Brimstone Kiss: Phantom Queen Book 10 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries)

by Shayne Silvers

  “Right?” Blue clapped his hands together. “Now it’s time for us to pick one to take back with us.

  I began to shake my head, but Blue was already guiding me towards the nearest stash, gesturing to one weapon after another with a haphazard description for each. I stopped him with a raised hand after he referred to what was clearly a mace as a “popsicle with spikes.”

  “Why don’t ye pick yours, first?” I suggested. “In the meantime, I’ll look around.”

  “Alright, but I mean it this time. You have to take something, or next time I find something like this, I won’t tell you.”

  “I will.”

  “You promise?”

  The request sat heavy in the air between us. Frankly, I was too shocked to respond one way or the other, at first. In this city, words might lead to disappointment, but promises? They were made to be broken, and everyone knew that.

  Even Blue.

  “Alright,” I said at last, against my better judgment, “I promise.”

  43

  Together, we weaved between dwellings created from discarded materials, the vast majority of which resembled pitched tents at best. But then the goal here wasn’t aesthetics so much as it was functionality; this side of the city was known to be mercifully light on falling debris, but all it took was a single pool ball to come plummeting from the sky to cave in your head and ruin your day. Thankfully, Blue had chipped in when designing mine, which meant a reinforced roof and at least a modicum of privacy.

  As we got closer, it became obvious our arrival had caused a stir; dozens of eyes tracked our every move and what few conversations there were tended to die in our wake. Of course, we often drew stares whether we liked it or not, what with me wearing armor from head to toe and Blue being...well, blue. This level of scrutiny, on the other hand, was typically reserved for something out of the ordinary. Like, for example, the conspicuous hardware we were carrying.

  “I have to get something from my place,” Blue said, waving hard enough that the ornate blade sheathed at his hip jiggled, slapping against his thigh. “But then I’ll be right over.”

  I waited for my companion to vanish behind another hut fashioned almost exclusively out of oversized dress shoes before I ducked through my own doorway, wary of the weapon bound to my back and making sure it didn’t clip anything. Once inside, I took quick stock of my surroundings, making certain all my personal effects remained untouched, though I knew I needn’t have bothered. Theft was a foreign concept in this city; everything anyone could ever need or want ended up here, eventually.

  There were a few items, however, I kept hidden just to be safe. Each had been on my person when I first arrived, though none had offered any insight into who I was or how I’d come to be here. After checking to make sure Blue wasn’t yet on his way back, I dragged a crate full of odds and ends across the floor, revealing the hole I’d dug to keep them hidden. Then it was simply a matter of cataloguing them. First, the chest with its mysterious jewel. Next, the sack full of bland, off-putting bread. And, finally, the glass shooter with its amber contents.

  Reassured to find all three items exactly where I’d left them, I dumped the contents of the crate in a corner of the room, flipped the box over, and replaced it over the hole. Then, I undid the strap I’d used to tie my weapon to my back and laid my chosen instrument horizontally across the top of the box where I could admire it. It really was lovely—in the wicked, lethal sort of way all implements of war tend to be. In the end, I was so distracted I didn’t even notice Blue had arrived until he spoke.

  “So, are you happy with what you chose?” he asked, standing on his tiptoes to look over the curved pauldrons covering my shoulders.

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, especially considering I hadn’t really chosen it at all. If anything, the weapon had picked me. Indeed, it was as if I could still hear it calling to me from amidst the hoard—a much more potent version of the urges which had provoked my daily excursions. Finding it from there had been no big feat; the instant I laid eyes on the weapon, I knew it belonged to me. Somehow, I even knew its name: Areadbhar.

  Slaughterer.

  Even now, the dory epitomized deadly intent—the foot-long Damascus steel blade sat affixed to a cornel wood shaft capped by what appeared to be a sauroter fashioned from alexandrite. And yet, despite its elegance, there was one flaw I couldn’t account for. I reached down and flipped the spear to reveal a crater sitting squarely in the heart of the blade.

  “What does that look like to ye?” I asked, pointing.

