The Game of Gods: Series Box Set

by Lana Pecherczyk

  Whack. Right in the face.

  “Goddamn it, Marc.” I moved the offending branch. Big mistake. Something long, green and slimy shook loose.

  Snake.

  Air solidified in my lungs as the writhing object landed with a thud near my feet. It didn’t move. I didn’t move. We watched each other. We stared. I sensed its tiny life pulse gently within its body and I held my breath while I waited to see what it would do.

  “Don’t be afraid,” I whispered. Slowly, I crouched, never taking my eyes from it. I held out my hand. “I’m sorry I disturbed your resting place.”

  The green snake’s tongue forked out again then it slithered into the undergrowth.

  “Wow,” I whispered, then—sting. I whined. Mosquito got me on my stomach this time. It took me two minutes too long to realize I could alter my internal biological makeup to repel mosquitos. As quickly as I could, I plucked a leaf from a nearby plant, popped it in my mouth and chewed, all the while focusing inwards, urging my body to alter the smell of my sweat to match the scent of the plant. I didn’t know if it would work, but it was worth a shot. As long as the mosquitoes didn’t think I was a tasty human, I’d be all right. After a brief feeling of ghostly ants crawling over my skin, the hex came into effect and I chased after Marc.

  So consumed with thoughts of beating the mosquitoes without actually killing them, I barely noticed I had broken through the jungle and into an evergreen clearing in front of a wooden and thatched bungalow. Bungalow was the wrong word. It was a series of bungalows stuck together to make a mega-bungalow. On one side, a wooden platform lay open wide with a white wicker table and chairs. To the rear, the platform extended to another area that had a series of empty hammocks dangling from rafters. I caught a glimpse of a lagoon with mini waterfall trickling down some rocks into the pool. I’d bet my bike that beautiful water would calm my hot skin and I died to jump in.

  I returned my gaze to the front of the bungalow where mesh blinds separated me from the interior, no doubt in place to keep the mosquito and insect life out. The blinds rose up to a tapered ceiling, and then up and beyond to a balcony I guessed might be the main bedroom. “Marc?” I called out. He was up there somewhere, I could sense him.

  The balcony screen door opened. He popped his head out. “In here, love.” Then he disappeared into the bowels of the house.

  For modesty, I ripped off a giant fern frond—apologized to the fern for breaking it—and then used it to cover my nudity. I walked up the wooden steps to the veranda and let myself in.

  The interior was just as exotic as the outside. A raked ceiling with exposed rafters, cool tiled floors, and carved wooden furniture. I located the staircase and went up a level. The room I entered was a bedroom, like I’d guessed. White linen on a king sized bed, mosquito nets hanging from the ceiling, cushions everywhere, and Marc raiding a wardrobe on the right.

  He wore gray, lightweight pants and had a bare torso.

  He yanked a group of clothes from the cupboard, picked a white, long sleeved shirt and held it out to me. “This might fit you.” Then he returned to his rummaging.

  “What are we doing” I asked. “Why don’t you just cover us with illusion?”

  “Because, love, we’re in the jungle. It’s hot, damp, dirty and sweaty. It’s a biological Molotov cocktail that leaves the construct either chafing or disintegrating.”

  “Oh.” I slipped the white gauze shirt over my head. It came to mid thigh.

  Marc slipped a similar shirt over his muscular frame. He slid on some hiking boots.

  “They fit.” I marveled. “Are we in your house, Marc?”

  He grinned and winked at me and instantly I remembered how still he became when Eve named the town we were to travel too. Cheeky bugger.

  “My home away from home. That witch think’s she’s got one over me, but she’s got another thing coming.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a coincidence that Urser’s lab is around here, and you have a house here?”

  “No. I have many homes. Too many to count, but this one in particular is in this part of the world for a reason. As soon as the bloody witch mentioned Peurto Maldonado, I knew exactly where Urser’s lab would be.”

  “You did? Why?”

