Then, when the train pulled away, and the station was empty, Randall gunned the engine and reversed us out of the lot.
WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?
FROST: The Second Book in the Gold Coast Ragnarök Trilogy
Rule one for surviving Ragnarök?
Don’t piss off a Valkyrie.
Ex-hitman Keith Murphy sold his services to a demon in order to stop an apocalyptic cult. Now he’s stuck fighting a gang way against a local biker gang who knows far too much about magic for a pack of mortals. A routine hit turns into a mystery, and that mystery leads to a series of deaths with a very unexpected source. Something has crossed over from the darkest parts of the Gloom, and it seems like Keith sold his soul to delay Ragnarök instead of stopping it.
The last, long winter frost before the end of the world is setting in, and the only man who can stop it is a pissed-off, well-armed assassin with nothing left to lose
Read on for a taste of Frost…
FROST Preview
The hit on Eli Penny went sour at 12:01 AM, right after a cool spring Monday gave way to Tuesday morning. Problem was, we didn’t know it yet, so we kept on playing it like things were going smooth. I crouched in the Sailboat Cafe’s kitchen, a loaded Mossberg shotgun clenched in a two-handed grip. Ready to back up my partner, Finn, when Penny finally arrived.
I could hear Finn pacing the floorboards of the dining room. Heavy footsteps rendered louder by his penchant for motorcycle boots. Finn’s role in the plan was simple: lure Penny into the café and get him talking. Stay clear of the kitchen door. I’d step out and pull a trigger, and Eli Penny would bother our boss no more.
Unfortunately Finn’s nervous pacing suggested his human half wasn’t as comfortable with the scheme as the demon who shared custody of the biker’s mortal flesh. I’d seen it before in Sabbath’s newer guys, the restless irritation when the prick of a mortal conscience comes up against the new inhabitant’s desires.
Part of me almost felt sorry for Penny, because Finn’s demonic tenant would make him pay for those little moments of human frailty when the violence started.
A bad feeling settled over me as the seconds ticked by. I couldn’t place the reason: I figured the job for a cakewalk, even if Finn Caylin was equal parts amateur liability and demonically possessed wildcard. Finn could fuck up, and odds were things would still come up roses for us.
I mean, hell, Penny and his Rebels weren’t supposed to know he’d joined up with Sabbath’s crew. They sure as hell shouldn’t know what Sabbath’s crew really were.
That’s the problem with working for demons, I guess. They get so goddamn cocky when they’re picking fights with mortals, and I got cocky right along with them.
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There was a bar out front, and Finn helped himself to a bottle of Absolut. Unscrewed the cap and hammered down the first mouthful like he wanted to quench an internal fire. Poor bastard didn’t yet know how little alcohol affects the demonically possessed, so I doubted the vodka did much for him. The clock ticked past 12:10, and Eli Penny was officially late.
The Sailboat’s kitchen wasn’t the most comfortable place to wait for a target. They built it galley-style, a single counter and a stovetop. Just enough space to cook bar food at speed, and toast the occasional sandwich. The grease-traps lent a thick aroma to the tight confines, and the taps leaked into the sink. Water plinked against the stainless-steel basin five inches from my head. Regular as a metronome, each drop followed by three seconds of silence as the next beaded on the rim of the faucet.
At 12:16 we caught the sound of Eli Penny’s Harley approaching. Finn heard it first, human senses honed to a predatory acuity by the demon’s presence beneath his skin. His gait changed, and the Absolut returned to its shelf behind the bar. He called a warning to me seconds before the growl of the engine registered.
Penny came down Thrower Drive and pulled into the Sailboat’s shared lot, his bike rolling to a halt in front of the bait and tackle place next door. I flexed my fingers and adjusted my grip on the Mossberg. Inhaled and exhaled, counting to three each time, staying cool despite the adrenaline flowing through my system. Outside, the idling engine of Penny’s motorcycle pushed away all other sounds. The snarl of it blocked the dripping tap and the clomp of Finn’s angry gait.
I took a second breath. Three seconds in, three seconds out. Penny’s engine continued to rumble. Finn’s silhouette flashed past the circular window set into the kitchen door.
I counted another three seconds.
And another.
Eli Penny’s motorcycle engine showed no signs of cutting off, and my bad feeling turned into a strong suspicion the hit was going wrong. I got traction on the cold tile floor, rose to my feet with the Mossberg held high. The dining room of the Sailboat was empty except for the tables and stacked chairs. Finn was out on the wide deck, raising his voice to invite Penny in for a drink. Focused on the plan, luring his ex-boss inside so my shotgun could end his life.
They came at me while Finn and Penny were jawing at each other, trying to play it cool. I caught sight of looming shadow passing by kitchen window, registered the creak of a floorboard as someone big and sneaky made their way along the Sailboat’s back deck. Out front, Finn called Eli Penny a damned suspicious cunt, which seemed to coax the other man into accepting the offer of a drink.