  “Oh, that’s interesting! So, yours has one, too.”

  Blue hoisted his sword, still in its sheath, and angled it so I could see the pommel. Glittering gold bands wound the hilt, only to unfold at the base as though meant to curl around an object that wasn’t there. The flaw was glaring, the effect unfinished. And yet, after a moment’s study, I realized I was looking at the same thing in both instances: a socket.

  “That’s why I chose this sword,” Blue admitted, tapping the aperture for good measure.

  I shot him a quizzical glance, but the man was too busy fetching something from a pouch around his neck to notice. Before I could ask him what he meant, however, he began adjusting the gold prongs—forcing them wide enough to accomodate the stunning blue jewel he held in his other hand. I felt a shiver of nagging familiarity at the sight of it, reminded instantly of my own precious stone.

  “The moment of truth,” Blue intoned. He held his jewel out over the pommel, graced me with a conspiratorial smile, and thrust it into the opening. I gasped as the gold prongs closed over the precious stone like fingers curling to make a fist, then covered my eyes as the sword began to glow white hot in Blue’s hand, the blade thrumming with what sounded like a cry of abject joy. Through the gaps between the arms I’d thrown up to block the glare, I could make out shapes gathering outside my doorway—a growing crowd of onlookers unable to hide their curiosity.

  Suddenly, the blue jewel flared, shining so brightly I had to pinch my eyes shut.

  Someone laughed.

  And then, almost as abruptly as it all had begun, the noise died and the light vanished, leaving me to blink away spots in my vision. When at last I could finally see, I found Blue sneering at the naked blade in his hand. He then began swishing it about as the crowd—sensing the show was over, perhaps, or simply preferring not to be involved—dispersed. Blue’s blade hummed a different note with every sweep and strike, cleaving the air like someone singing a hymn. Seemingly unimpressed, however, the man balanced the blade across his hands and tilted it back and forth, watching with mild disdain as the hilt changed colors with every rocking motion.

  “Well, it certainly took him long enough,” Blue said, putting on an odd accent for what I assumed was comedic effect. “And he went for Charlegmagne’s sword, no less. What a fool you can be, Herr Frost. Still, I suppose it will have to do.”

  “Blue?” I waved a hand in front of the man’s face to get his attention. “Are ye alright?”

  Blue flinched at the sound of my voice, turned, and settled a gaze upon me so full of loathing it made my skin crawl. I took a step back, then another, unable to control my racing pulse as the man I thought I knew faced me with a naked blade in his hand.

  “Did you truly believe you would be rid of me so easily, fräulein?” Blue asked in that stranger’s voice. “That Maximilliano’s parlor tricks would be enough to silence the legend of Doctor Frankenstein for good?” Blue edged forward, the tip of his sword dragging across the ground and creating a molten furrow in its wake. “Although I must confess, having to throw myself into the devourer so prematurely was not what I had in mind. I had originally hoped to remain sequestered in Helheim until the appropriate moment.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” I said, shrinking beneath this madman’s gaze, my eyes averted so as not to encourage the bloodlust I sensed emanating from him. “Blue, this really isn’t like ye.”

  “Of course it
isn’t. Herr Frost is gone. And for that you have my condolences, fräulein. You know, I must say I found it quite strange that you two should find each other down here. If I were not already using this body, I would very much like to have studied you both. It would have been fascinating to test the nature of your bond. Nothing so crude as what those German fascists did to all those poor twins, of course...though I suppose they had the right idea.”

  I slid along the wall in increments as the madman spoke, unsure how much more I could handle; not only was Blue behaving abnormally, it seemed he’d also devolved into a babbling lunatic. So, rather than continue to listen to his ravings, I resolved to make a break for it. Once outside, among the other citizens, I could at least rely on safety in numbers. Maybe even ask for help, if it came down to that.

  Thinking to avoid his sword arm, I juked left, lunging for the open doorway. Unfortunately, I didn’t even come close; the madman’s fist struck my shoulder hard enough that my armor squealed in response to the blow and sent me careening across the room. My spear went clattering against the far wall as a result, the crate overturned. Before I could so much as groan, I found the madman’s foot on my armored chest, pressing me to the floor.

