional and thanked God for taking away the visions. He wanted to say the rosary, as well, but his prayer beads were still wrapped around the neck of the elderly parishioner on the other side of the partition; the one who reminded him of his mother. The smell of animals fills the confessional.

  Central Park: One of the carriage horses reared back on its hind legs as a swarm of homeless people boiled from the surrounding greenery, armed with rocks and sticks and appetite.

  Throughout the city, these small apocalypses are replicated again and again as long-suppressed resentments and anger manifest themselves, like a festering wound that finally ruptures, filling the night with the sound of gunfire and sirens. Burning buildings dot the city like candles on a cake as the citizens of Manhattan tear at themselves, locked in a blind, claustrophobic frenzy while those unaffected by the insanity huddle in fear and wonder if what they are witnessing is the end of New York—or the end of the world?

  Sonja found herself standing at the bottom of a pit, the sides of which were made of ice. Above her was a patch of sky filled with a wildly pulsing aurora borealis. The Other was also there with her, pacing the cramped confines like a caged panther. The walls of their prison groaned like the timbers of a ship as they moved inexorably closer. If she did not find a way out fast, she would end up ground into a paste. She launched herself at the wall, scrabbling at its glassy surface for purchase, but with no luck.

  “Is this some kind of trick of yours?” Sonja growled.

  I did nothing to cause this, the Other replied, looking a great deal more concerned than Sonja expected. It must be Morgan’s doing.

  There was another rumble that nearly knocked Sonja off her feet and shook jagged slivers of ice and clumps of snow onto the pit. The Other was right. Everything indicated that something serious had occurred to her physical self. But what? She told herself that she was inside her own head, not actually trapped in an icy chasm atop an Antarctic glacier. All she had to do was open her eyes, and she would be back in her own body…

  “Hello, down there! Are you alright?”

  Sonja jerked her head up in surprise and saw a teen-aged girl kneeling at the edge of the pit. She did not look in the least discomforted by the cold, despite the miniskirt she was wearing.

  “I thought you were dead!” Sonja exclaimed.

  “That’s what everyone tells me,” Denise Thorne replied. “I’ve come to get you out,” she said as she lowered a length of rope down into the hole.

  The Other’s eyes flashed like those of a wild animal and, with a snarl to match, leapt up to try and grab the offered lifeline, only to have Sonja drive her fist into her gut, knocking the wind out of her. As the Other writhed on the ground, Sonja grabbed the rope and quickly climbed free.

  “Can we leave her down there?” Denise asked, eyeing the Other like a trapped beast caught in a pitfall. “She scares me.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Sonja grunted as she began to reel the rope back in.

  You can not do this! The Other shouted, her voice echoing as if from the bottom of a well. Whether you like it or not—you need me!

  Sonja turned to look at Denise. The teenager was hugging herself by the elbows, not because she was cold, but more out of apprehension.

  “I really don’t like her,” the missing heiress said, shaking her head.

  “I can’t say I’m her biggest fan, either,” Sonja admitted.

  “She hurt Judd.” There was a waver in Denise’s voice and the shine of tears in her eyes. “I liked him, you know.”

  “Yeah, so did I,” Sonja said softly. “But she is right. We need her.” With a heavy sigh, she uncoiled the rope and tossed it into the pit. “Climb out before I change my mind!” she growled.

  As the Other began to clamber forth, there was yet another earthquake. This time it was so strong Sonja lost her footing and began to slide back toward the lip of the pit. Denise cried out in alarm and threw her arms around the vampire-slayer’s waist, anchoring her to the spot.

  “I hope we don’t live to regret this,” Denise said as they dug in their heels and hauled the Other from her icy prison.

  I see the poor little rich girl has come out to play, The Other said as she got to her feet, cutting her blood-red eyes toward to Denise. The teenager’s cheeks turned bright pink as she moved to hide behind Sonja.

  “Leave her alone. The kid helped save your hideous ass,” Sonja replied.

  That is true, the Other conceded.

  “It’s obvious Morgan wants us at each other’s throats,” Sonja said, holding out her hand. “How about we call a truce?”

  Agreed, The Other smiled crookedly, taking Sonja’s hand on her claw. So—what now?

  Before Sonja could answer, there came a thunderclap so loud it made the ground shake. It was followed by another peal of thunder, then another, and yet another, each one closer than the last. But it was not until the shadow fell across the ice field that Sonja realized what she was hearing was not an approaching storm—but footsteps.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The first thing Morgan saw as he opened his eyes was a curtain of shimmering green light in the sky above his head. His ears were still ringing as he picked himself off the floor of the observation deck. The second he had fired the gun there had been a flash of light and a clap of thunder, with enough concussive force to throw him again the protective barrier that ringed the deck.

  He got to his feet and staggered over to where Sonja lay sprawled on the ground. As he got closer, he could see that his aim had been off, and that instead of blowing her head apart like an overripe cantaloupe, the bullet had grazed the right side of her skull.

  To his surprise, she abruptly sat up. Her eve
r-present sunglasses slid off her nose and dropped into her lap as she was now missing her right ear. She stared up at him with a dazed look on her face as if waking from a drugged sleep.

  “Are you all right?” he asked solicitously as he quickly hid the gun in his hand. “You had some kind of seizure…”

  “You are right, milord,” she said as Morgan helped her to her feet. “I belong with you. I always have.”

  Morgan struggled to keep from laughing as Sonja dropped her forehead onto his shoulder. Perhaps he would not have to kill her, after all. Although it was still too soon to truly tell, he could tell there was something distinctly different about her. The fire in her belly—that which had made her deadly to him and provoked his passion for her—seemed to no longer exist. The idea of crushing her will while keeping her physical shell around as a reminder of his victory appealing, yet, a part of him felt strangely empty at the prospect. Yet another side of him hesitated.

  He drew back as Sonja tried to slide her arms about his waist. He looked down into her face, staring into eyes the color of blood. Eyes so very much like his own.

  “Hold me,” she sighed.

  “Not until you put down your weapon,” he said, pointing to the switchblade she still clutched in her hand. Her fingernails had dug so deeply into the flesh of her palm she looked like she was suffering from stigmata.

  Sonja’s face contorted in disgust, and she hurled the silver knife away from her. Morgan smiled and slipped his arms around her, pulling her to him. She felt so soft, so vulnerable. He lowered his face to hers and as their lips brushed, she wrapped her arms about him hungrily, her mouth searching for and finding his own…

  Suddenly they were no longer standing atop the Empire State Building but in a Japanese rock garden. Dappled koi swam just below the jade-green surface of the meditation pool at their feet, mouthing crumbs of bread. Morgan’s face was no longer scarred, and he was dressed as a shogun of the Edo period while Sonja was dressed…as Sonja.