  “You know how we’ve spoken of the star-gate that connects this world to the Empire? The portal?”

  A cold feeling settled in my bones. “It’s nearby, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “And if Urser has set up shop here, then it’s clear he’s planning to bring his army of darklings back to the Empire. It must be very close. The gate is in walking distance.”

  “I thought they didn’t have the key to open it.”

  He gave me a sad look. “You’re the key, love.”

  “I’m not fully Seraphim, though.”

  “It may not matter. When you were under the control of that witch, she tasted the vial of your original blood from the Empire.”

  “I remember, it tingled and felt… right.”

  “And if she tasted it, you’ve tasted it. You may already be going through some sort of transformation. It might be all that is needed for the gate to recognize your biometric signature… then there’s the hunter.”

  I thought of how Cash was able to convert to Seraphim using the blood of the queen, and how he wanted me to do the same using his blood. “He’s my soulmate… his blood is linked to mine, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “So his blood might open the gate too. Cash could be in danger.”

  “Right. We need to get going.”

  “What about the rest of me? I need pants and boots.”

  “Hmm.” Marc stared at his wardrobe. “I don’t have female clothing.”

  “That’s not something I thought you’d lack with all your lady visitors.”

  “Well, we’re all usually naked here, love. And the housekeeper isn’t here, so I can’t borrow her clothes for you.”

  “And I spoke too soon.”

  “There’s a small village nearby, we can find you something. We have to be quick.”

  My eyes widened. “But I need pants before going to the village.”

  He found a light cotton sheet and tossed it to me. “Use that like a sarong.”

  I twisted it through my legs and used the corners of the sheet to wrap around my middle. I was left with a version of flowing harem pants. Marc helped tie it off at the back.

  “There you go, love. All better. Let’s go.” Marc rushed downstairs. A door opened on squeaky springs, then slammed. I followed him, shaking my head. A few seconds later, I heard an engine roar to life. Nearing the sound, I came to a door that led to a garage. Marc sat on an ATV, grinning, patting the seat.

  “Get on.”

  “Oooh.”

  “It’s got four wheels instead of two, but I knew you’d like it. Come on. Chop, chop.”

  I hesitated.

  He waved at the sheet around my waist. “Just gather the sheet-pants up and keep it out of the wheels. There’s also a poncho in the compartment back there if you don’t like the rain. You’ll be fine.”

  “No, it’s just that… I usually drive. Can I? Please?”

  “I was counting on it.”

  “Really?”

  “You don’t think I actually know how to work one of these contraptions, do you? Starting it was hard enough.”

  “I suppose not. I haven’t ridden one of these since the vineyard, but it’s like riding a bike, right?” I laughed.

  I hitched up my sheet-pants to straddle the ATV before him. In no time we were roaring out of the shelter and onto a muddy path, heading back into the jungle.

  Chapter 12

  I drove like a bat out of hell. Marc directed me by tapping me on a shoulder. Right to go right, left to go left. Through muddy lanes and dirt tracks only the locals would know, around fallen forest debris and, within moments, we found ourselves out of the jungle and near a village. Clusters of huts lined up in sporadic rows, with locals milling about their da
y, the sound of chatter and laughter everywhere.

  The sky was beginning to darken. I wasn’t sure if it was caused by the encroaching night, or if a storm was coming. Since we’d landed at the airport, I’d lost concept of time. Skipping through the in-between had thrown me completely off. I now understood why Marc was always so flighty with time management.

  A rumble in the sky answered my question for me. A storm. The rain held off, but the air was thick with potential downfall, and a drizzle misted the air leaving my skin damp and sticky. The mud coating my legs didn’t help, but I was pleased to say I had zero mosquito interactions meaning my homemade and cruelty free insect repellant worked a treat.

  We drove further into town, almost running over a group of scrappily dressed teenagers who’d come to the street to point and smile at Marc and his blond hair.

  The instant I got off the bike, Marc pushed some cash into my hand. “There’s a street market over there. You can find boots etcetera. I’ll start my investigation over there.” He pointed to hut that looked fairly similar to the rest of them.