  “It really is a shame you do not recall any of this. I would have preferred to have seen your honest reaction when you realized Doctor Victor Frankenstein was very much alive, when you saw me at last in the body I’ve been augmenting for so long. But I can see now what this place has done to your mind.” The madman turned his attention to the doorway and the citizens who shuffled past. “It is quite remarkable how it forces every one of you to repress who you are, to quell the instincts which brought you here in the first place.”

  Remember who you are.

  The voice—like my own but far less timorous—blazed inside my head with terrifying insistence. I gulped, heart pounding, desperately wishing I could do what it said. But I’d already spent so long trying to solve that mystery when I’d first arrived; I used to pull each of the objects out from their hole and handle them for hours, running my fingers along the scrollwork across the chest, fiddling with the drawstring on the pouch, and twisting the cap of the bottle.

  Something to remember us by.

  This time, the voice was different—slithery, somehow, like dry autumn leaves blowing across the pavement. In my mind’s eye, I saw a skeletal hand passing over a shooter filled with amber liquid, and with that vision came another phrase.

  A gift. And a reminder.

  Realizing how close I was, and prompted almost solely by subconscious instinct, I slid my hand into the hole while the madman was distracted, rummaging about as I tried to locate the bottle by touch alone. I heard something clink and worked my hand in that direction.

  “Oh, please do stop squirming,” the madman said as he turned his attention back to me. “It will not save you. Besides, if you stay quite still I can end this with one blow. Wouldn’t you prefer that to the messier alternative?”

  At last, I felt something brush against my fingertips; I snatched up the bottle and—with a violent rocking motion—rolled out from beneath my assailant’s heel before he could raise his sword to strike. Then, without quite knowing why, or how it would help, I tore off the cap and downed the bottle’s contents.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then, as though I’d been struck by lightning—or at least hit with the prongs of a potent stun gun—I began to seize, my body writhing even as my mind swarmed with disjointed memories that arrived in no particular order, assaulting me with their vibrancy. One moment I was six years old on the playground with the taste of blood in my mouth, my lip swollen to the touch, my knuckles burning. The next I was seventeen, my back pressed up against a bear of a human being whose hands, like mine, were raised in a salute to the rock gods we’d come to worship. I was three, tottering towards a table with Dez’s hands hovering lest I tumble and fall. Twenty-two, in the hospital with a shattered patella and first degree burns, ignoring the cops who’d come to find out why a young woman had leapt from a burning apartment owned by a reputed drug dealer. These and so many more came and went—including memories which had originally belonged to my disparate selves—the result flooding me with more emotions than I’d experienced in years.

  When at last my body stilled, I lay staring up at a ceiling made of sheet metal.

  “Forgive me for asking such an impertinent question, but are you dead, fräulein?”

  Honestly, I wasn’t sure how to answer Frankenstein’s question. I mean, my life had just literally flashed before my very eyes. But I didn’t feel dead. Merely tired, with the same sort of headache Charon’s beers had left me with—a dull throbbing right between the ears. Fortunately, a surge of adrenaline hit the moment I realized both where I was and who I was with, chasing away my fatigue.

  “Oh, you’ll wish I was,” I wheezed, glaring up at the miserable son of a bitch, wishing I’d treated Mabel’s warnings more seriously—not that it would have made any difference, as far as I could tell. I sat up, listing to my left somewhat, pretending to be more hurt than I was so I could reach back into the hole without the doctor noticing.

  “Oh, it’s you!” Frankenstein exclaimed. “How remarkable! Tell me, what was in that concoction you consumed? You must understand, chemistry is one of my greatest passions.”

  “Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,” I intoned as I gathered myself to stand, hyper aware of the wonderfully gilded sword the doctor appeared to be using as a cane. “I got it from Mrs. Robinson at the Scarborough Fair.”