Finn strolled back to the bar with the jaunty step of a guy convinced he’d done good, unaware of the shitstorm bearing down on him. I repositioned the Mossberg to cover the rear door, caught the soft click of a crowbar being wedged against the doorjamb. These boys weren’t going for subtle. I was betting they’d come in hard-and-fast when they got the signal. Out front, Eli Penny rolled across the front deck, stopping at the open doorway leading into the dining room.
The biker’s big, rough voice asked a single question: “You really think we wouldn’t know, Finn?”
Then a gun spat twice in the tight confines of the café. Shots fired at 12:24, and it flushed away any hope of the hit going right.
Judging by the sound, Penny came armed with a small calibre handgun. The kind of weapon it’s easy to conceal when your target’s expecting you to cause trouble. With Finn’s new, demonically possessed strength and metabolism, close range shooting from a .22 was more likely to piss him off than deal grievous injury.
Meanwhile, I’d scored a few playmates of my own…
Frost and the other books in the Keith Murphy sequence are available now. Order it direct from Brain Jar Press, find it in your favourite store, or pick up a copy of the Gold Coast Ragnarök to get them hole trilogy in a single volume!
Keith Murphy Urban Fantasy Thrillers
Gold Coast Ragnarök Trilogy
Exile
Keith Murphy flees a hit gone wrong, along with a bullet that could end the world. Staying safe means doing a deal with a devil holding on to an old grudge.
Frost
Keith’s caught up in a gang war between the local bikers and his demonic ex-boss, but there’s something far more dangerous lurking out in the cold.
Crusade
Ragnarök comes to the Gold Coast and Keith Murphy’s the only man who can stop it. All he’s got to do is trust a seer who seems anything but trustworthy.
Keith Murphy Singles
Local Heroes
A demon using the wrestling ring to steal power from mortal fans. Keith Murphy takes him on to pay off a major debt, and learns there’s more to this demon than meets the eye.
About the Author
PETER M. BALL is an author, publisher, and RPG gamer whose love of speculative fiction emerged after exposure to The Hobbit, Star Wars, David Lynch’s Dune, and far too many games of Dungeons and Dragons before the age of 7. He’s spent the bulk of his life working as a creative writing tutor, with brief stints as a performance poet, gaming convention organiser, online content developer, non-profit arts manager, GenreCon convenor, and d20 RPG publisher.
He’s the author of the Miriam Aster se
ries and the Keith Murphy Urban Fantasy Thrillers, three short story collections, and more stories, articles, poems, and RPG material than he’d care to count. He’s the brain-in-charge at Brain Jar Press, and resides in Brisbane, Australia, with his partner and a very affectionate cat.
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Want to get in touch?
www.petermball.com
* * *
Or reach out to Peter on your favourite Social Media platforms:
Also By Peter M. Ball
SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS
The Birdcage Heart & Other Strange Tales
Not Quite The End Of the World Just Yet: Short Stories & Strange Futures
These Strange & Magic Things: Short Stories
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KEITH MURPHY URBAN FANTASY THRILLERS
Exile
Frost
Crusade
MIRIAM ASTER NOVELLAS
Horn
Bleed
BRAIN JAR PRESS SHORT FICTION LAB
The Early Experiments
Winged, With Sharp Teeth
8 Minutes Of Usable Daylight
A White Cross Beside A Lonely Road
One Last First Date Before The End Of The World
Shedding Skins
* * *
ESSAYS
You Don’t Want To Be Published & Other Things Nobody Tells You When You First Start Writing
Thank You For Buying This Brain Jar Press Ebook
To receive special offers, bonus content, and info on new releases and other great reads, sign up for Peter M. Ball’s weekly newsletter at Notes From the Brain Jar.
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To get updates about the latest Brain Jar Press releases, SIGN UP HERE.
Contents
PARADISE CITY
DOUBLE-TAP
BREATHER
SABBATH
SAFETY IS A STATE OF MIND
THE FIRST HIT
DOWNTIME
SURVEILANCE
THE SECOND HIT
PLANS AND REMINISCENCES
THE RIGHT CALL
TRUST
ESCHATOLOGICAL CONSTANTS
THE NEW DEAL
THE THIRD HIT
EXILED
Want to Know What Comes Next?
FROST Preview
Keith Murphy Urban Fantasy Thrillers
About the Author
Also By Peter M. Ball
Thank You For Buying This Brain Jar Press Ebook
Brain Jar Press
PO Box 6687
Upper Mt Gravatt, QLD, 4122
Australia
www.BrainJarPress.com
Original Copyright © 2014 Peter M. Ball. Revised edition Copyright© 2021 Peter M. Ball
This edition published in 2021 by Brain Jar Press. An earlier version of this story was published in 2013 by Apocalypse Ink Productions.
The moral right of Peter M. Ball to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by Brain Jar Press
Cover Image: Contract Killer, lassedesignen; ancient runic magic symbol, longquatro; viking rune symbol, longquatro/Shutterstock.
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