  “A bar?”

  “A tourist bureau.”

  “Right.”

  “And then I might have to go up to the local village leader’s house down the way. Won’t be long. You know how to call me if you need me.”

  “You mean say your true name?”

  He didn’t wait for me to finish and walked away.

  I guessed that was a yes, then. I glanced at the wad of cash in my hand and had no idea what the notes equated to in Australian or American dollars. Nevertheless, I squelched through the mud street in the direction Marc had pointed, all the while smiling confidently at the stares pointed my way and hoping no one was going to mug this obvious tourist. Strangely, I was having too much fun to care. After a while, most people ignored me and turned back to their tasks.

  It wasn’t hard to find the market. I rounded a corner and there were many tables set up with canopies overhead to protect from the rain. Piles of goods were stacked high, almost toppling over. The din of conversation amplified and merged with the bleating and grunting livestock further beyond the tents. One vendor had fruit and vegetables, another had brightly colored folded up fabric. The latter was the best place to start for clothing.

  I smiled as I approached a middle-aged woman standing behind a table. She had wrinkled brown skin, dark straight hair and crinkles around her eyes. Sitting next to her, whittling a small piece of wood was an old man. The woman slapped him over the head as I drew near. Could be her father, or an older husband. From the feel of their intertwined auras, they were definitely linked somehow. It was sweet. She folded and refolded items of brightly colored clothing as she continued to speak to the man. Pinks, reds, yellows, blues. Dull wasn’t a word I’d use to describe this authentic Peruvian stall.

  “Excuse me,” I said as I approached. “Do you sell shoes?”

  She froze, taking me in, hands hovering on a striped poncho.

  The old man kept whittling. Then he noticed the woman’s lack of voice. He leant to the side, out of the shelter of the fabric stacks and spotted me. His eyes widened and he said something in a tone of awe. The woman responded in another language and smacked him over the head again. Both their eyes ran over me with curiosity. The woman shook her head, then straightened herself. She spoke to me, but I couldn’t understand a word.

  “Um, no hablas español.” I pointed at my feet. “Shoes?”

  She smiled, clapped her hands, and nodded then said, “El zapato.”

  The man gave me a toothless grin, lifted his bare foot and then pointed at his gnarled toenails. “No necesito zapatos.”

  “Um.” Was he asking me to buy him shoes?

  The woman shook her head and grinned some more. I loved how the wrinkles around her eyes deepened. She pulled out a series of boxes from under the table. After some more language wrangling, I managed to find some pants similar to Marc’s. I was just paying the lady when a group of teenage boys came running up.

  One of them pointed a camera-phone at me and took a snap. A flash illuminated the undercover area and my eyes went momentarily blind.

  No reception my ass, I thought. That was definitely a phone. Marc just didn’t want me holding him up. The old woman reprimanded the boys, who were laughing and snickering and pointing at the phone screen—probably making fun of my sarong. Seeing my disapproving stare, the woman beckoned the offending boy over and confiscated his phone, cursing and shaking her fist at him.

  “How much for the phone?” I asked, holding out a few bills of cash.

  The woman’s eyebrows went up. She held up her phone questioningly.

  I nodded. “Yes, the phone.”

  “Oh, no, no, no.” She shook her hands in front of her face. “No sale.”

  I returned the bills to the roll of cash and then held out the entire roll. “Please?”

  Her eyes widened and I enticed her further by wiggling the roll.

  She snatched the whittled statue of a macaw from the old man and showed it to me, making lots of cooing noises and urging me to buy it instead.

  “It’s very nice, thank you. But I’d like the phone. Please?” I pointed again.

  She conceded and handed it to me.

  “Thank you, thank you,” I said, smiling and clasping my hands together at my front.

  The woman gave me my package, and threw in a pair of socks and a touristy red and pink Peruvian shirt. She clicked her tongue and grimaced at my attire, then grinned and directed me to a small hut nearby. She must want me to change into my new outfit. I smiled and thanked the two of them again.