  “Ah. A shame I won’t be able to visit Frau Robinson, myself. Perhaps I could send someone...no, that could prove troublesome.”

  With Frankenstein distracted by Simon and Garfunkel lyrics, I dove to the other side of the room and collected the spear. I brandished it at the body-swapper, daring him to come closer. But instead, he took one look at me and laughed. Like, really laughed; tears welled up in his eyes even as he waved me off.

  “Oh, fräulein, please do not be insulted. I do not expect you to understand, but without a devourer to charge that weapon you hold, this is like having a child threaten me with a stick.”

  “Like one of these, ye mean?”

  I held up Thiazi’s light-sucking jewel of a heart I’d fetched from the chest and watched the color drain from Frankenstein’s stolen face. His mouth gaped open as I pressed the devourer Skadi had gifted me into the socket of my spear, at a complete loss for words for the first time since I’d met him. Unfortunately, that could never have lasted long—especially once he realized the jewel and the weapon remained unbonded.

  “Of course!” Frankenstein exclaimed, clutching at his chest in relief. “I must admit you have surprised me twice, fräulein. First, you managed to awaken your mind, and now I learn you are in possession of a devourer! I am afraid this is where the surprises must end, however. It seems you lack the power required to wield such a destructive tool. But do not be ashamed, we cannot all call ourselves Masters.”

  “I don’t give a shit what ye call me, ye demented fuck. But this ‘tool’ has a name.”

  Governed by a primal urge, I pricked my finger on the tip of the spear. A single drop of blood ran down the length of the blade like an errant raindrop—enough to incite the ravenous hunger I’d sensed lurking within from the moment I’d pulled it from the pile—only to sizzle and evaporate a moment later. The shaft began to burn feverishly beneath my hand, hot enough I could feel it through my glove, but I refused to let go. Instead, I pressed my wounded digit to the surface of Thiazi’s pulsing heart and drew a rune in blood.

  Gar.

  Spear.

  “What are you doing? Stop that!”

  “It’s time to wake up, Areadbhar,” I whispered, ignoring the doctor, my breath fogging the steel patina along the blade. The effect was as immediate as if I’d shoved a key in a lock and turned it; the spear bucked wildly as the devourer settled into place, trying to break free of my hold so she could—presumably—sla
ughter everyone in sight. Not because I willed her to, but because that was what Areadbhar had been created to do. Indeed, what had made her so fearsome a weapon that the noblest of the Tuatha De Danann, Lugh, had refused to wield her in battle—allowing her instead to wreak endless havoc among his enemies, ungoverned by nuances like mercy or surrender.

  But then, I wasn’t Lugh.

  And I was never going to let that happen.

  I’d already offered her my blood and the heart of a giant, which meant there was only one step left if I wanted to assert my dominance: I had to let her taste my power. But for that, I would need help from someone who refused to acknowledge my existence, from a deity whose abilities dwarfed my own immeasurably, from a being who could not be bothered to save me from the surgical incisions of a lunatic no matter how hard I’d prayed for her intercession.

  Which is why, this time, I wasn’t asking.

  Operating purely on instinct, I closed my eyes, reached deep down within my consciousness, and—without so much as a hello exchanged—scooped up a steaming pile of stolen power. Thanks to Charon’s concoction and the subsequent memories I’d been hit with, I’d learned where my inner goddess kept it hidden. How to use it the way she had, on the other hand...well, that was an experiment for a different time.

  Right now I had other priorities.

  I opened my eyes to find Frankenstein staring down at the veins in my arms in complete shock, the entire room bathed in their emerald glow. Areadbhar stilled under my hand, her speartip swirling with the faintest of green flames, the devourer in her center sucking the light from the air like a black hole. When she finally submitted to me, however, it felt like a hammer blow to my chest.

  A reminder, perhaps, that control was as much a burden as a boon.

  “This, this is not possible,” Frankenstein stammered, pointing at me with the tip of his sword. “This has to be the same trick you pulled before in the Titan Realm. You cannot be a god. They have all been accounted for, I checked. We know the whereabouts of every single one.”