  The hut was a little dingy and dark, but it had a mirror. I nudged myself into the room and almost dropped my package when I saw my reflection. My hair had plastered to my face from the drizzle of rain, but that wasn’t the worst thing. I knew why those boys were snickering. My white linen top had gone see-through in the wet.

  I slapped my palm on my face, heat flushing my cheeks. No wonder the woman threw in another top for me. How embarrassing. I took a deep breath, changed into my new outfit and pulled out the phone. It was a satellite phone.

  Immediately, I dialed Cash.

  He picked up.

  “Who is this?” His voice came out gruff.

  “It’s me,” I said, smiling. “Roo.”

  “Christ, Roo. Where are you?”

  “Didn’t you get my messages?”

  “Yes, but I was on a plane. I’m in Houston. Where are you now? Please tell me you’re still at the airport. I can book you a flight here.”

  “I’m in some village in a jungle. We’re following a lead to find Urser’s lab—get this, the star-gate is somewhere here. Marc said it was within walking distance from his bungalow.” I filled him in on what had happened, and how our plans had derailed when Eve blackmailed us, and how now Marc was trying to beat her at her own game by finding the location of the lab before she did.

  After I finished relating the tale, the line muffled as though he covered the phone with his hand. I swore I heard him let loose a string of curses.

  When he returned to the phone, his words came out slow and measured. “You are to stay put and wait for me and my team. Send me your GPS coordinates. You said it was a satellite phone? There’s an app in there that should tell you your location.”

  “Cash, we’ll be fine. I didn’t call you so you could rescue me. I just thought you might be worried. We’re not here to engage or anything. Just getting a location of the lab. Then we’ll come back and hand over the details so you and your crew can go in and do your thing.”

  His voice turned deathly dark. “Marc’s antics in Buenos Aires Airport were broadcast on the internet. People know where you are.”

  “He was caught on camera dematerializing?” Unease unfurled in my stomach. “But I’m not there now.”

  “All you need is for one more slip and Players from around the globe will be coming for you. Worse, Urser gets wind of you being so close to his base of
operations and his entire darkling army descend. Stay put. Stay out of range of cameras and—”

  I made a choking sound.

  “—Roo? Are you there?”

  “Yes, I…”

  “What is it?”

  “These kids took a photo of me and, hang-on”—I brought the phone down from my ear—“let me check something.”

  I scrolled through the open apps on the phone. There was no way they’d uploaded the photo of me. The data bandwidth here was probably non-existent. My heart leapt into my throat. There it was.

  A photo of me. Slightly see-through top.

  Posted online. Geo-tagged.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Roo?” Cash’s urgent voice punched through the phone speaker. “What?”

  I put it back to my burning ear. “I think it’s too late. Search: Chica mojada hace Perú online.”

  The silence was worse than Cash’s wrath. Nothing came down the phone at all but perhaps my imagined sense of his heavy breathing, bulging forehead veins and steam blowing out of his ears.

  “Let me speak to Marc,” he finally asked.

  “Cash—”

  “Put. Marc. On.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear, gathered my old clothes and nudged the hut door open with my hip. Marc couldn’t have gone too far.

  When I stumbled out and into the mud, I found myself surrounded by a group of men wearing black ski-masks pointing automatic rifles at my face.

  Chapter 13

  At least ten men surrounded me. On further inspection, some of them could’ve been women. All had wiry, malnourished shapes and desperate eyes peering from behind crudely cut holes in black masks. No, they weren’t ski-masks, but black strips of fabric wrapped around their heads like sinister mummies. A few of them had Kevlar vests over their dirty clothes. Each had an automatic weapon of some kind. Some had machetes, and one man… he had a white, hand-painted skull and crossbones on his vest. With a guttural voice, he barked an order to the men at his right. Two of them stepped forward and grabbed my upper arms, dragging me forward.